Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
This is for the best. I can look down at my phone and avoid all human contact.
It works really well. I see everyone walking in out of the corner of my eye, and no one sees me. When Cole enters, and my stomach plummets, I swiftly turn my back to him and pray he doesn’t look over. Is my hair that noticeable? My butt that noteworthy? Surely I just look like any other employee. I hold my breath, counting to ten in my head. Then, when I still don’t feel confident, I sing “Happy Birthday” twice. By the time I peer back over my shoulder, Cole’s made it up to the front of the room, far, far away from me. The chances of him spotting me in this huge crowd are slim to none.
I haven’t seen him since he left the supply closet—during the quote, unquote assault with toilet paper. Not my finest moment, but I don’t regret it. It clearly didn’t have any long-lasting effects on him. Whereas we all look a bit lost, Cole looks assertive and confident as he speaks to a few members of the executive team crowded around him. He’s leading the charge, whatever that may be.
I’m still scoping him out, looking for physical signs of distress, when Blaze walks in alongside Serge, one of the scuba diving instructors. Serge actually helped train me when I first started here, but I haven’t seen him around much since then. He keeps to himself more than most of us, but a lot of that had to do with the fact that he had a serious boyfriend up until a few months ago—a chef at Smith’s. But that ended pretty badly—with everybody in the resort knowing their business—and I felt really bad for him. Imagine if everyone knew the daily drama that is The Paige and Cole Show. Horrifying. Anyway, now here Serge is with Blaze, looking happier than ever. They laugh, and even though my body is chock full of bitterness from my shitty day, I’m still glad to see that Serge is doing well.
It occurs to me much, much later—like after they’ve taken their seats—that I should also be excited to see Blaze on account of us being a very serious, definitely dating couple. My heart should be pitter-pattering in my chest, a sure sign of young love. I check in to find that my heart is . . . maybe there. I’m not totally sure. If it’s beating, it’s doing so with lackluster ambivalence. Hmmm. Just to test a theory, I glance back at Cole near the front of the ballroom.
Ah, there it is.
It’s racing now.
How concerning. The day after he kissed me, Cole joked that he’d ruined me for all other men. Maybe he did ruin me. Maybe, over the last year, he’s operated like an overzealous army lieutenant during boot camp. Only instead of tearing me apart and putting me back together better, stronger, wiser, he decided to just do the first part and call it a day.
Instead of growing excited by the prospect of nice, happy Blaze, my body’s been trained to want Cole, the human equivalent of Friday the 13th. The bane of my existence.
My vision tunnels as I realize this is much, much worse than I thought. My entire worldview has shifted in the last twelve hours—oh, and, and there’s a hurricane hurtling toward me at breakneck speeds and I can’t be bothered to care about it. I don’t even listen when the executive team takes the stage. Todd gets up there with the microphone and just goes to town. Five, ten, fifteen minutes. The guy’s trying out stand-up, I guess. Who cares. I’m too busy envisioning interesting and barbaric ways Cole could sustain an injury up there. Obviously, if this were a movie, the heavy chandelier would come crashing down on him from overhead. Classic. Then, of course, the stage he’s standing on could collapse and he could get buried beneath the metal risers. That could be fun. I get creative with it, though, because why not? I’ve got time. There’s a set of double doors right behind Cole, and I suspect, given the right circumstances, a large seafaring bird could swoop in and poop on his head. I wish I’d thought ahead and painstakingly trained a parrot over the last few months to bring about this evil plan. What would have started as a purely business relationship would have blossomed into a real friendship—me and the bird, a ragtag duo. But you know what they say: live and learn. Next time, I’ll be more prepared.
I’m surprised when the meeting ends. Mostly because I was still in my own world. My brain managed to gloss over every minute detail that was said up onstage. If it’s of dire importance, I don’t know about it. For all I know they just told us that their plan of action is to have us build a fleet of rafts. Yup, we’ll gather as many coconuts as we can carry and paddle to the mainland.