I don’t want to jinx it, but this morning feels like a tremendous new start.
***
Or not.
It’s only been a little over twenty-eight hours since the Drop-Doughnut Campaign began, and I’m already feeling a considerable amount of pressure. All day yesterday, as well as today, Rosy’s been making frequent ‘pop-bys’ to see how things are going. She stands by the door (or even worse, by my desk), watching me. Smiling. Nodding hopefully. Saying things like, “How does that look? Good, right? It all looks good? What do you think now?”
I don’t want to complain because being fed delicious treats by Fangirl Rosy is so much better than being scowled at by Scary Rosy, but beyond that, having her watch me work all day with an expectant grin is a little…unnerving.
I’ve basically had a fake smile plastered on my face for most of the last two days, which has resulted in sore cheeks. Even worse, I’ve been sort of (read: definitely) pretending everything looks fine even though it definitely (read: 100% without a doubt) does not.
It’s clear the resort is walking a fine line between getting by and going bankrupt, with the difference being decided by the weather gods. Another huge hurricane anytime soon, and they’re sunk.
I’m also starting to think Rosy has a bit of a big mouth, because she’s not my only fan around here. I mysteriously have become the belle of the ball at Paradise Bay. Everywhere I go, the staff smile and wave and say things like, “Hi, Libby! Let me know if you need anything!” or “There she is! The woman of the hour!”
What?
On my walk over here this morning, I was greeted by no less than ten happy staffers who called me by name like we’re the oldest of friends. I was even stopped by the two main actor/singer/dancers in the resort’s nightly shows to see if I wanted a part in Mamma Mia tonight. Obviously, I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do (want to), but I had to turn them down. I don’t have time to learn all the moves to “Dancing Queen” in the next five hours.
To be honest, this is all starting to get a little creepy, and even worse, it’s enough of a strain to cause a brain hernia (well, if that were a thing, that is).
All these people look at me like I’m Luke Skywalker and I’m the only one that can prevent the Evil Empire from blowing up the resort. And I gotta say, I’m no Jedi. I’m C-3PO at best. I can spit out a lot of very accurate data and worry with the best of them, but I’m no hero, and when they figure it out, they’re going to turn on me faster than the crowd would turn on Luke Skywalker at a Sith Lord convention.
In an effort to escape the unrelenting pressure, I told Rosy I needed to head over to the burger bar because I haven’t had a chance to evaluate it yet. The truth is, I just need some salty, greasy carbs.
Spotting a group of restaurant servers on their way to start their shift, I decide to take a left instead of a right so I can avoid another round of ‘all our hopes are pinned on Libby.’ I find myself near the main pool and beach bar, and instead of going back to my room to change out of my suit, I decide to shrug off my jacket and go sit at the bar. Lolita’s there, so I know I’ll finally have some time alone to think — there’s no way she’s going to strike up a conversation with me.
She's taking an order from a couple sitting at the far table when I arrive. I seat myself at the same stool I did the first night I was here and drop my briefcase next to me — a not-so-subtle sign that I'd like to be alone.
The breeze picks up, providing the tiniest respite from the suffocating heat. Grabbing a napkin off the bar, I dab at my face and neck, although there’s basically no point because I know it will be dewy in a matter of seconds. I really should just go back to my room, get out of this suit, and go for a swim.
“Hey, girl!” Lolita says as she steps back behind the bar. I look up to see who she's talking to, only to discover I'm said girl.
“Hey?” I say, momentarily confused before I realize Rosy must have gotten to her too.
“Piña Colada? It's on the house,” she says with a wink.
A wink? Seriously? “I think I should just stick with water. I have a lot of work to get done.”
“In that case, would you like an iced coffee to keep you going?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” She gives me a grateful look and reaches out to pat my hand.
“This must be Libby!” a female voice calls out from behind me.
Well, isn’t this craptastic? More fans. I turn to see a young woman hurrying toward me with a big smile. She’s dressed in a long sleeveless black-and-white striped maxi dress, and her dark hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. Even though I'm in a bad mood, I like her immediately.
“I'm Emma, Harrison's little sister.”
Oh, so that’s why I like her.
She holds out her hand, and we shake.
Lolita makes a tsking sound. “I heard you were coming back, but I didn't want to believe it.”
Emma laughs and says, “Some welcome home, hey Libby?”
“We’d all be a lot happier to see you if you finished school, young lady,” Lolita says as she adds two squirts of vanilla syrup to my iced coffee.
“As if I could stay in New York learning how to pipe icing into pastries when my family's in trouble.”
“Your brother’s got it handled. Besides, Wonder Woman here is going to help us get everything back on track, so you should get your cute little behind back on a plane to school.”
“Wonder Woman? Pfft!” I scoff even though I'm completely flattered. “I'm just crunching some numbers. It's not like I have a lasso of truth or something.” I chuckle a little at my own joke. “Seriously, though, I'll do what I can, but I honestly can't promise any miracles here.”
“That's not what Rosy told me,” Emma says, plunking herself down on the stool next to my stuff. “She says you're basically a genius and if anybody can save the resort, it's you.”
“That's very flattering.” And very terrifying because there’s no freaking way I can save this place.
Lolita pops a straw in my drink and passes it to me. I take a long sip, suddenly wishing it was a piña colada.
Emma smiles at my while I take a long sip of my drink. “So? Rosy also says she thinks my brother might fancy you.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think so. He’s just being polite. And even if he weren’t, I’m practically married.”
“The arse ditched her at the altar,” Lolita says with a quick purse of her lips.
Huh. Apparently, ‘I Like Libby’ Lolita still has a lot of bite to her.
Instead of seeming shocked, Emma nods. “Yeah, men’ll do that. That's why they suck, generally speaking.”
“Amen, sister,” Lolita says with a firm nod.
“Except Harrison. He’s one of the good ones.” Emma leans one elbow on the bar and faces me. “So, does that leave the door open for you and my brother?”
Now I’m basically just pouring with sweat. I really should have changed out of this suit. That way, my armpits wouldn’t feel like they’re part of some sweaty grease fire when Harrison’s little sister started interrogating me about my potential for being his everything. “Umm…Harrison is…he’s…he seems really great, but we have a strictly professional relationship. It would be completely inappropriate for me to…” My voice trails off as my cheeks heat up.
“Uh-oh! You like him,” Emma says, her face lighting up. She turns to Lolita. “Is it just me, or does she like him?”
“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen her the first night she was here,” Lolita says. “She was rubbing his abdomen like he was a Buddha statue. Then she stripped down on the beach in front of him.” Looking at me, she adds, “Not that I blame you. Harrison’s a fine piece of man candy.”
“Eww,” Emma says, shaking her head and sticking her tongue out.
“In my defence, I was kind of in the middle of a breakdown at the time, and I had no idea who he was.”
Ignoring me, Emma a
sks Lolita, “Is Rosy right about Harrison liking her back?”
“He doesn’t—” I start, then stop because part of me is dying to hear Lolita’s answer.
“Oh, yeah. You should see his eyes when she walks by. They practically pop right out of his skull and follow her wherever she’s going.” Lolita raises and lowers her eyebrows at Emma.
I certainly don’t hate hearing that a man like Harrison can’t keep his eyes to himself when I saunter by. Inner Teenage Libby does the Macarena while Business Libby shakes her head and says, “No, seriously. There’s nothing going on between us.”
“But you wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating cookies, would you?” Lolita asks.
“No, I wouldn’t—”
“Oh, snap, girl!” Lolita says, holding her hand up for a high-five before I can explain.
I decide not to leave her hanging and raise my hand, not as a sign of admission that I want to sleep with Harrison, but because leaving someone hanging is the height of bad manners. After I put my hand back down, I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Wouldn’t kick who out of bed?”
Freezing in place, I give myself a second to get the first flame of humiliation out of the way before I turn around.
“You, you big dummy,” Emma says, getting up to hug her brother.
“No, I didn’t—” I mumble, but clearly there’s no point in interrupting their family reunion.
Harrison hugs Emma, lifting her off her feet, then sets her down and ruffles her hair. “I told you not to come home, you brat.”
“I had to come meet your new woman,” she says, pointing at me with her thumb.
Harrison gives me an eyebrow raise, accompanied by a sexy half-grin. Then he turns back to his sister and his face grows serious. “Nice try, but you can’t distract me that easily. I’m putting you on the first flight back to New York.”
“I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but you’re my brother, not my boss,” Emma says with her chin lifted. “Now, you’re being rude to my future sister-in-law. You haven’t even said hello to her.”
“We’re not done with this conversation,” he says to Emma before turning to me. “So, about those cookies…”
My stomach does this flipping thing that only happens when he’s around, but this time it’s a much bigger flip (like a quadruple somersault) because of all the stuff Lolita said about Harrison liking me. Is it hot out here? It feels really hot. “Those were fictional cookies. Very fictional.”
“Oh my God! You two are so cute together,” Emma says, clapping her hands excitedly. “That’s it. You’re going to have to dump the jilting arse and marry Harrison. You’ll have the best story to tell your grandkids of how Libby saved the resort and you two fell madly in love and lived happily ever after.”
Shit. The resort.
My heart drops, and I suddenly feel the weight of the entire land mass Paradise Bay sits on press down on my shoulders. A familiar wet sensation starts in my nostrils. Oh, no. Not now…
I cover my face with one hand and reach for a napkin with the other, quickly shoving it under my nose.
Harrison squints his eyes at me. “Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”
“I’m totally fine, thanks. I'm a stress bleeder. My nose,” I say with a little nod, as though it's the most normal thing in the world.
“A stress bleeder? Have these two been winding you up or something?”
“No, not at all. They’ve both been lovely. It’s…something else entirely.” I stand and try to pick up my coat and briefcase with one hand while keeping the napkin in place.
Harrison picks up my things. “Let me get you back to your room.”
“No, you don't need to. I'm fine, really. This happens all the time.”
“And yet, I'm still going to make sure you're all right.”
Emma pats my shoulder and whispers, “That’s because he likes you.”
He gives her a dirty look. “It’s because it’s the right thing to do.” Then looking back and forth between the two women, he says, “And no more gossiping. Libby is practically married. There’s nothing going on between us.”
Lolita and Emma exchange a look, then Lolita says, “Oh, that’s over, trust me.”
And I swear for the briefest second, Harrison’s eyes flicker with hope.
SEVENTEEN
Excuses for Touching Eight Packs
Harrison
“So, that was your sister, huh?” Libby asks as we get in the golf cart.
“Yes. I’m sorry about her. She wants to marry me off for some reason.” I back out of the stall and head in the direction of her building.
“That’s okay. It was kind of flattering, in a slightly off-putting way.”
Laughing, I say, “I have no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Me neither,” Libby answers.
I stop where the two main paths intersect to let a group of guests walk by, then continue on much slower than I normally drive (for some unknown reason that has nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with Libby, so stop thinking that).
Libby looks over at me. “Did she really quit culinary school to come back and help out?”
“Unfortunately. I told her I’ve got it handled and to stay put, but instead she packs up and flies all the way back here with one semester left in her program,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you know how hard it was for her to get in at that school? She applied for over two years. Two years. And she gives all that up to come back here and try to bail out a sinking ship.”
“Do you really think it’s sinking?”
Giving her a sideways grin, I say, “You tell me.”
When I look at her, Libby’s face is filled with concern. “I really shouldn’t say until I’ve had a chance to finish crunching the numbers.”
Shit. That isn’t the face of someone who has happy news to share in the near future. “I know. I was just testing,” I say. “But I owe you an apology. I’m supposed to be helping you, not adding more stress to you by going on about my own problems.”
“This?” she asks, pointing to her nose. “Don’t worry about it. It happens so much, I’ve started called it Old Faithful.”
Her entire face turns pink. “That sounded sexy,” she says in a sarcastic voice. Then her eyes grow wide and she blinks quickly. “Not that I’m trying to be sexy around you. At all.”
God, she’s cute when she’s embarrassed. “Somehow I don’t think you can help being sexy. It just happens.”
Libby giggles a little, then waves her free hand dismissively. “You’re just trying to butter me up so you can get some intel on my findings.”
“As much as I’m dying to know, I’m being completely honest about the sexy thing. Probably too honest.”
She swallows hard, then says, “In that case, while we’re being overly honest, it’s not looking too great so far.” Her expression goes from worried to hopeful. “But maybe there’s something I haven’t seen yet that will help move things in the right direction for you.”
I nod and do my best to act like that didn’t feel like a gut punch.
“I mean, you never know, right? Sometimes things look like they’re going one way and something can come along and turn everything around.”
Giving her a small smile, I say, “It’s nice of you to try to make me feel better. Especially since my loss is your gain.”
“Right. I almost forgot. I’m supposed to be working on a hostile takeover.” She says it like it’s the last thing she wants to do.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” she answers, her tone tentative.
“Do you like your job?”
“Some things about it. I love the investigation part of it, and I like it when a deal comes together — that bit is very exciting. But this time it feels…different.”
“Is it because you kind of like me and you can’t stand the thought of seeing me ruined?”
I bump her shoulder to let her know I’m sort of joking.
“No, you’re a total nightmare. I can hardly stand to be around you,” she says, grinning up at me. “The rest of the people here are pretty wonderful though, and they seem to like you, for whatever reason...”
“Must be Stockholm Syndrome.”
Laughing, Libby says, “Oh, now it’s all making sense.” She changes to some clean tissues, then dabs her nose and drops her hand to her lap.
“All better?” I ask.
“All better,” she says.
A couple walks past us, and Libby points at them. “Are you aware of how slow we’re going right now? We just got lapped by some senior citizens.”
“I’m trying to conserve battery power.”
“Liar. You just want to spend more time with me.”
“There may be a little of that too, but it’s mostly about saving the earth,” I say, giving her a mock serious look.
She laughs again, then her face falls. “Harrison, have you thought about what you’re going to do if this doesn’t have a happy ending for you?”
“Nope,” I answer, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’ll be okay, though. At the end of the day, a person has to learn to roll with the punches, you know?”
“Make sense.” She fiddles with the handle on her briefcase, seeming so vulnerable, it makes me want to forget she's in love with someone else.
Before I can stop myself, I say, “Speaking of rolling with the punches, have you heard from Dick lately?
“It’s Richard, and no, I haven't.”
“Whatever his name is, he’s a total coward,” I mutter.
“He's not a coward. He just got—”
“—so scared of getting married, he didn't show up for your wedding?” I ask, trying to cut the sarcastic edge out of my voice but failing miserably.
“I think I’ll walk the rest of the way. I’m not enjoying this conversation very much anymore,” she says, turning her head away from me.
“Sorry, that was out of line.”
She glances in my direction. “And it’s none of your business.”
The Honeymooner Page 15
