Page 18 of Covert Affair

Seven days. No Cole. No work. No stress. No drama. And no high-maintenance celebrities to put up with.

I think I’ve fucking earned it.

I’m done with playing pretend and ready to relax. And the minute I step off the plane, I felt it too. Every ounce of stress is melting away.

Stepping up to the registration desk at The Ocean Club in the Bahamas, I hand the attendant my photo ID and credit card. The young girl looks down at the cards and back up at me with a shocked look on her face.

“Oh my God! It is YOU! You’re dating Stacey Mae!” she squeals loudly, causing me to wince. “Will Stacey be joining you? I’m literally like her biggest fan.”

“Miss,” I look at her name tag. “Britlee. Stacey won’t be joining me this time. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep this between us.”

Britlee takes a deep breath and seems to calm herself. “You’re right. I’m sorry Mr. Davenport. Mums the word. On behalf of The Ocean Club Resort, we’d like to upgrade you to our penthouse suit; we have one more available.”

“The king suite I booked is plenty, but thank you.”

She tries again to insist that I should take the upgrade but I refuse. As long as I’ve got a bed and the ocean view I requested, I’m good to go. Free or not, I do not want the extra frills.

“Alright, well, here are your room keys. I just need you to sign here,” she slips two keys and a sheet of paper across the desk. “If you need anything at all during your stay, you can give us a call.”

I take the keys and return the pen and paper to Britllee, thanking her for her help.

She points me in the right direction and I head for my first-floor suite.

The first thing I do once I’m in my hotel room is kick off my shoes and begin to undress, ready for a nice long nap. Stripped down to my boxers, I open the patio door to let in the ocean breeze then collapse back on the bed. Still exhausted from all of my…uh…exercise before I left the cabin, my eyes drift closed to the sound of waves crashing on the shore and I let out a deep sigh.

Time passes as I float between awake and sleeping when suddenly the sound of waves crashing on the shore is replaced with the sound of camera shutters, flashing lights and chaos.

I guess Britlee can’t keep a secret. That or someone leaked my location because there are at least half a dozen cameras outside the glass door, all shouting questions.

“Have you and Stacey Mae broken up?”

“What about rumors that your relationship was fake?”

“Did you sleep with the singer?”

“Where is Stacey Mae now?”

“Do you really work for a private sector security company?”

“How does Grady fit in all of this? Is Stacey actually seeing Grady or are you three involved in some kind of threesome?”

“Will Stacey Mae be joining you?”

“Is it true that she had a stalker following her?”

We all made fun of Rhys when he became a viral sensation over a selfie in his cop uniform. I guess…this is karma coming back to bite me in the ass. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that it likely won't take long before pictures of me in nothing but a pair of Jockeys hits the internet.

“You people are relentless. I’ve got no comment,” I shout over the noise and proceed to shut the patio door and pull the curtain across.

Fuck. So much for peace and quiet.

Plopping down on the end of the bed, I rest my head in my hands and contemplate what my next move should be.

How fucking long was I asleep for anyway? And who would have thought that there would be an entire gaggle of reporters at some resort in the Bahamas?

It’s not worth it to stay here if I’m just going to be harassed by the press the whole damn time.

I’m debating looking at flights home and checking out of this place when Stacey Mae’s name flashes across my screen with an incoming text.

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