least housekeeping did its job and spirited away both the waste bucket and room service cart while he was having his awkward discussion with Señorita Boyd. Guests might want to overindulge in Mexican paradise, but they didn’t want to see the morning-after evidence. Señorita Boyd’s—Larissa’s—villa wouldn’t be housekeeping’s only stop. There would be a number of guests looking for dry toast and aspirin this morning.
But only one had the aspirin delivered personally by the general manager. Then again, none of the other guests invaded his thoughts all night long, either. He couldn’t shake the image of her alone in her suite, drinking away a broken heart, to the point that when he woke up this morning, the first question in his head was how she fared.
The answer was about as he expected. The results of an alcohol-fueled pity party were never pretty. She looked like death warmed over, yesterday’s sex appeal all but obliterated. To her credit, she tried, pretending her skin wasn’t turning green while he talked about coffee. She lasted longer than he thought she would. Then, to work up the energy to negotiate her bill, as well. Admirable.
Too admirable seeing how he agreed to absorb thirty percent of her expenses. What came over him, making such an agreement? There were concessions and then there were concessions.
You know exactly what came over you. You looked into those big blue eyes and wanted nothing more than to make them sparkle.
Nonsense. He felt sorry for the woman, that was all. He knew all too well the pain of waking up and realizing you’d been living a delusion. And to have the covers ripped from your eyes so quickly... His own disenchantment unfolded slowly, and that pain was bad enough.
What would have happened if he’d realized the truth about Mirabelle from the beginning? Would he have still spent so much energy trying to make her happy? Probably. He’d been such a stubborn, romantic fool back then. Quick to fall, slow to let go.
Thank goodness he’d learned his lesson since then.
“Hola, primo! I’ve been looking all over for you.”
His cousin, Jorge, jogged toward him. Like Carlos, he wore a black suit, although in Jorge’s case, the jacket fit snugly around his barrel chest, a fact his cousin, an American football player at UCLA, took great pride in. “You do realize the resort has a perfectly good boat launch that allows you to cover the ground in half the time,” he said, wiping the dampness from his upper lip.
“The boat launch doesn’t allow me to see the beach side of the resort. You might want to consider walking this route yourself. You’re out of breath.”
“Because I’ve been walking all over the property looking for you. Where have you been? You missed morning coffee.”
“I was meeting with a guest.”
“At this hour of the morning? Don’t tell me you’re picking up Rodrigo’s bad habits.”
Upon hearing his predecessor’s name, Carlos’s muscles tensed. “I was meeting with La—Señorita Boyd—regarding her wedding plans.”
“Boyd. Isn’t she the woman who checked in by herself yesterday?”
“She is. Maria forgot to cancel her wedding ceremony.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was,” Carlos replied with a sigh. “It appears she was too busy sneaking around with Rodrigo to let catering know. I had to break the bad news to Señorita Boyd this morning.”
“You’re not charging her, are you?”
“What choice do I have? Everything was ordered, and you know as well as I do the resort isn’t in a position to eat those kinds of costs right now. I gave her as much of a discount as I could.”
That he even had to conduct such a negotiation made him want to rip his hair from his head. “Sometimes I don’t know who I want to strangle more. Maria for being so careless or Rodrigo for mismanaging the resort into financial crisis.”
“I thought that’s why I came aboard. To give you an extra set of hands so you could strangle both simultaneously.”
This was one of those rare days when Carlos wanted to take his cousin’s joke seriously. “I need you to have someone go through every event Maria booked. Call the people and update their contracts. I do not want a repeat problem.”
“I’ll take care of it soon as we get back to the office.”
“Thank you. Meanwhile, let’s hope the wedding coordinator candidate I’m interviewing this afternoon is more levelheaded.”
“He’s male, so at least we won’t have to worry about the two of you running off together.”
Carlos ignored the remark. Wouldn’t make a difference if the candidate was male or female. His days of losing his head were long gone and they both knew it. “Have you checked on the Campanella arrangements yet this morning?” he asked instead.
His cousin nodded. “Everything’s running on schedule.”
“Bueno.”
“The señor and the señora did ask if you’d be willing to make a toast. Apparently someone they know was toasted by the captain of a cruise ship.”
“And they would like something similar.” Carlos thought of Larissa asking about her cake. “So many silly details. As if any will matter six months or even six hours later.”
“It would mean a lot to them.”
“Then I’ll be there.” Whatever a guest wanted. Especially guests like the Campanellas who seemed the type to leave online critiques. He wondered if Larissa Boyd left critiques? What would she say? The general manager efficiently provided aspirin?
“What’s so amusing?”
He didn’t realize he’d chuckled aloud. “Nothing.
“Uh-huh. Is everything all right, primo? You seem distracted this morning.”
“Of course I’m distracted. I thought we were finished mopping up Rodrigo’s and Maria’s messes. Instead I had to bill a jilted customer on her wedding day.”
“Better you than me. I would have caved completely out of sympathy.”
Carlos didn’t say how close he came to doing that very thing. The two of them fell into step back to the office. Although only midmorning, the sun already hung hot in the cloudless sky. Sunbathers, eager to turn their skin to Aztec gold, crowded both sides of the walkway. A mosaic of body shapes sprawled towels and chaise longues. Some of the more cautious tourists staked their claims on the popular cabana beds scattered strategically around the resort. He wondered, would Larissa Boyd find her way to one of them to sleep off her hangover or would she prefer the privacy of her terrace? Pale skin like hers would definitely burn if exposed too long.
“I have to admit,” Jorge continued, “now that you tell me the wedding was canceled weeks ago, I’m surprised she’s here. She must have had nonrefundable airline tickets.”
“Or perhaps she simply needed to get away.” He
