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)
Fortunately, Blaze started working at Siesta Playa two weeks later.
A perfect distraction.
Chapter Nine
PAIGE
Yesterday, I had my chance with Blaze down by the pool, and Cole ruined it with that domineering-manager schtick. I’m sure he’s been gloating about it ever since, walking around with a pep in his step. His evil deed for the month, done—check.
I just know he loves tromping around this place in those suits. He gets off on the power. If he had to wear cheesy Siesta Playa–branded merchandise like the rest of us, the spell would be broken. He’d shrink two feet, suddenly speak with a squeaky, high voice, and sprout a little rat tail.
That’s my theory, at least, but it’s yet to be peer-reviewed.
Today, I could leave well enough alone, but I have a fifteen-minute break before I have to lead an evening beach meditation, and I haven’t seen Cole all day. Besides, I actually could use his help with something.
Past Siesta Playa’s main lobby, down the hall from reception, in a quiet area of the resort meant solely for executive offices, I find Cole still hard at work. Everyone else is gone. Their doors are closed; their offices are dark. Todd probably clocked out at 3:59 p.m. and dashed straight for his car, tires squealing as he peeled out of the parking lot. Meanwhile, Cole’s still standing at his desk. Yes, he has a standing desk, and I doubt it has anything to do with the harmful effects of living a sedentary lifestyle. He’s simply too busy to sit. Oh, there’s a situation down in the spa? An argumentative guest in the lobby? Why would he waste 0.01 precious seconds getting to his feet when he could already be out the door? If there’s an opportunity for efficiency, Cole Clark is going to take it. I’m surprised he doesn’t speed through the resort on a Segway or, at the very least, roller skates.
I’m not surprised he’s still working. I imagine him there at his desk all night long. His version of sleep is standing with perfect posture, arms bent at exactly forty-five degrees, hands flexed like a Ken doll. He doesn’t move or blink from the hours of 7:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m. while his battery charges.
I peer through the cracked door of his office. He’s standing in profile, hammering his fingers down on his keyboard with pistonlike precision. If he were forced to witness my hunt-and-peck typing strategy, he’d have an aneurysm.
“Knock, knock.”
I tap my closed fist on the door and push it open a little wider.
He doesn’t look up at me. In fact, he doesn’t take his attention off his computer screen as he fires off a quick “No.”
Just like that, he’d like me to see myself out immediately.
I don’t have the energy to feign offense.
“As much as I would love to leave you alone, I have a matter of dire importance to discuss with you,” I say, bypassing the invisible Do Not Enter line on the floor. I’m surprised he doesn’t keep the place booby-trapped against me. Actually, I’m not certain he doesn’t . . . at this very moment, a gallon-size paint can could be arcing down from its perch above the door to clock me in the back of the head. Just in case, I duck.
“Dire importance? Who did you injure now?” Quickly, he reaches for his phone to check the screen. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Dr. Missick hasn’t called me.”
“No one’s hurt,” I assure him with a casual eye roll before looking over my shoulder to make sure there’s not a blowtorch primed to set my hair on fire.
He drops his phone back on his desk and resumes typing like he’s in a competition to beat the world record.
“Well, I don’t have time for any other dire circumstances, I’m afraid.”
He leans over his desk and narrows his eyes, his gaze flitting across his computer screen like he’s on a mission.
Is his job really that high stakes? He can’t pause for even a moment?
I find that a little hard to believe. I won’t force him to give me the time of day. Instead, I’ll coerce it out of him. All I have to do is peruse his office, glance over the framed diplomas, run my finger along the back of a chair that looks like it’s never been used, take note of the mostly bare shelves.
It might seem weird, but I’ve never had a reason to be in Cole’s office before. It’s as sparse as I would have expected. There are no personal items whatsoever. No family photos, no childhood keepsakes. Not even a Glade PlugIn. The last I only make note of because in this confined space it’s so easy to pick up the subtle notes of his cologne with its nicely spiced and wintery undertones. I’ve come to love that scent.