Paradise Bay: Resort 1 (Surrender Isle #1)

by Havana Scott

  Really?

  I hated to tell her that nobody read brochures anymore, and they certainly didn’t book their vacations after looking through one, I decided to keep my mouth shut and just do what I got paid to do. The hardest part about staying focused was knowing what I could be doing right at this moment. Tristan had offered to hire me to stay there and write for them. Right now, I could be writing a Surrender Isle blog instead of Gem City blog. I could be waking up with Tristan instead of with Cujo slobbering all over my face.

  Every so often, I found myself wondering…why hadn’t I gone back to Sorendi again?

  Then, I’d remember—because Tristan felt I was wrong to care for a friend. Oh, yeah, and he’d tried buying me out like property.

  Even though I wasn’t seeing Ben anymore, and Grace was checking in on him every couple of days, I was still appalled that Tristan would ask me not to leave when things got as bad as they did. Made me wonder…would he come see me if something awful were to happen? Or stay away, because hell, we’d slept together? So stupid.

  I couldn’t regret my decision. Ben had tried to end his life, and I liked to think that maybe, just maybe, seeing my face in the hospital reminded him that he was still loved. Even so, it sucked to be stuck here again. All day, every day, I wanted to cry at my desk. Even if I wanted to go back to Sorendi, my money from the article and few chapters of Tristan’s book was running out. From her desk, Grace would make “I’m sorry” faces at me, which only made it worse.

  The worst part was that I’d stopped working on Tristan’s book. It was unprofessional of me to stop writing, but I just couldn’t get over the things he’d done. First, he hadn’t told me he was the owner of Paradise Bay. That was forgivable until he’d also lied about Tatianne and why he hadn’t come by to see me in the villa. Part of why I’d left Ben was the lying. Could I go through it all again with Tristan?

  At the very least, I should’ve returned to finish the book. Kind of a dick move after I’d accepted the job offer. “I fucked up,” I whispered.

  Grace covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “What?”

  I stared at the computer screen displaying the Great Wall of China. “I said I fucked up. I wrote half of Tristan’s book, then I left. Now I’m here, and his project is still unfinished. That was super wrong of me.”

  “Fine. Why don’t you pick up the phone and call him, tell him you’ll have it finished by a certain date? You know, actually communicate instead of the two of you acting like babies?”

  “I have to finish it. Even if it means seeing him and not having him.”

  “Fine, then finish it. You’re driving me crazy. Can’t you complete it here and just email him the document when finished?” I could feel Grace’s patience wearing thin. That fear of success was crippling me again. What if Tristan wanted to see me again? What if things went well again? I didn’t think I could survive another episode of Ben fighting for my attention and Tristan getting pissed over it.

  Maybe it was better to just linger in limbo.

  “There were parts of the island I hadn’t seen yet, things I hadn’t learned. Tristan was teaching me the history, so I could write the content. I could never write it now. There’s nothing online about Sorendi Isle. It’s practically off the map.”

  Grace tapped her keyboard with the end of a pencil. “You know how I feel. I’m not saying anything anymore.”

  “But what if I get there and find he’s moved on with Tatianne? She has a history with him, Grace, and histories with someone can be powerful. Makes me feel so…recent. And expendable.”

  “Pfft. If you were expendable, he wouldn’t have offered you all that money to make you stay,” Grace pointed out.

  “Thirty thousand is nothing to him.”

  She sighed, accentuating how difficult I was being. “Then you’ll find out. But you’ll never know where you stand with him unless you go back. Call him, at least. Tell him you’ll be coming back in a few days to finish the work you started.”

  “I don’t have the money.”

  “Ask him to pay for your ticket.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Grace was agitated, but she didn’t understand that I hated for people to pay my way. If I didn’t have the money to pay for something, then I couldn’t buy it.

  “Because I don’t want to ask him for anything, especially after I turned down his offer. If I go, I go on my own dime.”

  “Most rational thing I’ve heard you say in a while. Welcome back, babe.” She smiled. “Listen, I can get you the money. I have a little saved. When you get paid for the project, just pay me back.”

  “Fine, but I’m scared. What if I’ve been replaced? Both by another writer and woman? What if I arrive to find out it was all too good to be true? That Tristan was just too sought-after and too many women were waiting in the wings, and that’s why he hasn’t called anymore?”

  “And, what if none of that happens? What if you find out he’s missing you like crazy and thought you’d never call him back or return? What if, what if, what if?” She waved her hands around frantically. “Paris, wouldn’t you rather have a life full of ‘oh, wells’ instead of ‘what ifs?’ To be able to say you at least tried instead of never took risks?”

  I’d never been one to take risks, yet in two months’ time, I’d taken several.

  What was one more?

  If I didn’t, I’d forever work for Gem City Travel. Tristan took risks all the time, and they’d paid off. He was good at enacting change, coming up with plans then following through on them. Tristan had been a good influence on me, unlike Ben, if only in a business sense. I needed to go back there and finish that book, if only to show him how professional I was.

  I looked at Grace. “Can you watch Cujo again?”

  “His saliva on my face smells like old cheese, but yes.”

  “And you’re sure I can pay you back next month?”

  “Definitely.” She sighed like her hardest work ever here was done and began tapping on her keyboard. “I know a good travel agent who can book your flight.”

  My trip to St. Lucia from Miami went smoother than the one from Dayton to Miami, which was full of summer storm bumpiness that made me sweat like a cat in heat. It was funny to think I hadn’t been on an airplane in ten years, and now in the course of two months, this was my third flight. When I transferred to my amphibious plane at St. Lucia, the one that would take me the final leg to Sorendi Isle, my brain began imagining the worst scenarios.

  Stop. Stop it, Paris. For fuck’s sake, stop.

  Would he be happy to see me? Would he still be upset? Would he still think I was stupid for leaving and even dumber for coming back? I didn’t have any answers, but like Grace had so eloquently pointed out, it was better to find out than never know. The worst that could happen was to discover Tristan had been a player all along and my writing job had been handed off to someone else.

  No pressure, Paris. No pressure at all.

  The moment my plane touched down in the water by the arrival dock, the welcoming island girls were there, along with Natasha and Michel waiting by the Jeep. I could see their smiling faces all the way from my seat. At least they were happy to see me.

  “Welcome back to Sorendi Isle, Miss Jones! So nice to see you!” Natasha seemed genuinely happy to see me and even gave me a hug. I still hated her for being the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen in my life, but that was no one’s fault, especially hers. She took my hand and squeezed it. “We have missed you. Haven’t we, Michel?”

  “Bien sur. Bonjour, mademoiselle,” Michel grunted, nodding politely. “Welcome home.”

  Welcome home. What fantastically awesome words. We shall soon see, Michel.

  I accepted the obligatory frozen drink from a brunette welcoming girl and leaned into Natasha. “Do you have a reservation with us? I didn’t see you in the system. Shall I let Mr. Giovanetti know you are here?” Natasha pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

  “No, don’t.” I gave her a sp
ecial look only other women could understand. I wanted to surprise Tristan, and Natasha seemed to get it. “I don’t have a reservation, but maybe you can take me to the beach, and I’ll find him.”

  “As you wish, Miss Jones.” Natasha quickly acquiesced to my request, as though she’d never brought it up. “Will you be doing more writing while here?”

  “Yes, I plan on visiting Hideaway Bay and Pleasure Cruise, so I can finish the travel book.”

  “Wonderful!” Natasha clapped, heading for the Jeep. “I cannot wait to see what you come up with. A book to literally put us on the map. So exciting. Well done, Miss Jones!” She stepped aside at the Jeep to let me in first.

  I paused before getting in, looking into her pretty eyes. I wanted to think that we were friends, or at least could be one day. At the very least, we were the same age and could drop the formalities. “Natasha, call me Paris. Please.”

  She smiled, rosy cheeks on light brown skin, full lips stretching into a smile. “Paris.”

  And away we went through the rainforest, down the slope toward Paradise Bay. I loved the small mountains, the towering trees of the rainforest, the sandy stretches. I loved the smell of the ocean as we approached the resort. I loved the salty humidity and the heat. Welcome home never sounded so wonderful.

  Other than Dayton, I’d never lived anywhere else in my life, but I would call Sorendi Isle a close second. I knew exactly where we were going. Over that way were the ruins of the sugar plantation, over there was the rainforest, and over there was the main house. Just beyond was the dock where Tristan boarded his boat, a thought that made my heart beat harder with anticipation. With each mile marker we passed, my stomach contracted into a ball of nerves.

  Would Tatianne still be here three weeks later? Not knowing was killing me. I was tempted to ask Natasha, but I knew she would only stay mum to protect her boss anyway.

  “You know, Miss Jones, Michel and I talked about you while you were gone.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes, we noted how refreshing it was to have you here. Not only because we like Americans but because you treated us with respect. Right, Michel?” From the driver’s seat, Michel nodded gravely. “See? He likes you.”

  “I missed you guys more than I can say. You were like my family while I was here.”

  I didn’t know why Natasha was saying this to me now, but I appreciated it.

  Michel pulled up to the familiar curve of beach, and I almost cried. God, how I’d missed these powdery sands, the crystal clear turquoise waters that changed intensity the further out from shore they went, the thin windswept palms. I’d missed the waves lapping on the sands, the bubbles, and the Jacuzzi warmth of the water. I’d missed the hot air coating my skin, the boiling sun in my face, and the long days writing inside my villa, losing track of time. Not coming up for air until the stars spilled over the velvet sky.

  At first glance, Booty Catcher was not in sight, a good thing since I didn’t want Tristan to spot me arriving. Walking the distance to the edge of the beach where the collection of villas appeared just offshore, I swallowed my fear and prepared for anything. “Thanks, guys. I can take it from here,” I told Michel and Natasha. I didn’t want them to see me looking pathetically for Tristan, so I waved goodbye.

  “Paris, we are at your service, whatever you need.” Natasha smiled sadly, a look that worried me, and got back in the Jeep. Did she know something I didn’t know? They drove off, leaving me to drown in the sounds of waves and gulls.

  There I was, standing on the beach of my dreams, my one bag slung on my shoulder, with nowhere to go. I waited on the sand for a while. For what, I wasn’t sure. For Tristan to emerge from the sea like he had that first day when he brought me my groceries, when I thought he was an employee working for tips. When I thought he was fascinating even before I learned he was the owner of this entire place. I watched the villas carefully for signs of life. Half of them were occupied, the shutters open, and guests sunning on the decks.

  Mine was closed. Was he still reserving it for me?

  Out of the side of my eye, the familiar white fiberglass of the Booty Catcher appeared, floating around the end of the beach. My heart began its nervous pounding. Should I wave to him, flag him down, or should I wait for him to see me? It glided along the water silently until it reached the dock of the furthermost villa. Was he looking for me, or was the villa occupied by someone else?

  When the small yacht stopped, I saw Tristan coming out from under the roof wearing Bermuda shorts, a tank top, and a baseball cap. In his hands he brandished a long fresh fish of some kind. He jumped up onto the dock of Villa One, knocked on the shuttered doors, and entered. He wasn’t looking for me, because I wasn’t there. My heart sank, even though I had no right to him.

  I decided right then and there that there was nothing wrong with a little confrontation. Shuffling to my feet, I flip-flopped my way across the sand and onto the wooden walkway, marching toward the last villa. You don’t just tell someone you love them then move onto someone else without a moment’s thought. You don’t just make someone believe you were special to them.

  I was halfway down the path when the front door opened, just like I’d done many times to let Tristan in. Tristan appeared, backing out of the doorway, talking. In front of him was a half-naked woman talking and waving her hands around. Her hair was up in a messy chignon, she wore sunglasses, and no bikini top, as far as I could tell. The woman didn’t bother trying to cover up either, like one would expect if hotel staff came to your door while you were tanning. The two talked a bit, while I stood there, enflamed. Tristan leaned in to kiss her on either cheek, and then she spotted me.

  I remember the very day he’d started kissing me on either cheek too.

  The woman had a momentary expression of hurt upon seeing me, then she must’ve asked who that crazy white woman was standing on the walkway, because Tristan turned to look at me too. I was well-versed in the faces of oh, shit, she’s here, thanks to Ben’s slip-ups. Luckily, Tristan didn’t look down, didn’t look away, didn’t pretend he hadn’t seen me, or laughed off what was going on. His eyebrows sloped softly, and he actually seemed…relieved.

  Still, one could not deny the stunning beauty of the topless woman with amazing full breasts bigger than mine holding onto the doorframe, biting her lip like a little girl caught showing her privates to the boy next door. Was she a new guest, a conquest, the infamous “ex-lover?”

  “Paris?” Tristan took tentative steps toward me. Good idea, because my fists were clenched. “What are you doing here?”

  I stopped, not wanting to come any closer.

  “Yes, I’d like to know the same,” the woman said, casually examining her nails to avoid eye contact with me.

  Great. A guest would never say those words nor look that bothered. “I knew I shouldn’t have come back.” I backed away a few steps. Wow, I was really naïve coming here.

  “What?” He turned and followed my line of sight. “Her? No. Uh-uh…not what you think. Tell her, Tatianne, please.”

  A moment of silence skidded by before the woman named Tatianne turned up a sneer, despite the obvious hurt on her face. “Tell her what, Tristan? How we’ve spent every moment of the last couple of weeks together? How the moment she left, you began inviting me everywhere?”

  “I can’t believe this,” Tristan said, storming in my direction. “Paris, come with me, please.” As he approached my seething spot, he reached for my hand, but I pulled back.

  “Is that true?” I asked.

  “What? No. Don’t believe her. She’s just jealous,” he muttered, anger flashing in his bright eyes.

  Tatianne crossed her arms. “I heard you. I’m not jealous, cheri. I’m merely stating the facts. We’ve been everywhere together since you left, Paris. He assumed you were gone for good, and then he quickly turned to me for distraction. You might want to rethink this.”

  What balls did this woman think she had to talk to me that way? My gaze shifted from
hers to his face, trying to figure out the truth. I didn’t have to stand here and listen to any of this. Even if he did still love me, would he really find solace in the arms of another woman—a former woman—so easily?

  “Even I didn’t do that,” I hissed and stormed off.

  “Paris, I didn’t know you were coming…”

  “Yes, I see that, Tristan. No need to point out the obvious.” I reached the sand and trudged through it with my bag until I felt his arm grip me tightly and whip me around. “What? What do you want?”

  “For you to listen to me explain. Please.”

  “Fine, I’m listening,” I barked. “And then I would like a room, your shittiest room with no view, please, so I can finish the job I came to finish.”

  “Ah.” His hands flew to his hips. “So you came to finish the book. Is that all?”

  “No. No, I came to see you too, Tristan, if you want to know the truth, but I see that you’ve already moved on, just as you advised me to do. I see you’re good at it, so yay, you, for following your own advice. I guess your precious dick can’t wait too long before it shrivels up and falls off, does it? Have to put it somewhere and fast. Hey, I understand.”

  “Paris, that’s my friend Tatianne who I told you about. There’s nothing going on between us. She was hoping there would be, but there isn’t. I’m almost done paying her off, thanks to your article, so soon, she may not even come around anymore.”

  “Tristan…she’s naked, she wants you, and she’s in my favorite villa in all the world—” Oh, fucking God, my voice cracked, as I fought tears. I looked like an emotional wreck, I just knew it. I had to hold myself together. Looking like a lovesick girl would never do. I quickly sucked it up. “You know what? You don’t owe me an explanation. You and I…we weren’t anything for very long. Easy come, easy go. I get it.”