CHAPTER ELEVEN
A search of Rook’s library had not produced the book I’d seen in my dreams, so I could only assume it hadn’t been real. But the album had been, as were the tens of thousands of records in the library that plunged deep underground, which was missing myself and Cici. God—or Rook—only knew why.
Add it to the goddamned list. Because I only knew enough to make me sound like a crazy person if I were ever to tell Warner. I had nothing solid on Rook or on how he managed to keep the island isolated from the modern world. I only knew why the island was special.
Yeah, but you’re also missing the how. I would have to go through the library one more time.
Meanwhile, I decided to start documenting what I knew. Maybe it would provide clarity.
I went back to my room, got out my laptop, and began furiously typing. As random and crazy as the pieces were, I couldn’t help thinking that the complete puzzle, the entire story, sat right in front of me. I just couldn’t see it. Monks. Death. Living forever. Love. Sin. It all equated to this mess.
I released a deep sigh and noticed the time. I needed to get to the offices and meet up with the managers in charge of the fantasies next week. I still have to focus on getting Rook to trust me. I doubted there would be any other way out of this. Rook guarded his secrets carefully, and I was running out of time.
I entered the conference room, feeling more nervous than ever. Not because of me, but because of them. I knew their secret. First, there was Linda, the harem manager with short blonde hair. She looked my age. Douglas, the marine fantasy manager with straggly long brown hair, couldn’t be older than nineteen. Craig, the bald black man with a beard, who handled anything historical, had flawless skin and looked thirty. And finally Paula, an Asian woman with heart-shaped lips who managed the smaller indoor sets, like the snowed-in cabin, appeared to be in her forties. Everyone looked like normal, healthy adults.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, taking the seat next to Douglas.
No one said a word, but they didn’t have to for me to see they were upset.
“Is everything all right?”
Again no one spoke.
“Okay then,” I said, unsure of what else to do, “let’s get on with the meeting.”
As each reviewed their checklists, I sat quietly, pretending to take notes. The tension in the air was palpable, but I couldn’t begin to guess what had happened. Not knowing brought me right down to their dark moods.
“Oh, and I have your dates arranged,” Craig added at the end of his report. “Jarod will be handling your cowboy fantasy—the Old West version—and Michael will be your Scotsman.”
I felt the blood exit my face. “How’d you hear about that?”
“This is a small resort. Word travels quickly, and Rook also mentioned you’d be wanting to do a dry run. Your hosts are already cleared by Dr. Rosy, and Michael can see you at eight sharp tonight. Jarod at eleven in the morning, if you’re up for it.”
I raised a brow.
Linda chimed in, “Michael has a reputation for leavin’ the lasses a bit spent,” she said dryly, in a Scottish accent. “If you know what I mean.”
I blushed. “Uh, thanks. I’ll be sure to ask him to take it easy.” But I couldn’t do this now. Could I? Should I? Every time I had a plan or thought I knew what to do, something happened to shake the ground beneath my feet.
“Let me know how he does,” said Craig. “Michael’s really been working hard on his foreplay technique.”
Linda grumbled, “Yeah, I hope so. Michael’s nickname is the battle-ax. He sort of just goes right for it. Not a lot of tenderness.”
“Oh.” I nodded slowly. “Well, I guess some women like that?”
“Not really,” said Linda. “The Outlander fans are all about the romance.”
“And the kilts,” said Craig. “The dirtier the better.”
Everyone agreed and began chatting among themselves. Maybe a good time to probe.
“By the way,” I said, “I missed the meeting this morning. Did Rook say when he’d be back?”
The room fell silent and everyone’s dark expressions returned, setting off alarm bells in my stomach.
Okay. “What?”
Douglas cleared his throat after a long awkward silence extending for a solid minute. “He didn’t say, but he wasn’t in a good—”
“Doug,” Linda snapped, “it’s not your place.”
“Place for what?” I asked, tapping my pen on the notepad in front of me.
Doug shook his head toward his lap. “I think she should know.”
“Maybe so,” argued Linda, “but it’s still not your place to tell her.”
My heart flittered. “Tell me what?”
“Tell her,” Craig said to Doug.
Douglas, with a mop of long brown hair and wide nose, looked at me. “Rook said he might not come back.”
“What?” I dropped my pen, and it bounced off the table to the floor. “I mean—” I tried to gather myself “—he said he would be bringing back supplies for Dr. Rosy.”
“Don’t worry,” said Doug. “He’ll send all that stuff back on the plane, but he won’t be on it.”
Rook said he’d do anything to protect this place. He wouldn’t just up and leave.
“Where’d he go?” I asked, knowing it was now pointless to hide my panic. Any idiot could see my flushed face and pale hands fisted into tight balls.
“He didn’t say,” replied Linda glumly, “but he told all of us to help you get up to speed as quickly as possible and that you would take the helm.”
“Me?” I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
“Why not you?” argued Doug. “He said you’re perfect for the role—that you were born to do it.”
What bullshit trick is this, Rook? He never let me get ahead of him. He kept knocking me out of place, always keeping me guessing.
They all stared expectantly.
“I have to go. I’m not feeling well.” Nearly hyperventilating, I got up from the table and hobbled away.
“Should I tell Michael and Jarod you cancelled?” Craig called out.
I didn’t reply and just kept on going.
Rook was gone. Gone gone. I couldn’t begin to comprehend such a drastic move.
What would I do now?
Not wanting to insult Michael or Jarod, I put them off until the following week. I tried to pretend I could run an entire resort by myself—but really, I only had to assist the capable staff, who knew their roles.
Luke didn’t find another apartment for me like he’d said. Instead, he moved out while I had been busy in the library, searching through guest records. I didn’t want to feel snubbed, but I did. By him, by Rook, and by some of the staff who now treated me differently. I guessed because I’d been left in charge. The new girl. But luckily, the sting didn’t last long. These past days alone had turned out to be an awakening, because I realized it wasn’t a sin to care. It was only a sin not to. Somehow, I’d found strength in that, though I wondered if it would be enough to get me through.
It has to be.
There’d been no word from Rook, and I’d found nothing in his library apart from the guests’ personal information for the past two hundred years.
Yeah. Two fucking hundred. Faced with that kind of information, I had two choices: believe that Rook and his crew had found the secret to cheating death, or believe it was all an elaborate hoax just for me. For the record, I didn’t see why anyone would go to such lengths. In either case, while the information intrigued me, it solved zero problems. Not the Cici kind. Not the Warner kind. Not my kind.
By Monday morning, I had to face facts: only six days remained until I had to go home and answer to Warner. In the meantime, the plane rolled in and everyone took their places.
Fifteen women, ranging from twenty-eight to sixty-five, disembarked. For the first time since the hurricane, I saw the official guest greeter, Gerry, a huge Samoan man with tattoos on every part of his body save his face. The receptionists checked in the guests, the concierges got everyone settled, and the bellhops, kitchen staff, and housekeeping crew rushed with professional calm to attend to every clients’ needs promptly. There were no VIPs and no Rook on welcome night, but it felt like business as usual, only the island felt stranger. The best and only way to describe it was that without Rook, the weird vibe of the island turned into a dark cloud. Everyone seemed on edge.
Still, I had no choice but to count my breaths and try to enjoy my final days before returning to New York. The fucking strange part was I didn’t feel panicked anymore. Just the opposite. I felt quiet for the first time in a long time, like I’d finally made peace with it all. Rook had lied, Cici was gone, and I would never know why. This island made the impossible possible, and I would never know how. My life and all its turns had led me here, and I could be pissed off at the world for every “should have,” but there was no point. My past was unchangeable.
After the welcome dinner, filled with some of the happiest, rowdiest women I’d ever seen in my life, I took my place in the fantasy control room, schedule in hand, and settled in for a long night. The husband harem had been booked by four of the fifteen guests, which meant they’d be running fantasies almost every night.
I grabbed a coffee from the break room and sat in front of the screen as a plump mature woman entered the tent. The men lined up, naked, and the harem master helped her select the order.
I can’t say I’d ever seen anything so illicit, but after the first two men had sex with her, I felt numb to it. Anesthetized. I began watching the subtle things—the way the men touched her, whether or not they made eye contact and for how long, the pace of their hips. Not before long, I found myself talking quietly into my headset, coaching the men to slow down or give her more attention. A few guys had glanced into the camera—hidden above—and winked at me, like we were all part of some secret pleasure team.
By guy number five, I began yawning uncontrollably. There was no passion in this, no love. Just two bodies satisfying physical need.
I flipped open the folder in front of me, containing the woman’s profile. I assumed Mrs. Day had screened her because I hadn’t. There’d been no time.
Selena Colbeck was fifty-four years old and from Ohio. She had three children, all grown and done with college. Her husband, Frank, owned a construction business and worked up to seventy hours a week. During her check-in with her personal concierge, Selena had said that as hard as she tried, as much as she’d given, her husband and children had never shown her any real appreciation.
“They make me feel invisible. They think that clothes magically appear clean and folded in their drawers. Dinner shows up on the table. The car drives itself to soccer, baseball, and swimming. In all my years, I can’t recall any of them saying a heartfelt and genuine thank you. For once in my life, I want to know what it feels like to be seen. I want to be waited on and adored. I can’t live my entire life not knowing what that’s like.”
How fucked up is that? I thought. But Selena’s words made me realize that this was more than sex in her eyes. She needed to fill a giant lifelong void. Maybe after this—getting a taste of being worshipped—she might go home and change her life. Or demand her family treats her better.
After two hours, Selena was limp and sleepy and had only really been with about six of the men. She fell asleep on the silky soft bed and the rest of the “unused” hosts left. The ones who’d slept with her stayed. It was about the strangest thing I’d ever seen, watching six chiseled men all curling up on an enormous bed around this woman who looked like she just might die of happiness right then and there.
I went to sleep that night alone in my bed with a smile on my face for the first time in months. I never dreamed that helping a woman fulfill her fantasy could be so fulfilling to me. But it was.
Maybe Rook’s Island does have a purpose.