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The members of IT are already hustling to claim the blue beach chairs, tossing their towels over the backs. This place will be considerably less serene by the time the entire company is ashore.
I wonder if I could grab a kayak and stay out in the water all day, but Sarah grabs my arm and steers me to the food hut. “First, margaritas,” she says.
And me with nothing but coffee so far.
I shouldn’t have worried. There is so much food inside the hut that I could stave off hunger for a month. I load a half-dozen oysters onto a plate while Sarah and Caleb marvel over the hand-crank margarita machine.
I join them, watching the young man put all his muscle into the oversized metal handle that turns the ice shaver.
“By the time you get a margarita, you’ve burned off the calories,” she says.
The slushy ice falls into a large bowl. A woman with her hair pulled into two spunky buns dumps the ice into a huge glass pitcher partially filled with golden margarita mix. She then squeezes several limes into the pale gold liquid.
Then she lifts the pitcher and gives it a hard shake.
The results are magnificent, a frothy, slushy frozen margarita at just the right thickness. She pours the pitcher out into a row of paper cups. “Take what you like!”
Sarah passes one to me. “Bottoms up, boss.”
We clink our cups.
This is good. I take a sip, marveling at the gorgeousness of the drink.
I’m with people I like. The food is good. The drinks are great. The beach is nice. And I’ve escaped the nightmare of the Bailey Johannson fiasco for a while.
Maybe this day will be all right.
9
BAILEY
The time to get caught is at hand.
We have to take a small boat to the island, and we’ll be seated tightly together. There will be nowhere to hide.
I watch the process from my balcony. Rhett got on the first boat. I saw him step across.
But the bulk of that group was IT, maintenance, and operations. That means marketing, finance, and HR will be on my boat. All the people I know best.
I draw in a deep breath. It’s showtime.
My outfit is glorious, bought just for this occasion. A black two-piece and a white cover-up with red poppies. My sun hat matches with a bright red band, and my red flip-flops slap against my feet as I hurry down the hall to the stairs. I plan to follow everyone onto the boat in the very back.
I have a straw bag packed with sunscreen, a water bottle, and a few sand sculpting tools from my childhood.
I love to make sand castles. Growing up in Florida, I had a blast winning against older kids in the competitions. I can make a very convincing Taj Mahal, although I most love carving sweet cottages with picket fences and flower gardens.
Besides, I’m expecting a shunning, so I’ll need something to do. I tuck my phone in the bag, even though it won’t have a signal. I can still use it to take pictures.
There will be excellent food, margaritas, sun, and surf. What else do I need?
I hurry down the stairs. It would totally suck to miss the boat. I would not have nearly as good a time alone on a cruise ship. I’m here for the private beach without the crowd of strangers like the ones near Miami.
And if I’m honest with myself, I know that I’m hoping someone will talk to me and I can clear my name. Having all the employees from Dougherty Inc. stuck with me on an island is the opportunity I never got when Rhett fired me.
By the time I arrive at the lowest level of the ship, the second group is shuffling toward the open side, carefully stepping into the half-full boat.
I assess the situation. Viola and Kenna are already sitting at the back, hands shielding their eyes as they gaze out at the not-too-distant island. I read about it last night. It’s too shallow for the yacht to get close to shore, so we have to take a small boat called atenderto its private dock.
