JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IS IT HUMID HERE.
I stare at the white linen suit I purchased as one of several outfits for the weekend. Jaleesa took me shopping once I agreed to go to the wedding as her representative. I’m still not sure why they want someone from work there when it’s a close family event, but Jaleesa reassured me they like to create a unified closeness. They’re determined to show employees that they aren’t a bunch of harsh nobility up ensconced in their penthouses and looking to fuck with everyone’s lives.
Still feels weird, but whatever.
I’m here after an eleven-hour flight from San Francisco, followed by a boat ride, where I threw up into the azure blue water. I found out something about myself today—boat rides make me extremely nauseated. Like keeled over the side, hanging on to the boat for dear life as I said goodbye to the two protein bars, bag of pretzels, and mandarin orange I scarfed down on the plane.
And then after dropping my bag off at the bellhop, I just so happened to run into freaking Maggie Mitchell.
Out of all the people to see on the small island of Bora-Bora, it has to be my best friend’s sister in a tiny-as-shit pink bikini.
Of course, just like every other interaction—besides one we won’t talk about—she was irritated, rude, and fully annoyed. And I haven’t done anything to her. She’s been like that from day one. Just irritated to see me. Must be my face. I don’t know.
But I can’t focus on that. I have to put her out of my mind and remind myself why I’m here and the plan for tonight.
Still feeling green and unsettled, I stare at myself in the mirror of the men’s room in the Saint Hopper lobby. Opulent paradise is the perfect way to describe this hotel. With its polished hardwood flooring, tiled walls that mimic the effects of stacked bamboo, wooden crossbeams along the ceiling, and thatched light fixtures, it gives you the feel of paradise with the added elegance that Hopper Hotels are known for.
Not to mention, this means an attendant is standing in the corner of the bathroom with a towel draped over his forearm, minding his own business but also probably waiting for me to have a mental crisis as I stare at myself in the mirror.
I lean forward over the sink and turn on the water. I splash some water on my face, hoping that will help with the nausea. Granted, a few hours ago, I got lost and had no time to call up my roommate for the week, a local in town who offered me a chair to sleep in—yes, a single chair. The sacrifices I’m making to win this proposal are unmatched.
Boat nausea.
Chair bed.
Unruly wench sighting.
I’m dealing with it all and can still sport a smile.
When I lift up and wipe the water from my eyes, the bathroom attendant nearly startles me right out of my goddamn sneakers, now standing about a few inches away, holding out a towel.
“Jesus fuck,” I say, taking a step back. “Dude, make some noise before you scare a guy like that.”
He bows his head, saying nothing as he holds the towel out to me.
I give the man a quick once-over, trying to decide if he’s trustworthy or not, but when he doesn’t move, towel outstretched, I realize that he’s probably programmed this way and I’m going to have to take it.
Towel in hand, I dab my face as he goes back to his position near the door. Yup, programmed.
“So,” I say. “You excited about the wedding this weekend?”
He stares straight ahead, completely still like a Buckingham Palace guard. I see how this is going to go.
“Yeah, me too,” I say as I strip out of my shirt from the plane and fold it on the counter. I take my towel that I dried my face with and wet it so I can wipe my body down. Yup, that’s what we’re doing right now. If I had my way, I’d be taking a shower before the welcome reception, but given the fact that these bungalows are over fifteen hundred a night, there isn’t a bat’s chance in hell that I’m forking out that kind of money to stay here. I make decent money, but not fifteen hundred a night kind of money…for a week.
I swipe the towel across my chest, leaving my armpits for last and when I’m done, my bathroom attendant friend is at my side again, offering another towel.
“Thanks,” I say as I slowly take it from him. “I’m Brody, by the way. I work for Mr. Hopper back in the San Francisco office.”
The man nods and returns to his position by the door.
“You know, I wouldn’t tell anyone if you talked to me. It could be our little secret. Could kind of use the company, as I’m a bit out my depth at the moment.” When he doesn’t say anything, shocker, I go on, “I’m actually here to try to get on Mr. Hopper’s good side. After the wedding, he’s deciding between projects to back, one of them being mine. I’m hoping to, I don’t know, put in a good word for myself, you know?” He stares straight ahead, causing me to sigh. I open my toiletry bag and take out my deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste. “This weather is nothing like San Francisco. This is…this is like walking through a thick cloud of water, the humidity is making my nostril hairs curl.” I glance over at him and no, not even a smile. “I actually don’t have any nostril hairs. My best friend Gary? His wife made us do this thing where she stuck wax up our nose with a stick attached, and we had to answer trivia questions. The first person to get two wrong lost one stick. Either way, we both lost because we couldn’t live with the wax up our noses. It had to come out somehow. And that hurt like a motherfucker, but you know”—I tilt my head back and examine my nose—“my nostrils have never looked better. So maybe worth it in the end.”
I apply some deodorant and air out my armpits, letting them dry for a moment before putting my shirt on.
“Did you know I’ve never worn linen in my life? But my manager back home took me shopping and said this is what I should wear.” I gesture toward the linen suit that I carried onto the plane with me out of fear of it wrinkling and getting lost. “Not a fan, feels like I’m wearing some first aid gauze as an outfit. Jaleesa tried to pair the white ensemble with a light pink shirt, and I told her to go to hell. I was not showing up looking like fucking Don Johnson from Miami Vice. So we paired it with a white shirt. The colors are just off enough to have some dimension, but they don’t make me look like a douche. Not sure how long the jacket will last. I’m already sweating just thinking about having to put it on. Do people get dehydrated here quickly with the amount of sweating they do?”
I slip some toothpaste on my toothbrush, and then start brushing. I lean against the counter, facing my new silent friend and I study him. What a freaking shit job. Just having to stand there and hand out towels. Is it his choice to not to talk or is that a job requirement? Could never do it. I’d go crazy.
I spit out my toothpaste, rinse, and then wipe my mouth with…a new towel thanks to my friend.
“Now I’m going to change in front of you, okay? I’m not about to hop around putting on a linen suit near a toilet in a small stall. That just screams disaster waiting to happen. But I have to warn you, I’m wearing nude colored boxer briefs. Jaleesa picked them out for me. Said I couldn’t wear black with cream linen pants. But fucking nude? They make me look like a goddamn Ken doll, no dick, just a flat crotch. Not a fan. Just warning you so you’re not startled.” I strip out of my joggers, toss them on the counter, and then slip on my linen pants.
“Ugh, fuck, I hate the feel of these. They touch my skin in a weird way. Oh, you know what it reminds me of? Have you ever seen The Santa Clause with Tim Allen and the annoying, whiny kid? Well, when Tim, or Scott Calvin if you will, has to put on the dead Santa’s suit and the fabric is all flowy and gross and he’s like ‘you never know where this has been.’ That’s the same kind of feel I get with these.”
He shifts on his foot, and I feel like I got him on that one. He liked the reference—I know he did.
I tuck my shirt into my pants, then reach for my cologne, but my man is at my side before I can even uncap it. He takes the cologne from me and holds it out, ready to spritz.
“Oh, is that part of the bathroom package? Okay, sure, hit me up, dude.” I hold my arms out awkwardly, and he sprays me on my neck, my chest, and my waistline, just above my crotch. I look up at him with a raised brow, questioning the placement of that last spray, but he just returns the bottle back to me and saddles up in his position one more time.
“That was…different. But thanks.” I then take the linen jacket off the hanger and drape it over my arms and shoulders. Christ, this is coming off the moment I walk into this welcome reception—because the wedding of the century needs an extra reception at the beginning too.
I pair the rest of the outfit with a brown belt and brown loafers, knowing my feet will soon be sloshing around in sweat.
I look up in the mirror, adjust my short hair, styling it in the messy way that makes it so easy to not have to worry about my hair, and then tug on the lapels of my jacket.
“Not bad for someone who just spent over eleven hours travelling and threw up on a boat.” I smirk at myself. “Looking rather dapper if I do say so myself.” I turn to the side and lift the back of the jacket to check out my ass. I give it a slight shake from side to side. “Yup, looking really good. Those glute exercises in the gym have been paying off. Look at this thing,” I say as I turn toward the bathroom attendant. “If I knew you’d do it, I’d permit you to give it a good squeeze. But you won’t talk to me, so I doubt you’ll test the pure steel of my ass.” I straighten up. “Your loss.”
I pack up my things, shove them into my suitcase, and then zip it up. I’m going to leave the suitcase with the bellhop and hope for the best.
I roll my bag over to the attendant and stand in front of him. I reach into my wallet and pull out a twenty-dollar bill only to place it in the jar on a table next to him.
“I was going to give you ten, but the spritz to the dick doubled your tip. Thanks for the help, man.” I clasp him on the shoulder and give him a squeeze.
Just as I’m about to leave, he shocks me by saying, “You’re welcome.”
“Hey, you do talk.” I smile at him.
He stares back at me.
I smile bigger.
His brow creases.
Did I anger it?
Him, I mean him. Did I anger him?
No time to figure it out. I start to leave again, just as he grabs the door for me and whispers, “Mr. Hopper hates linen suits.”
And then he shuts the bathroom door behind me.
Crushing my confidence with five words.
Well…what the fuck?
MAGGIE
Maggie: Does this dress make me look too slutty?
I stare at the mirror, taking in the tropical print maxi dress. The top is a little precarious, one of those tops that you sort of make up as you go. Basically, it’s two long straps connected to a flowy skirt, and you loop and tie them around your body to cover the goods.
When I purchased it, I was dreaming of bulges in Speedos, but now that I’m wearing it to a business function, or at least I hope that I am, I’m second-guessing the design. Unfortunately, it’s the most modest item I have in the closet.
My phone dings with a text.
Hattie: Some might say not slutty enough.
I knew she was going to say that.
I gather my clutch, key card, and slip my sandals on before exiting my bungalow. I’ve always dreamed of staying in a place like this, waking up to a view of the ocean. I have my plunge pool that comes with privacy fences so if I want to dip in naked, I can. There’s also a private dock that leads into the crystal-blue water of the lagoon. Money well spent.
Not to mention, it comes with a personal golf cart and bikes to get around. How cute is that?
I step into the golf cart, set my clutch down and call Hattie, knowing it’s really late in California, but she’s probably awake given the type of sex schedule she has with Hayes.
She answers on the second ring.
“You know it’s late here.”
“So then why are you up? Hmm?”
I can practically hear the smile in her voice. “None of your business.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Are you off to go flirt your way into someone’s pants?”
“We have a slight change of plans.”
“Ooh, did you already meet someone?”
Well, someone walked into my resort life, but there’s no need to worry my friend with that news because he’s going to be avoided at all costs. If I don’t speak him into existence, then he doesn’t exist here. That’s the clear logic I’m convincing myself to believe.
“No,” I say as I step down on the pedal on the golf cart. It takes off on a leap and a shriek falls past my lips. Ease into it, Maggie, ease into it. “I, uh…I heard some news while at the pool today and before I tell you that news, I want you to know that I spent all day thinking about it and what I should do, then I weighed the pros and cons of it all. So, I don’t want you believing I haven’t put good thought into the situation.”
She’s silent for a second and then says, “If you tell me you’re going to do some sort of work while you’re there, I’m going to disown you.”
“Hattie, just listen.”
“Oh my God, Maggie. You’re going to work, aren’t you? This vacation was supposed to help you relax. You’re not supposed to jump into helping someone with a wedding. That’s what it is, right? You overheard someone talking about their destination wedding, and you couldn’t just sit by and let it crash and burn when you know you can help.”
“Well, not exactly,” I say as I slowly steer the golf cart down the plank bridge, water on either side of me. “More like, I found out some news that could be beneficial to my business.”
“Unless it’s the king of the world, it’s not worth it.”
“Close to the king of the world,” I reply. “It’s Reginald Hopper. His daughter, Haisley, is getting married this weekend. And from what I heard, there’s an issue with the wedding party, and I figured since there’s an event today at the resort, the very resort I’m staying at, I would just, you know, wander over there and see if I could be of any assistance.”
“Maggie,” she sighs as I hear Hayes grumble next to her, “Let her live her life, babe.”
“Thank you, Hayes,” I shout.
“She’s working,” Hattie counters just as I hear the distinct sound of kissing.
“Hey, tell him to stop that,” I say. “If you’re awake, I get you for now. He can have you after.”
“Hold on, if I stay in bed, he won’t stop touching me, which will turn into a show for you. Give me a second.” I hear Hayes grumble again and then the sound of a door clicking shut. “Okay, I have maybe five minutes before he comes charging into the bathroom.”
“My envy is disgustingly high at the moment.”
“Sorry.” She chuckles. “Okay, so who is Mr. Hopper?”
“Uh, Hattie, Hopper as in Hopper Hotels, the largest chain in the country.”
“Oh shit, really? Hold on…you mean like Hopper of the Saint Hopper Resort where you’re staying?”
“Yes,” I say exasperated. “This is huge, okay? He owns so many freaking hotels and what do hotels like to host? Weddings. My business could be the go-to for any weddings hosted at the Hopper Hotels in San Francisco. This could be astronomical for me.” I pull up to the resort’s main building, which is surrounded by a jungle of tropical flowers, and park my golf cart in the parking spots—seriously, such a nice touch.
“Okay, I’ll let you get away with the possibility of talking to him tonight, but after that, you need to relax.”
“Oh, of course,” I say, even though in the back of my mind, I know if he asked, I’d drop everything to assist the Hopper family. It’s all about taking those shots and making moves when it comes to growing a business. I might fail miserably every once in a while, but I’ll never know what could have been if I don’t at least try.
“Good. So, where are you headed to now? By the way, the dress is somewhat slutty but also classy. Great cleavage but nothing like the swimsuit earlier.”
“Good to know,” I say as I start walking down the garden-lined path toward the dining area. “There’s a welcome reception that I’m headed to where I hope to run into Mr. Hopper.”
“Welcome reception for the resort or for the wedding guests?”
I freeze, thinking about it. “Shit, you’re right, for the wedding guests. Which means they probably have a guest list.”
“A guest list that you’re not on,” Hattie says.
“Ugh, I didn’t even think about that. Man, vacation mode has put me off my game.” I keep walking toward the Lanai Bar, wanting to at least get a peek at the festivities. “Do you think I can play the old, my name should be on the list game?”
“Do you ever fall for it when working on your events?”
“Never,” I say, “but who knows, this is paradise, maybe they’re more…” My voice trails off as my eyes connect with a very familiar face.
“You there?” Hattie asks.
“Oh my fucking God,” I whisper as I quickly hide behind a pole in the lobby.
“What?” Hattie asks. “Did you see him? Mr. Hopper? Think he’s looking for a single lady? I know nothing about him. Is he wearing a Speedo?”
“He’s married to a woman named Regina who is the definition of poise and class,” I hiss into the phone. “And no, I didn’t see him, I saw someone else.”
“Who?” Hattie asks.
I peek around the pole again, just to confirm, and sure enough, standing in a cream linen suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone, is none other than Brody McFadden.
This is exactly why you don’t speak the devil into existence—because he shows up everywhere you go. Just look at him, standing there, all aloof. Is he going to the Hoppers’ party?
He looks like his grandma dressed him for it.
But why would he be going?
And then it hits me.
He works for Hopper.
“What’s going on?” Hattie asks.
I hold the phone close to my ear and whisper, “Brody is here.”
“Brody? Who the hell…wait…nooooooooo.”
“Yes.” I swallow.
“Brody as in…Mr. Make-out-and-Leave?”
“The one and only. He’s in the lobby, outside of the restaurant wearing a cream linen suit that looks ridiculous on him.”
“What shirt is he wearing with it?” Hattie asks.
“White.”
She exhales. “At least it wasn’t pink.”
“Tell me about it. Surprised the douche didn’t grab the pink. That would be something he’d wear.”
“What are the chances that he’d be at the same resort as you at the same time?”
“High,” I say as I squeeze my eyes shut. Unfortunately, very high. “He works for Hopper.”
“Wait, he does?”
I nod, remembering the conversation I had with Gary two weeks ago. “Yeah, Gary called me and said that he thought Brody should settle down and asked if you were still single. He told me that he has a great job with Hopper Industries, but I didn’t think much about it because I was so appalled that he’d even consider asking if you were single.”
“Flattered, but…no.”
“Yeah, I told him you were dating someone of much better status. I proceeded to gush about Hayes and that pretty much ended the conversation. But…I can’t believe I forgot about it.”
“So that means he’s there for the wedding, which means…he could be your in.”
Ew, no thank you.
I’d rather pretend to be Reginald’s long-lost cousin and face massive ridicule and rejection than ask Brody for help.
Do you know why?
Because Brody isn’t the guy who lends out favors without something attached to it, like constantly reminding how he did me a solid. I don’t need that.
“No, thank you,” I say. “There’s no way I’m asking him for help.”
“Why not? It would be so easy. He gets you into the wedding and the party, you make a great impression, maybe help with whatever planning problem is happening, then bam, you’re partnered up with Hopper Industries.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
“Not with that kind of negative thinking,” she says. “Tell me what other options you have, because the my name was supposed to be on the list option is an instant fail.”
I think about, trying to figure out a way to get on the inside, but unfortunately nothing comes to mind, which means…she might be right.
But it doesn’t make it any less nauseating to think about. Brody would be the easy in. He’d be a safe bet. He’d say yes because I’m Gary’s sister and sure, he’d never let me live it down, but he’d let me do it.
Then again, we don’t get along. That may be a hindrance. We bicker, fight, and insult each other whenever we get a chance. Would he be able to hold back his barbs in front of the Hoppers? I would hope so, the man is a professional after all. But any time he’s hanging out with my brother, and I happen to show up, he’s a dick to me, I’m an ass right back, we clash, and then ruin whatever party Patricia was kind enough to put together. Seems too risky.
“He could be an in,” I say. “But given our history, I doubt he’d be eager to let me into this wedding week. He doesn’t like me, remember? Finds me repulsive.”
“I find him repulsive.”
“Thank you,” I say on a sigh. “Shit, this is not what I wanted to happen.”
“Are you done, baby?” I hear Hayes say. “I’m fucking hard and need your mouth.”
“Jesus,” I say as I feel my nipples perk up. That voice of his, I’m telling you. Unlike anything I’ve ever heard.
“Give me one second,” Hattie says right before I hear another kiss. I wonder where that kiss was placed. “Sorry, I have to go, but know this, I don’t want you working, not on your well-earned vacation, but if an opportunity arises to help you grow your business, you don’t have any other choice but to take it, don’t you think?”
“Are you saying that I need to use Brody McFadden to my advantage?”
“I am. You use him so hard that he’ll regret ever making out with you at your brother’s wedding and then taking off as if nothing ever happened.”
I peek around the pole again and deep down…I know she’s right.
If I want to get ahead, I need to make moves.
Any man in business would do the same thing.
Maybe it’s karma from walking away unsatisfied.
So, it’s time to blast Taylor Swift’s “The Man” in my head and do what I need to do…use Brody McFadden for my benefit.
