One Bossy Offer (143)

That’s so Maisy. I roll my eyes as I type a reply.

Piper: Dreamy. I didn’t want to make you jealous, okay?

Maisy: Send more photos!

I frown because she hasn’t answered my question.

But Dad’s okay? I send.

The phone buzzes against my palm before I can put it down for another sip of this godlike mai tai.

Maisy: Same old grumpy-grump he always is. He basically pushed me out the door this evening for the weekly chowder run. Y’know, the yoozh.

I smile and settle back in my chair.

Piper: You’re still making sure he takes all his pills and eats vegetables? The potatoes in the salmon chowder don’t count.

Maisy: Yes, Mother. She throws me an emoji with its tongue hanging out.

Piper: Is he at least trying to exercise? They say that slows his condition down...

Maisy: Pippa, stop. Go have fun. Let me worry about Papa Bear.

I nod at my screen, despite knowing she can’t see me.

Such a sweet kid.

And she’s right about being perfectly capable and mature for her age. I’m insanely lucky to have a seventeen-year-old like her caring for Dad while I jet off to bathe in luxury for the next few days.

I know you’ll manage. I just feel bad leaving you there to handle everything alone, I admit.

And I do it too often, every time I take one of these trips.

Maisy: Pippy, I’m proud of you. It’s so cool to live your dreams. This is just the start.

Her text catches me off guard and I take a shaky sip of mai tai.

Geez. She really is the best little sister a girl could ask for.

We’ll see, I send back. I only got this gig because Jenn works her butt off in marketing. Winthrope Lanai is so exclusive it wouldn’t have been an option without her hooking me up.

That part is true. They don’t call it billionaire island for nothing.

Maisy: Ugh. Remind me to get a best friend in marketing!

I laugh, knowing I need to bring her along on my next review excursion. We’ll find someone to check in on Dad, cost be damned.

A loud yawn rattles out of me as I type a reply.

I’m still shaking off some jet lag so I’ll check in later.

I finish my drink and slowly amble up to the unbelievable presidential suite Winthrope comped me with, hoping for a glowing review.

The room—the whole freaking penthouse-sized suite, really—is beautiful. The air smells like sandalwood and fresh orchids.

A four-poster king-sized bed dominates the center, but there’s a huge sitting area and kitchenette just outside. And past the bed, my favorite part—double glass doors that open up to a massive patio soaring above the ocean.

For the second time since I’ve laid eyes on it, my mouth drops.

God, how did I get so lucky?

I owe Jenn big-time for the view alone.

The least I can do for now is snap a few pics and send them over. I’ve barely kicked off my shoes and sat on the plush outdoor chaise before my phone chimes.

Jenn: How’s Lanai treating you? World’s sexiest room aside, I mean.

Piper: It’s magical. Thank you so much again!

Jenn: LOL. If my overworked ass had the PTO, I’d be there with you. But at least I can live through your photos...

Piper: You’re definitely coming on the next trip.

Jenn: Like I’ll be able to leave the office for a week anytime this century. But go have a drink on the balcony and Instagram the proof so I can pretend I’m there in spirit.

Piper: Yes, ma’am.

Oh, I do plan to enjoy this balcony, but the jet lag from the seven-hour connecting flights makes my legs feel like lead.

After another twenty minutes pass by watching the glowing sun slip toward the ocean, I head inside and collapse on that cloud of a bed, hugging a puffy white body pillow as I drift off to sleep.

I’m out cold for a few hours.

I vaguely remember waking up from snuggling into the thick, lush white duvet and noticing I’m still completely dressed.

It’s night now. The brightest stars ever replace the sun through the glass, suspended over the ocean and pristine beach like glinting diamonds.

I throw my pants off and change into a t-shirt before rearranging myself in my nest.

As soon as I close my eyes, I’m out again.





I’m floating on a small boat.

It’s just like the kind of weathered fishing workhorses Dad used to bring us on years ago when he was in his prime. His laugh was so infectious every time he’d haul a new batch of fish up on the deck, their silvery scales reflecting like tinsel.

Except it’s not the cool, grey Washington coast that’s so familiar.

No laughing Dad or squealing little sister or floppy fish about to be someone’s supper.

I smile.

It’s sunny and warm here. I want to soak up every bit of tropical sun beaming down from above. I just hope I’ve brought enough sunscreen and start looking for my purse when— Thud!

Heart, meet throat.

What the heck was that?

It sounded like something big hitting the bottom of my boat. My eyes dart around frantically, checking to see if I’ve sprung a leak, but— Thud!

Again, I’m clutching my chest.

It’s coming from the tiny bathroom in the cabin, I think. Maybe there’s a problem with the plumbing. I start closing in for a better look.