the fling

JENNIFER BERNARD

contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

About the Author

Also by Jennifer Bernard

one

Six months ago

Conor Gault hadn’t taken a real vacation in roughly fifteen years, and he still wasn’t, even though he’d just stepped into the lobby of the White Sands Resort on the island of Maui. This was work. It was always work. Every lunch, every dinner party, every shot of bourbon in a private club, every workout at the gym…all work. It was also known as networking, but the word “work” was right there, sneaking in the way “work” always did.

He crossed the open-air lobby, feeling the humidity heavy against his skin. The ceiling fans high overhead moved at a lazy pace and didn’t seem to have much effect that he could feel. A sweet honey fragrance followed him toward the reception desk. Right—someone had put a lei around his neck when he got off the plane. It had seemed rude to take it off, so he’d left it. Now he felt like an idiot in his business suit and flower garland. He should have bought one of those Hawaiian shirts at the airport gift shop so he wouldn’t look so out of place.

“Conor Gault. I have a room booked,” he told the girl at the desk. She wore a gigantic hibiscus tucked over one ear and a blouse patterned with yet more flowers. He sensed a theme.

“Yes, Mr. Gault, you’re all set. Welcome to the White Sands.” She launched into a spiel about all the activities and amenities the fortunate guests would be able to enjoy. The words “buffet” and “traditional pig roast” and “torches” flew past. A pile of meal and drink tickets began accumulating on the desk. The higher it got, the more his heart sank.

“I’m not here on vacation,” he told her, passing the tickets back. “This is strictly business.”

One of his biggest clients, Arnold Melchor, had requested a meeting during his obligatory midwinter family getaway. Arnold was also all about work—if you could call the gleeful accumulation of yet more billions “work.” For Arnold, as for many of Conor’s clients, it was more a reason for existing than actual work.

And what is it for you? Some part of himself whispered. He’d been hearing these silent whispers more often of late.

“We have many guests who like to conduct business here,” she answered with a sweet, patient smile. He wondered how often she had to cover up frustration with a welcoming smile, and he felt for her. He had to do the same thing, in his own way—though at least he didn’t have to wear a flower in his ear.

She pushed the pile of tickets back his way. “Even business people have to eat, don’t they?”

“I’ll be eating in my room unless I’m meeting with my client. You have room service, don’t you?” Back to her with the tickets. She stopped them halfway.

“Of course we do, but room service is extra. These are included.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. She blinked back at him innocently. “It’s a marketing thing, is that it? A few mai tai’s and the tips start flowing, is that the plan? Listen, I always tip big, especially for room service. You don’t have to get me drunk.”

Firmly, he transferred the tickets back to her one last time, only to find them blocked by another hand. He glanced to his side to see a young woman wearing a straw hat, aviator sunglasses, and several leis. “I’ll take them if you really don’t want them.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not the way this works,” said the receptionist. “Only certain guests are given—”

Conor cut her off. The phrase “certain guests” got his hackles up. “I guess I’ll take them after all. Thank you so much. Five stars to the White Sands.”

He scooped up the tickets and handed them to the woman next to him. She gave him a wide smile as she accepted them. Her beach coverup left her shoulders bare, and he noticed that her skin was already pink from the sun. Before that, it had probably been as pale as a pina colada. Another Northerner, no doubt. He hoped she had some decent sunscreen.

“Looks like you’re collecting leis along with drink tickets.” He unwound his from around his neck. “Want another one?”

She accepted it eagerly. “Sure. I can’t believe people don’t want theirs. This scent is incredible. I’m going to soak all these petals in Everclear and make a tincture.”

“That’s…uh…Everclear? You mean that nasty stuff people used to drink to get blotto?” He could remember a few frat house parties that involved Everclear…but only vaguely.

“It’s a hundred and twenty proof. Great for things like tinctures, very bad for brain cells.” She draped the lei around her neck with the others. Then she gave him one more smile. “Thank you for the meal tickets. I won this trip in a raffle and don’t really have money to spend on extras. Can you believe the prices here? I don’t know how people afford it. Well, I guess I do know. They’re loaded.” She gave a little laugh. “And then they get the other kind of loaded with all those free drinks.”

He smiled politely, ready to return to the check-in process, but she kept talking.

“Funny how the free tickets get handed out to the people who don’t actually need them. Have you noticed that?”

Of course he had. He was used to it, since his mother came from old family money—the Thornes of Greenwich, Park Avenue, and East Hampton Village. His father, on the other hand, was one step from a revolutionary—rock star rebel-style—and pointed out the unfairness at every opportunity. Not that there were many, since his parents had split after three weeks of marriage and Conor had mostly grown up with his mother.

He couldn’t read the woman’s expression behind her sepia-toned sunglasses. Was she just making an observation or delivering a critique?

“Well, I just gave these tickets to you, and you said you don’t have money, so how do you explain that one?”

“I guess I’m just a sad-emoji charity case.” She pulled a comical face, and pushed her sunglasses back into position. “And you must be one of the good ones. I’m pretty darn lucky I ran into you. First the raffle, now this.” She waved the tickets at him, then tucked them into her colorful striped tote bag.

Wow, was she making fun of him now? He was pretty sure she was. It gave him a strange feeling. Women generally either flirted with him, fawned over him, or occasionally threw things at him. They didn’t usually mock him.

The clerk cleared her throat. “How about you finish checking in, Mr. Gault?”

He turned back to the reception desk, first darting a surreptitious glance at the lei-draped young woman to see if she reacted to the name “Gault.” His father’s most famous days were in the past, but many people still knew Steve Gault and the Freaks.

But she didn’t seem to have registered the name at all—possibly she hadn’t even heard, because her phone had buzzed at exactly that moment. She was already turning away, phone to her ear. He heard her say, “Hi Mom. Yeah, I’m here. I know, can you believe I forgot my sunscreen? It’s okay, like three people have already offered me theirs. I think they’re worried about secondhand skin cancer.” Her voice trailed away as she wandered away from the desk.

Smiling to himself, he finished the check-in process. His mood was definitely lighter than when he’d first stepped up to the desk. He could probably thank the stranger in the leis for that. He wondered what she looked like without the straw hat and sunglasses, and if he’d run into her again. Would he even recognize her if he did? He’d probably recognize her voice, which was both husky and direct, as if she didn’t deal in bullshit.

Her hair had been tucked under her hat, so he wasn’t even sure what color it was. Some shade of brown, he thought.

Didn’t matter. This wasn’t a vacation. He wasn’t here to meet new people, especially if they couldn’t even afford the buffet. Harsh, but true. He was here to deal with his billionaire client, and possibly to make other connections that would lead to more clients down the line. That was it.

As he turned away from the desk, key card in hand, he pulled out his phone and texted Arnold Melchor. All checked in. When are you free to meet?

Get settled in first. Shower, nap, relax, massage, whatever you need. I’m with the grandkids for a while.

Conor set his teeth. He didn’t want any of that shit. He wanted to take care of business and get back to New York. No need. I’m ready when you are.

Ok then. Pool in half an hour. By the waterfall. You can meet the grandkids.

Great. Grandkids. Conor turned over the thought of those kids as if from behind a thick wall of smoked glass. The concept of grandkids seemed so very far away. For there to be grandkids, first there would have to be kids. Before that, a wife was required, or at least a willing life partner. The closest he’d come was the odd proposal he’d once gotten from a close lesbian friend.

“You’ve obviously got the best genes in the freaking galaxy. Look at you—the looks, the smarts, the charm. I wouldn’t mind passing on a little of that genetic magic. Ever thought about making a baby? I’d take it from there, I promise. You wouldn’t need to do a thing.”

Once she’d convinced him she was serious, he’d stalled until she’d fallen in love and found another way to make a family. The idea of his genes wandering out there without his participation didn’t sit right. Being a Gault was tough. Being a Thorne was complicated. If he reproduced, he’d want to be around to help his offspring figure it all out.

Of course, he had to figure it all out himself first, and he didn’t have time for that. He was too busy working.

two

Under normal circumstances, Emmaline Curtis would never have accosted a handsome stranger at a resort and asked for his unwanted freebies. As a lifelong Minnesotan, she prided herself on her self-reliance. But she was also practical to the bone, and every bit of money she didn’t spend on this silly vacation would help things back home.

Besides, the man had looked irritated enough to set fire to the meal vouchers if the clerk had insisted one more time. Wasn’t it better to use them? That was her Minnesota thriftiness talking right there. She didn’t like seeing things go to waste. Hence the plumeria tincture she was hoping to make before she left.

Back in her room, she put her leis in the little mini-fridge to keep them as fresh as possible until she could locate some Everclear. This resort had multiple bars, but so far none of them offered Everclear. Most likely, that was for the best. Should she leave the resort and venture into the community outside? Was there a community outside, or was it just more resorts? She had no idea, since she’d fallen asleep in the hotel shuttle, exhausted from getting her brother Henry ready for her departure.

Was he doing okay?

As she’d promised her mother, she called the house and put the phone on speaker while she quickly changed into her swimsuit. She had to acclimate to the intensity of the sun at this latitude, and that required small doses of exposure. Her friend Gina had worked out a schedule for her.

“Hey, Henry-oh,” she said when her brother answered. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

Henry loved rhymes. They gave him comfort.

“Nothing, blueberry muffin.”

Not exactly a rhyme, but close enough.

“Good one. Hey, I miss you, bro.”

Not much of a response to that, just a grunt. Did he miss her too? Probably not, or not that he was aware. “When are you coming back?”

“In a few days. The prize is a four-day, three-night stay, and I haven’t even slept here one night yet. It smells so good here, they have these amazing flowers called plumeria. I’m going to try to bottle up the fragrance for you and everyone else. Isn’t it funny how you can look at videos and listen to sounds, but it’s really hard to know what another place smells like?”

Henry laughed a little. Before the accident, he would have expanded on that remark. They would have launched into a riff about Smell-o-Vision, or a YouTube channel for smells, or the unique smell of their dog Barney’s syrup-season farts.

But those days were long gone. Her big brother was a different person since the accident. They both were, really.

“It’s dinnertime,” Henry said.

“Oh yah. I forgot the time difference. Say hi to everyone for me.”

“Goodbye.”

He ended the call in typically unceremonious fashion. Henry was only vaguely conscious of things outside his immediate circle of awareness. Emmaline sighed and pulled on a beach wrap Gina had lent her. She should really try to enjoy this vacation more, but it was so unusual for her to leave home that she hadn’t yet gotten into a groove here.

Maybe she needed one of those drinks that came in half a coconut shell, the kind you sipped through a straw while relaxing by the pool. The kind that was mostly fruit juice. She could try to strike up a conversation, perhaps. People seemed very friendly here. The guests were in a good mood because they were on vacation. The staff was kind and gracious—that aloha spirit was very real.

And then there was the handsome golden-haired guy at the reception desk. At first she’d thought he must be a movie star, that was how magnetic he was. The way he moved, like he was used to being in the spotlight, made her wonder if she’d seen him in something, but she didn’t recognize him. It was a bit odd that he was dressed in a business suit—though at least he’d ditched the tie. Everyone else was so much more casual. The flip-flop to dress shoes ratio was pretty much a thousand-to-one, or rather…everyone else-to-him.

What had the clerk called him? She’d tried hard to overhear, but the sound of her phone had drowned it out. Maybe he was a celebrity guest she could boast about meeting when she got back to Lake Bittersweet.

But it hardly mattered what the man’s name was. She was unlikely to run into him again, since apparently he was determined to stay in his room and order room service. Her room was the last place she wanted to be. How many times was she likely to find herself in Hawaii? Probably very few, if any after this, and she intended to enjoy it as much as she possibly could. After all, the whims of fate had determined that she should be the winner of the Elks Lodge Winter Raffle, and who was she to argue with elks?

She checked her tote bag, making sure she had plenty of bottled water and sunscreen, along with a novel she’d picked up at the airport. It was about a chance encounter during World War Two between a young American soldier and an Italian resistance fighter. According to the back cover, they were going to have a brief affair that would change both of their lives forever…as well as the fate of all of Europe.

That had to be one powerful affair. People didn’t have that sort of experience anymore. Today it was all hookups and ghosting and swipe-righting.

In the chaos inside her tote bag, a hot-pink Post-it caught her eye. She hadn’t noticed it before. Plucking it out, she recognized Gina Moretti’s handwriting and quickly scanned it.

Don’t forget: Sunscreen. Hydrate. FLING!!

“Fling” was underlined three times.

“This is my challenge to you,” Gina had lectured her when she’d brought over a selection of tropical-friendly clothing for Emmaline to borrow. “Take advantage of this opportunity to have some fun with someone who isn’t a local you’ve known all your life. Have some fun. Have a fling.”

“I’m only there for three nights,” Emmaline had objected. “How’m I supposed to fit in a fling?”

“That’s the whole point of a fling. That’s why it’s a short word. Five little letters with so much fun packed into them.” Gina had tossed a silky scrap of creamy fabric at her. “Take that wrap. And this coverup. They’ll look adorable on you. Have a fling and you can keep them. You’ll have the time of your life. Bet.”

Emmaline rolled her eyes and crumpled up the note. Gina was a great friend; they’d known each other since they had the same babysitter. And she knew why Gina was pushing this “fling” idea. It was better than nothing, in Gina’s view.

And nothing was exactly what her love life consisted of. None of Emmaline’s relationships had lasted past the six-month mark. She had plenty of theories about why that was so, and all of them put the blame right where it belonged. On herself. She didn’t want a boyfriend. All of her energy went where it was needed, and that happened to be towards her brother and Curtis Maple Syrup, with the rest reserved for her parents and her friends.

But a Hawaii fling…that wouldn’t take time and energy away from anything else. All she’d have to do was find the right guy, someone who also wanted a meaningless fling. And so far the only man she’d conversed with was determined to spend his entire stay in his hotel room.

Shrugging, she tossed the note in the waste basket and shouldered her tote bag. She’d have a better chance of a fling with a sea turtle than with her golden-boy drink ticket benefactor. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t cash in one of those vouchers. Bring on the coconut shell!

three

Absurdly, Conor hadn’t brought anything pool-appropriate, so he made a quick stop at the gift shop before joining Arnold at the “Lava Grotto.” The only pair of shorts his size were printed with geckos, so he felt slightly ridiculous as he made his way to the pool.

The “grotto” was a beautifully landscaped swimming lagoon complete with a rocky waterfall and a slide for the kids. Arnold waved him over to the collection of chaise lounges where he’d set up camp with his four grandkids and two nannies. He was in his sixties, completely bald, with a grin that could turn from engaging to menacing in a flash. As he kept an eye on his grandkids with their dinosaur-shaped inflatable rafts, he explained what he wanted from Conor.

“My college granddaughter’s being a pain in my tushie,” he grumbled. “Insists I stop investing in any company connected to arms manufacturing. Asked me if I’d even know if I did. Chaps my ass to admit I don’t. Never cared to know. But it’s her pet cause and I’d do anything for my grandkids. Don’t tell anyone that, by the by. I’m trusting you here. Ol’ Arnie has a soft spot and you’re looking at it.” He gestured to the boisterous kids in the pool.

“Your secret’s safe,” Conor told him. He’d already known that based on the number of times Arnold had invited him to yet another grandchild’s birthday party. How many did he have, ten or so? He’d have to check with his assistant about that. “There are some funds that specifically bar arms manufacturers. That would be the simple way to handle it.”

“How much would I lose?”

“Or,” Conor continued, “I can drill down on each of our positions and excise the companies that are questionable.”

“How much would I lose that way?”

“You know I’ll minimize any losses. It’s what I do.” Not everything was about profits, after all; wasn’t that the entire point of this change?

Arnold grunted and rubbed his hairy belly. The sun was leaving strips of pink across the folds of his bare flesh. “Suppose it’s best if I don’t know.”

“Probably,” Conor agreed. “Here’s an idea for you. Why don’t we loop your granddaughter into the process? That’ll show her that you’re taking it seriously and teach her something along the way.”

Arnold’s ruddy face lit up and he clapped Conor on the shoulder. His hand left a smear of sunscreen on Conor’s blue cotton shirt. “This is why I keep you around, my friend. That’s a great idea. I’ll send you her email address. She’s going to ask you a million questions, that’s what they do at that age.”

“I’m here to serve.”

“Good man. Good man. Ever think about going out on your own? I’ve worked with everyone in the firm and you’re the standout. I don’t say that lightly. You know I’m a hard man to please.”

Conor wasn’t going to argue with that. “I do know, which is why I took three flights and risked third-degree sunburn to meet with you here.”

Arnold laughed loudly, then jumped to his feet to sort out a quarrel between two of the boys in the pool.

A server strolled past and refilled his glass of passionfruit iced tea. A breeze swept softly through the fronds of the palm tree rising overhead. It made a pleasant clattering sound that reminded him of frogs chirping in Lake Bittersweet.

That was where his last real vacation had taken place. Lake Bittersweet. Visiting his father. He’d brought a pack of “friends” with him—other kids from Princeton who were mostly buddies of his roommate, Chase Owens. He’d known his father would despise those guys, which was why he’d brought them. Of course he hadn’t known just how bad things would get. The entire summer had been one disaster after another in between water ski sessions on the lake and keg parties at the house they’d rented.

He shook off the memory. The entire experience had disgusted him so much that he’d buckled down to work after that. College, then business degree, then an entry-level job at an investment firm. So on and so forth, rocketing into the highest echelons, until here he was, in Hawaii, working.

Across the pool, he caught sight of the girl from the registration desk. She’d ditched the straw hat but still wore her sunglasses. And yes, he did recognize her. Why, he couldn’t entirely say. Something about the unselfconscious way she carried herself, as if she was completely comfortable in her own winter-pale skin. Her hair, it turned out, was a light and silky brown. She was on the small side, not very tall, not very curvaceous, but somehow perfectly formed.

She set down her striped tote bag and settled herself into one of the canvas chaise lounges and carefully dropped the wrap from around her shoulders. Wait…was she really that pale? Or had she completely coated herself with sunscreen?

Arnold stomped back, shaking chlorinated water off his stocky body. “Gotta cut this short. These boys are getting cranky. Too much sun. Now it’s time to stuff them full of cheeseburgers and ice cream, or God help us, some of that barbecued pork they make here. Damn good stuff. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“Just shoot me a text when you’re ready.”

Arnold put on his shirt, then popped a cigar in his mouth. “Don’t forget to enjoy yourself, man. It’s fucking Hawaii.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“I mean it. Consider it part of your job here. You don’t want me to feel guilty for making you come all this way without having a speck of fun, do you?”

“Cut the crap, Arnold. You don’t even know what guilt feels like, do you?”

Arnold let out a roar of laughter. “Nope, and I don’t want to, either.” One firm clap on Conor’s shoulder, and he was gone, four wet and clamoring boys trotting after him, clutching their inflatables.

Conor settled back in his lounge chair with a long sigh. He knew that Arnold didn’t feel guilt because he himself knew that emotion so very well. Arnold showed none of the signs. Conor, on the other hand, often felt haunted by guilt. For all that had happened that summer in Lake Bittersweet, for not living the life his mother wanted for him, for not spending enough time with his stepsisters, for not spending enough time with his father, for not talking publicly about his father,… God, he should really call Gault one of these days.

He pulled out his phone and composed a text. Firstborn, checking in.

Nah, that was a stupid text. He deleted it without sending. Maybe he should call instead, except that every call with his father ended in some kind of fight. He and Gault didn’t get along, full stop. They were completely different from each other and Gault just couldn’t accept that. Conor had a better relationship with Alvin “Redfish” Carter, his father’s longtime friend and the chef at the Blue Drake, than he did with Gault. At least Alvin let him handle his investments. Gault wouldn’t let Conor touch his various funds and accounts—most likely because he didn’t want Conor to see what a chaotic mess they were.

A server appeared next to him, a Hawaiian girl with a warm smile and the inevitable flower behind her ear. She presented him with a half-coconut shell filled with a creamy liquid.

He shook his head. “I didn’t order anything else. Definitely not that.” He peered inside the coconut. “What is it?”

“A White Sands Colada. It’s our specialty. Courtesy of your friend.” She gestured across the pool toward the girl with the striped tote, who waved a drink voucher at him.

“Ah. Okay. Thank you. Aloha.”

“Mahalo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mahalo is thank you.”

“Mahalo, then. And aloha. Don’t worry, I know it’s not just a greeting. I read an article about it on the airplane. Apparently aloha is a whole way of life here. I dig it. We don’t have any of that back in New York. We have more of the asshole-a spirit where I come from.”

He held his breath, hoping he hadn’t offended her cultural sensitivities. A big part of him felt uncomfortable with the way the resort used Hawaiian trappings to put their guests at ease. What must it be like for her? Talk about colonialism.

But she took no offense and gave him one more warm smile before she headed back to the bar.

Across the pool, the girl with the drink vouchers was reading a paperback while sipping on a drink that looked just like his. Her knees were propped up and her feet were bare. She yawned widely, and he guessed that her book wasn’t exactly grabbing her.

He could go back up to his room and start working on Arnold’s request. There were still a couple of hours left in the day, even though the markets had already closed. But he could put together a plan. Or he could catch up on the news, financial and otherwise.

The girl was tapping her feet in time to some internal rhythm. He had that habit, too, although he used his fingers.

And somehow, that decided for him. Why not stroll around to that side of the pool and thank her for the ridiculous drink? Maybe he could palm the thing off on her. Lord knew he didn’t want it.

He picked up the coconut shell, along with his phone and key card, and ambled past an array of sunbathing hotel guests. Some of them seemed to be single women, wearing bikinis or sarongs, and a few of those tracked him as he passed. Not here for that, he reminded himself. Random hookups in tropical resorts weren’t his thing. How could they be, when he’d never spent any time at a tropical resort before?

He could give it a try, he supposed. And maybe he would. But first he wanted to thank the girl who’d sent his drink. It was only polite. And if his socialite mother had drilled one thing into him, it was the importance of manners.

“Mahalo,” he told the girl when he reached her. He gestured with the coconut.

“Excuse me?” She looked up, her sunglasses slipping down her nose. He saw that her wide-set eyes were a very clear light brown, like sunlight passing through chamomile tea.

“Mahalo. Means ‘thank you.’”

She propped the sunglasses on top of her head. “Hmm. I’m guessing that’s one of the two Hawaiian words you know? The other one being ‘aloha’?”

He laughed ruefully. “You got me. Up until five minutes ago, I only knew one. Thank you for the drink, but that wasn’t necessary.”

“It definitely was, I would have felt greedy using all these vouchers just for myself.”

“It’s really fine. I don’t drink a lot.”

“Honestly, I don’t either, but that was before I tried this baby.” She put her lips around the straw in her drink, then gestured for him to do the same. Somewhat hypnotized by the effect of her pretty pink lips wrapped around the striped paper of her straw, he followed her lead. Sweet, creamy, coconut-pineapple deliciousness slid into his mouth and down his throat. The temperature of the day seemed to cool a few degrees, and his entire body relaxed.

“Refreshing.”

“Isn’t it? It might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted other than my Aunt Cathy’s Jell-O salad. I know, that doesn’t sound like it would be good, but it has whipped cream and walnuts, and I guess you’d have to taste it for yourself. Although obviously that’s not going to happen, so you’ll have to take my word.”

He took another long draw on his straw, and realized that even though it tasted mostly like fruit juice, it had a kick to it. And he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d left New York, not being a fan of airplane food, even in first class.

Better sit down.

More abruptly than he’d planned, he plopped onto a chaise lounge next to her. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t. This book is a lot more tedious than I thought it would be.” With an expression of disdain, she tossed the book into her tote bag.

“I might be more tedious than you thought I’d be, too.”

She shot him an assessing glance from those clear eyes. “I suppose so. Maybe you rely on your good looks and have no personality.”

“Ouch.”

“Only one way to find out.” She lifted her coconut drink and toasted him with it. They both drank.

four

One and a half sun-drenched, White Sands Colada-soaked hours later, Emmaline found herself explaining her no-boyfriend theory to the golden stranger as she stretched on a chaise lounge next to some lush plants with leaves like green elephant ears.

“Boyfriends are a lot of work,” she told him. “They require constant attention, and it’s not like you can bring in extra help the way you can with a disabled sibling. You’re on your own with that shit. Boyfriends are just a time suck.” She waved the coconut husk at him, then fumbled for the straw again. The pina coladas here tasted nothing like the version she’d had back in Lake Bittersweet. Here, they tasted like a summer day spent slathered in coconut suntan lotion. “What’s your name, anyway? I can’t believe we’ve been hanging out for hours and I don’t even know.”

“Conor, and it hasn’t been hours. I ought to be insulted.” His eyes glinting with amusement. They were such a pretty color, she’d noticed. A grayish-blue, or was it a bluish-gray, at any rate they weren’t an aggressive color but more of an inviting one. The kind of bluish-grayish gray-blue that welcomed you in and told you he was glad to see you.

Perhaps she’d had too many of these coconut shells. Too bad.

“What’s yours?” he was asking her.

“You’re never going to believe it. My name is nothing like me.”

“How’s that?” Stretched on the lounge next to her, he crossed his legs at the ankles as he sipped on his coconut shell. He was wearing board shorts instead of the business suit, but she got the feeling they were brand new, possibly just purchased from the resort gift shop, because where else would he find gecko shorts?

“Well, I look quite ordinary, so you’d think my name would be something like Susan or Mary or Janet. Those names would all suit me perfectly. But no, my mother had some weird hormone-storm while she was pregnant with me and came up with Emmaline.”

He cocked his head at her. He’d dropped his sunglasses back over his eyes, which she thought was a shame, since she’d been hoping to reassess their color. Blue? Gray? Ish? But his mouth was plenty visible, and it tugged upwards at one corner in a very appealing way. “I think that name suits you just fine.”

“Does it?” She shrugged and made a face. “It was the bane of my existence all through school.”

“Which was…?”

Blinking at him, she tried to make sense of his question. “Which was what?”

“Which was where?”

“What?”

At the same moment, they both burst out laughing. How long had they been relaxing on these comfortable chairs, getting toasted on pina coladas? She’d lost track of the time, although now that she looked around, staffers were coming around the pool with long lighters for the tiki torches.

“You know what?” she said, sudden inspiration striking. “Let’s not get into all those sorts of details.”

“School details? Damn, I was looking forward to bragging about my third grade science project.”

“Those details are okay. As long as you don’t mind me mentioning my 4H club obsession of grades seven through nine.”

“So…rural. I’m the opposite. City boy all the way.”

“But I don’t know what city. And I don’t want to know.” She sipped loudly through her straw. “That’s the whole point. No geographical details, no names, no identifiers whatsoever.”

“You want me to wipe the name Emmaline from my brain? That might be tough. It’s pretty unusual. Kind of cute and quirky.” Like you. She could hear the hidden subtext perfectly well. Maybe pina coladas helped you do that.

She shook her head. “No no, we can’t go backwards. You’re Conor, I’m Emmaline. That’s really all we need to know.”

“For what?”

“For…” Oooh, good question. For what, indeed? For sharing a long afternoon of coconut drinks by a fake waterfall? For something more? For that fling Gina was pushing?

A fling with the gilded stranger right out of a magazine, or maybe the cover of a book about scandal in the Hamptons.

“Uh oh. Does it sound like I’m assuming something else is going to happen?” She felt her cheeks heat, which, on top of her sunburn, probably meant she looked like a strawberry. She was letting that silly fling idea make things awkward. “That’s not at all what I…I mean, you’re just here for business, and you probably have a wife or a girlfriend—”

“Nope. Neither one.” The promptness of that correction caught her off guard.

“Okay, then a phone full of models’ phone numbers?”

He laughed a little. “I might have a few of those,” he admitted. “Please don’t hold it against me.”

“Oh no. How could I? You could be a model yourself.”

His eyebrows drew together in annoyance as he ripped off his sunglasses. “I’m not a goddamn model. I’m a—”

But she flung up a hand to stop him before he went any further. “I don’t want to know. That’s my whole point. I’m just saying, let’s talk about the things that matter, not the boring stuff like where we live, where we went to school, blah blah blah.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve seen that in a movie or two?”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “That’s probably where I got the idea.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of her chaise lounge. Her bare feet soaked in the sun’s heat from the pool deck’s pavement. It felt so good, so warm and comforting. “Here’s the thing, Conor. My regular life is utterly boring. Yours is probably incredibly glamorous.”

He opened his mouth, but she stopped him again. “Let me have my fantasy, okay? All this…” She swept her arm to indicate the lush landscaping, the bright flowers, the tumbling waterfall, the flickering tiki torches. “Is a fantasy. It couldn’t possibly be more different from my normal life. I never go anywhere. And that is not an exaggeration. This is literally the first time I’ve left my home state, which I refuse to identify. I want to milk this fantasy for all it’s worth.” Another thought occurred to her. “Crap. Is it too late to pretend I’m some kind of incognito princess on the run?”

He screwed up his face with a doubtful expression.

“Yeah, I figured. Anyway, I’m not much of a liar. I tried many times in my wild teenage years, but I always ended up confessing everything. After a while I just gave up trying to deceive anyone, ever. I always get into trouble when my friends ask me if they look good in some new outfit and I don’t think they do.”

Her rueful tone got a laugh out of him. “What do you do in that situation? Just curious, because it’s come up in my life too.”

“I try not to say anything, like just nod, or sometimes I change the subject to how nice their hair looks. But my friends are onto me now. They’ll pounce and say, ‘you don’t like it, do you?’ And I’ll say, ‘don’t you know by now not to ask me that kind of thing?’ And they’ll go return the outfit and we’ll never speak of it again. It’s a whole thing, believe me.”

He tilted his head back and let out a long, almost helpless laugh. Then he took off his sunglasses and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. Finally, the sunglasses were off! She silently celebrated because his eyes were even more enticing in the glow of the early-evening tiki torches. “If I agree to this plan, will I get more stories like that, Emmaline?”

“If you want them.” She heard her own dubious tone. “Like I said, my life is pretty darn boring.”

“I don’t know who’s been telling you what, but you, Emmaline X from the State of Unknown, are not one bit boring.”

A magnetic pulse so strong it almost stopped her heart passed between them. Sweet lord in heaven. Where had that come from? Could she blame it on the coconuts?

five

Conor noticed something interesting. His mood here at this luxury resort seemed to be directly tied to whether or not Emmaline was around.

Upon his arrival at the White Sands, he’d been grumpy and sweaty—until Emmaline had struck up that conversation with him. His meeting with Arnold? Tedious—until Emmaline had appeared at the pool and began slathering sunscreen onto every inch of her pale skin, and then some. She’d even gotten sunscreen in her hair. Once he’d transferred to her side of the pool, things had perked up.

Conor had no clue where this encounter was heading, but he wasn’t worried about it. Passing the time with Emmaline was like paddling down a wide river that kept curving around a bend and offering a new and fascinating view of something. As far as he could tell, she’d spent her entire life in one unnamed place and led a pretty sheltered life. Her family owned a business that involved some kind of farm—she was careful not to specify—and she seemed to devote a lot of her time to her family.

In other words, they were complete opposites. He patted himself on his back if he remembered to send his half-sisters, Carly and Bliss, a birthday gift card. He did better by his mother because she too lived in Manhattan and simply wouldn’t be denied when she wanted to see him. As for his father…he really should call. It had been a while.

When he explained all this to Emmaline, she sighed. “I used to have this fantasy that a really speedy horse would appear on the farm—we don’t even have horses—like magically fast—and I’d hop onto his back and he’d whisk me away on an adventure, and when we got back no time at all would have passed. But I’d have seen Paris and Istanbul and the Mariana Trench.”

“The horse goes that far underwater?”

She swatted him lightly on the arm. “Don’t make fun of my fantasy. He’s a magic horse. And there’s that word fantasy. Maybe it’s unfamiliar. What do you fantasize about? You’re a male so it’s probably all about sex. Sex with models. Sex with movie stars.”

“I think you’re being kind of sexist,” he pointed out mildly. “What if I fantasize about world peace? No more hunger? Equality and justice for all?”

“Do you?”

He thought about it. Even though he worked in the New York financial world in which profit ruled all other motives, he’d always found that it left him cold. He liked to put his money to good use. “Yes. I actually do. Seems like even more of a fantasy than a magic horse.”

“I don’t know about that. There’s nothing you can do to make a magic horse appear. But those other things, you could probably do something.”

“I donate,” he said defensively. “A lot.” He didn’t want to mention amounts because she’d probably freak out and stop talking to him like a normal person.

“Hey, relax. No judgment, man.” She waved her coconut shell, and like magic, a server appeared. They’d long ago run through her drink vouchers, but Conor had handed over a credit card when Emmaline wasn’t looking. “I’m just disappointed that your fantasies aren’t about supermodels.”

“See, that’s the sexist part. Do you think all men automatically find supermodels more desirable than other women? Maybe some of us are attracted to something else.”

“Like men?” She shot him an arrested look. “Oh my god. The good looks, the perfect grooming, the equality and justice for all…”

He chuckled. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not gay. You’re not the first to ask, though.”

“Do you get hit on a lot?”

“Sometimes.” Yes, he got hit on a lot—by men and women. It didn’t bother him, so long as “no” did the job.

“And you’re cool with that?”

“Everyone gets to shoot their shot, right? Nothing wrong with that.”

She gave a long sigh. “You’re so cool. Everyone should be cool like you. One of my closest friends in high school hit on the wrong guy and got his nose broken. Luckily, it looks pretty good on him. Honestly, I think he gets hit on exponentially more because he looks so rugged now.”

“Silver lining, huh?”

“That’s what I tell him.” The evening was changing around them, turning into the dinner hour, with guests appearing in slinky dresses instead of bikinis. They were the only ones still in their afternoon-by-the-pool gear. Emmaline was snuggled inside her rose-pink wrap as if it were a cocoon. They should probably move, he thought lazily. Go shower, change, find some food. But this was so enjoyable. He never did this, never just sat around talking about whatever popped into his mind. He didn’t want it to change.

For a moment there he’d thought something different was happening. A jolt of attraction had sparked some kind of forcefield between them for one wild moment. His hair had stood on end and his body felt as if every cell had woken up.

But then a wayward beach ball had bounced across the pavement, followed by a scrambling child, and the moment had evaporated. Since then they’d been chatting and laughing and telling stories with all the place names excised and that sparkling flow of connection had subsided.