Forever Our Beach (Flirt Club)

1. Megan

1

Megan

“I’m sorry, your reservation was cancelled.”

Not wanting to meet her gaze which I imagine is full of pity, I continue to stare at the letters on her flashy, gold name tag. C-O-L-L-E-T-T-E. Her name sounds prissy like the tone she’s been using with me. Or maybe I’m extra sensitive. Then again, who can blame me. It’s not everyday that I travel to an exclusive Caribbean resort for my honeymoon… alone.

“I-I’m sorry. But I don’t understand. How can my reservation be cancelled? I paid it in full months ago.” Her words don’t make sense. But then again, nothing has made sense for the past few days. I feel like I’m living in and alternate reality. One I don’t want. And the reason why I’m hanging on the end of a frayed rope.

“Well, Mrs. Cranston, your husband called—“

“That lying, cheating scum is not my husband and I’m definitely not Mrs. Cranston.” The words burst from my mouth. Guess the bitch behind the desk is working hard to cut those last few threads holding onto my sanity.

I glare at the condescending look on her face, hating myself for acting this way. This isn’t me. I’m never angry, never make waves. I’m the peacemaker of my friends, my family which makes this whole mess even worse.

“Fine. Miss—“

“Masters.”

“Miss Masters, then. As I was saying, your, um”—at my grimace, snarky Collette swallows, loosing some of the attitude—“called and canceled your reservation, explaining how you were too sick to travel. We explained how we could only refund part of it due to cancellation fees which he told us was fine.”

“But, but my bank…” My voice trails off as I pull up my phone, flicking it off airplane mode. No new notifications show up, confirming my thoughts. I never received any of the $40,000 plus that I spent on this luxury, all-inclusive, two-week honeymoon.

“We returned it to the new account information you gave us on the phone.” I can hear the rolling of Colette’s eyes as she impacts that little nugget.

I’m lost. Does she not understand how wrong this is? Like I would fly all this way if I’d cancelled my reservation. I mean, I’d thought about, even listed it on my to do list, but by the time I finished calling everyone else, I needed a break. So when I phoned the airline to cancel our flights, I made the snap decision to move up our initial part of the flight to that evening, spending the past two nights in a hotel in Miami where no one knew where I was.

My mind spirals as this new information rattles around my brain. Who would have…? Who could have…?” The answer pops into my mind and just like that, all the anger I’d been tightly holding onto, bursts free. My breathing stutters, choking me. Flashes of her, of him in orange jumpsuits cause a riot inside me as the need for revenge wars with the love I have for them.

Needing a quiet spot to lick my wounds before I blow and not wanting to be the focus on the crowd slowly filling in the lobby, I lean on the desk. “Since I’m here and never received the money for a cancellation I didn’t do, just give me any room. We can straighten out this mess later.”

She shrugs, looking bored and over with our whole conversation. You and me, chicky. I just want today to end . “I’m sorry, Miss Masters, but since you cancelled, your room has already been booked and we’re all completely full. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”

Her words fall into a void, drowned out by the surf crashing against the shore that I can see or maybe the sounds are just the beating of my heart roaring in my ears. What does she mean by no more rooms? What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go and with what money? I used two years of my trust fund payments for this vacation. There’s no more until next year. And with having to find a new place to live, paying for a lawyer to deal with sale of the house we purchased and the division of our joint assets, I can’t afford to max out my credit cards.

The more I think about everything, the sicker I feel. It’s all too much. This vacation, this step away from the real world was supposed to be my sanctuary, my place to fall apart and recover a little before going back to the real world where I’d have to figure out how to pick up the pieces of my destroyed life. And now it’s being taken away from me…

I won’t let it.

Not caring if I’m making a scene or not, I slam my hands down on the counter. “Find me a room and I won’t go to the press about how you were complicit in stealing over $40, 000 from me through fraudulent means because we both know that it wasn’t me on the phone, giving you a new account number.”

At my words, the woman before me loses her self-assuredness. She starts to open her mouth but stops when a deep, honeyed voice rumbles behind me.

“Collette, put Miss Masters in the Magnolia Suite.”

Her eyebrows rise, as she stutters, “Y-yes sir.”

I swallow an ill-time urge to laugh. This is nearly the most emotion she’s shown. Fuck, I need some sleep.

As she hands me an electronic keycard, I feel a large hand press lightly on the small of my back, grabbing my attention. The heat from it passes through the light cotton of my sundress, easing the soreness in my lower back muscles.

“If you will allow me, Miss Masters, I’ll show you to your suite. The bellhop will deliver your luggage shortly.”

I spin, nearly falling as utter exhaustion hits. Large, tanned hands reach for me, steadying me. As my gaze follows them to their owner, my mouth falls open. Corded muscles lead to a folded back sleeves on a clean, crisp, white dress shirt that stretches enticingly over a broad chest. Naughty and delicious ideas fill my imagination, shocking me. I’ve never been someone who jumped into sexual fantasies about a perfect stranger, but there is something about him, his body that has me rushing headfirst into a new me. Or maybe it’s my brain’s way of trying to cushion me from all the blows I’ve taken in such a short time. Not wanting to think too deeply about the reasoning, I push forward, wanting to thank the man who stepped in and saved the day, but words don’t come. Not once I see his face.

The man looks old enough to be my father, but that’s were their similarities stop. While my dad is bald, and has a baby beer belly, giving him a quintessential dad bod, from the way this shirt was tailored to my saviour’s body, it doesn’t look as if a beer ever passed through his lush lips. The touch of silver at his temples highlight the sharpness of his cheekbones, but it’s his intense blue eyes that hold me captivated. It’s like I’m drowning and grounded all at once and I don’t know what to do with that.