"Abby, I need you to check the presidential suite," he said, getting straight to the point.
"Which one?"
"The Hulopoe suite; he wants the ocean views."
"I'll get right on it," I said. I didn't want to ask why, but I was curious. He had said “he” wanted ocean views. Who was he talking about? I thought up a way to make the question less obvious. "Uh, any special instructions for housekeeping?" I asked.
"If anything's wrong, have them fix it. We have a guest who wants the suite for the entire season. It needs to be perfect. Oh, and he requested a piano in his room and these drinks in his refreshment center," he said, handing me a list.
I raised my eyebrows. The Four Seasons was already a swanky place, but if someone was taking a Presidential Suite for the whole summer
, they had to be some sort of celebrity or billionaire — especially if he’d sent a wish list ahead of him. I bit my lip wondering who it was.
"Can I ask who it is?" I asked carefully.
"He's a musician. Nick Stone," he said.
"Nate?" I asked quickly, correcting him. I cleared my throat and reeled it in. "Nate Stone?" I asked again, hoping he wasn't onto me.
"Yeah, that must be him. Plays in a band. Rich father. He wants the suite for three months. He is an extremely important guest, checks in today. I know I can trust you to make his stay unforgettable," he said, giving me one of his rare smiles. He had them all the time for the guests, but not for us. I think he did it to scare us — keep us in line.
I nodded because if I opened my mouth, I'd probably scream. Nate Stone. Nate Stone was coming here. I was about to meet Nate Stone. I would be able to see Nate Stone every day for the next three months. Joseph dismissed me, and I left the room, feeling like my skin was on fire.
Ohmygod, Nate Stone. I wanted to scream. I had just been talking about him with Makani that morning.
Whew. Down girl. I had to get a grip. I had work to do. I hurried back to the desk.
In a few hours, I’d be meeting Nate Stone. I couldn’t wait.
Chapter Three
Nate
The first time I'd been to Hawai'i was over a decade ago. My mother had lived there for years before she moved to San Francisco and met my dad.
Whenever we went on vacation, we'd come to Hawai'i. We would stay at this private villa on the beach on the Big Island. The staff who worked at the house had kids my age who I'd play with, and we'd always stay there for weeks at a time before going back home. Every night, my parents and I would take a walk together on the private beach. I remember I'd always be up first because I liked watching the fishing boats on the water when the sun was coming up.
After she died, we never went back to the house again. We'd stay at hotels. Five-star places that had been nice, but they'd never really felt like home, and since she was gone anyway, it was never really the same. I just remembered a lot of babysitters since Dad would always take his work with him, something he had never done on vacation with Mom.
I eventually figured out what happened to that house we used to stay in; it had been demolished and a golf resort had gone up instead.
Guess the Four Seasons was a good enough second pick. I don't know what I would have done in the old house if it had still been standing. It had been a long time, like twenty years, so there was no way it would have still looked the same, anyway.
Even if I had been able to stay there, maybe the isolation wouldn't have been the best thing for me at a time like this. It sort of sounded like the kind of place where I'd slowly lose my mind. Somewhere it would take a hell of a long time for anyone to find me if I fucked up and overdosed or something.
Yeah. The Four Seasons it was. At least if I OD'd there, I'd be found the next morning by housekeeping.
I'd never been to their hotel on Lanai, but I'd stayed at their Vegas location, and it would just be like that but with palm trees, right? All I wanted was three months where I didn't have to be Nate Stone. Remus, and my label, and Kirsten could all go to hell. I just wanted to relax. Was that too much to ask?
My life was a fucking garbage fire. Maybe it would still be a mess when I got back, but there was a chance I'd get my head out of my ass long enough while I was on the island to actually sort it out. If nothing else, I could just pretend that everything wasn't completely horrible. I could get massages and be a tourist for a while. And when I went back, I'd just cut everyone off and become a hermit.
Or maybe I'd spend so much time in Hawai'i I wouldn't want to go back at all. There was an idea, I thought. Isn't that what people did? Sort of like moving off the grid, but not really because Hawai'i was not the middle of nowhere. I'd change my name, get a boring job like selling cars, get really fat, and be happy. Anything was better than my life now. It literally could only go up from here. This was the fucking bottom.
I managed to sit through the entire flight without killing myself. It was an early morning flight, but they were serving booze, thank God, so it could have been worse. They only had wine, which I didn't usually drink, but after like three glasses, eight hours really flies by.
I was feeling okay by the time we landed. No shaking. No sweating. Nobody on the plane asking me for autographs or taking my picture, either. Honestly, one of the better flights I'd taken commercially — but I made a mental note to just spare myself the bullshit the next time I wanted to go somewhere.
As I got off the plane, I immediately regretted wearing my hoodie. It was hot, but there was a nice breeze, so it wasn't too humid. I'd take the hoodie off, but I wasn't in the clear yet. It was better safe than sorry. I wasn’t on the Big Island, but all it took was one person recognizing you. If word got out that I was here, then I could kiss my vacation goodbye.