I’m officially in way over my head.

In the shower I shampoo my hair three times while the thoughts whirl around and around in my mind, in endless circles. What am I going to do about a job? What am I going to do about Charlie Cash? Why on earth did he ask me to dinner? Why did I say yes?

Why did I say yes?

Probably because that kiss was the hottest thing that’s happened to me in years. Looking back, it’s clear that Rolly tried his best, but being kissed by a man like Charles Cash is like comparing the blazing sun to a flickering candle. He’s so volatile, so mysterious, but when he lifted me into his arms like that and then—it makes me wet just thinking about it—asked me for permission before he claimed my mouth, it made it hard for me to resist.

I don’t have to resist, that’s the thing. If I want to, I can have him. I should have him, right now, while there’s still time. In the end, he’ll leave. That’s the way things go.

A dull ache throbs in the center of my chest. It’s an ache that I keep pushed deep down, way down below all the parties and the drinking and the trips to tropical islands on my family’s dime. In the center of it is a hard knot, wrapped around the wish that I haven’t spoken to anyone in years: I wish I could call my sister.

She’d know what to do, even though she was younger. We were only beginning to get close, but she had always seemed wise, somehow. Serious. Smart.

But I can’t call her, and if I linger too long on that dark space behind my heart, it will pull me under.

I finally step out onto the tile floor and towel off, lingering over my hair and being careful not to disturb my makeup. I’m half-tempted to leave it, but there’s a part of me that wants to impress Charlie. If I put on my most sophisticated look, maybe everything will be different.

* * *

The little black dress I brought, which has caught the attention of many a man over the years and had them salivating over me on the dance floor of dozens of clubs, fails for the first time.

Ten minutes into this dinner, and Charlie has barely looked at me. 

I put down my fork and prop my hands up on my chin. “Hey.”

He’s pretending to survey his food, but he’s looking at his phone, and it’s the least convincing thing I’ve ever seen. With a guilty look, he clears his throat and looks across the table at me. “Hey. I’m sorry. I—” Charlie shakes his head a little. “Work.”

“Haven’t we talked about that?” I give him an encouraging smile, even though it pisses me off that I’m the one having to do this. 

A flicker of a smile flashes across his face. “We’ve talked about it, and everyone else has, too.” Then he shrugs. “But when there’s a disaster...”

“What kind of disaster? The kind where a girl you hate gets on your private plane?”

He laughs a little, low and sultry, and the sound makes me feel like a bell is ringing between my hips. “No, my brother—” He waves a hand in the air. “You don’t want to hear about it.”

“I’d rather hear something.” I sound a little testy, and I know it. I can’t square the heat of the kiss earlier with this colder, more distracted version of Charles Cash. It’s fucking foolish, because this is who he is. The man on the beach was someone different, clearly.

He gives me a sheepish smile. “Josephine, I wanted this dinner to be very different from—” He’s cut off mid-sentence by the buzz of his phone. Beneath the table, I crumple the cloth napkin in my hand, squeezing hard so that I don’t slap the phone out of his hand. I’ll give him one more chance. I’ll give him one more chance to put it away, to focus on the person he’s eating dinner with...

Charlie glances at the screen. “Oh, Jesus,” he says, under his breath, and then reaches for it. I drop the napkin onto the table and stand up, which earns me the slightest glance. “I’ll be done in just a second, I promise. This is unbelievable—”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say brightly. I leave off the fact that I’m not coming back.

* * *

On the way back to the bungalow, I ignore the burning in my eyes. I’m not going to let a single tear fall over this man. 

He doesn’t care, and neither do I. There is nothing to cry about. Nothing. I stop in the middle of the path and press the palms of my hands to my eyes, breathing in deeply.

I’m stronger than a stupid man ignoring me at dinner. I’m not going to let that get to me. Even if that man looks like Charlie Cash. Even if the sight of him makes me feel loosened from gravity, like I could float into his arms at any second, and it would be the most perfect thing.

I don’t owe him anything. I even paid for dinner at the hostess station on my way out. Now we can forget the other person exists. He can have his work, and I can have...

Something. And now is the best time to figure out what that something is. I take my hands away from my eyes and hurry back to my bungalow. It’s time to get serious about my next move. 

Inside, I kick off my shoes and slip my phone out of my purse. There are three missed calls—two from Rolly, though I can’t fathom what he’d want to talk to me about, and one from my mother.

Nobody I want to talk to.

I fish my laptop out of my luggage and flip it open, connect to the resort wi-fi, and start to browse.

It turns out that communications isn’t a totally useless degree. There are a few positions in the city I could apply for, and one of the companies is owned by a family friend. I could probably sweet-talk him into giving me an interview. I make a list of the job openings, send an email to Howard, my dad’s friend from college, who will indulge me by agreeing to a meeting. At least with Howard, there’s no risk of losing my job because our clandestine friends-with-sexual-benefits relationship goes south. Absolutely no risk, which is what happened at my first and only real job after college.

My notepad fills up. Under skills and experience I add a deadline: Three months til cutoff!! Then I add a section titled Plan. Find a job. Use contacts? Marry rich!! I laugh at the last one, feeling light.

There. I’m back in control again. The seeds of my plans are planted firmly in the dirt of my disastrous life, and all I have to do now is nurture them and watch them flourish.

I slip my dress off and slip back into the shower. I’m going to be pristine when I go to bed tonight. Nothing between the covers and me, and—

There’s a thunderous knock on the door of the bungalow. It reverberates through the entire building, and I freeze. Whoever is on the other side is not fucking kidding around. Oh, my God. Did I lock the door? Was Charlie right about this place being dangerous?

Another pounding knock, and a muffled shout. Well, screw this. I’m not going to be a sitting duck in the shower. I’m going to confront whoever it is that’s disturbing my hard-won peace. The knocking—an understatement if I’ve ever heard one—continues relentlessly as I rinse the shampoo out of my hair, turn off the shower with a smack to the knob, and wrap a towel around me. I’m not bothering with clothes. Whoever is on the other side of that door is going to feel my wrath.

The door is bouncing with each pounding thud, and in my righteous anger, I stride across the bungalow, throw back the deadbolt—I did locked it—and yank the door open with all my strength.

It’s not a stalker on the other side.

It’s Charlie Cash.