Page 19 of While We Waited

I begin marching toward the main building of the resort. “What’s the issue?”

“Two drunk clients.”

Drunk guests? “It’s barely eight in the morning.”

Alcohol is readily available in the resort. People do come here to relax after all. But drunk patrons causing issues are rare.

“They’ve been drinking from their minibar since the bar closed last night.”

“When are they scheduled to check out?”

He consults his tablet. “In two days.”

“Have their minibars emptied of all alcohol.”

“They’ll complain.”

“They can complain to me.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

We reach the building and he opens the door for me. I aim for the laundry room and deposit the sheets in the dirty laundry bin. I’m tempted to sniff them one more time to gather Nova’s scent but Roger’s watching me closely.

“Where are the guests?”

He motions toward the beach. “At the main outdoor pool.”

I hope they aren’t actually in the pool. I’m not in the mood for a swim this morning.

The main pool is accessed via the glass doors in the lobby. As I travel through the area, several people try to get my attention. I ignore them.

You’d think wealthy people would be used to meeting famous athletes. You’d be wrong. What they’re used to is getting whatever they want. This is why I usually stick to my office or my chalet at the back of the property.

“It’s Double Crown,” a man shouts when I step outside.

I survey the pool area. Besides two men lying on loungers, it’s empty. It usually is at this time of the morning.

“Gentlemen,” I greet them.

“It is Double Crown,” the man repeats. He’s wearing a pair of boxer shorts – not swimming trunks – and nothing else. Thankfully, the boxer shorts are a dark color.

“Course it is. He owns the place,” the other man slurs. At least he’s wearing a white t-shirt with his boxer shorts.

“It’s time for the two of you to return to your accommodation.”

“Return to our accommodation?” Boxer shorts says. “Why?”

“This pool is designated a family area during the day.”

White t-shirt cracks up. “Double Crown sounds as if he has a signal pole rammed up his ass. The pool is a designated family area,” he mimics.

“We’re family,” claims boxer shorts. “He’s my brother.”

They don’t resemble each other in the least, but I don’t contradict them. You can’t argue with drunk.

“Shall I escort you to your room?”

I don’t wait for an answer before helping boxer shorts to his feet. He sways and I steady him with my hand. Once I’m certain he won’t collapse, I assist white t-shirt to stand.

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