The laptop bounced onto the couch cushions. If my parents wouldn't book me a flight back to Toronto, I'd do it myself. Even within the late hours of the night, my fingers flew over the keyboard. The loud clicking filled the hotel room. Mary and Steven Blackwell were delusional if they thought I'd stay.

For as long as I could remember, every aspect of my life had been orchestrated by my parents. They handpicked my private school teachers, my friends, my meals, my undergraduate degree – no part of my life felt like it belonged to me. But I didn't put up much of a fight, because I believed in what my parents promised me for the future. Despite all of the questionable things they did and said, I was foolish enough to believe that they had my best interest at heart. However, at that moment I realized that Blackwell Suites took precedence over me.

Betrayal ripped at my chest as I scanned the travel website. The earliest flight out was in less than two hours. That was more than enough time. I could have my bag packed and ready to go in less than ten minutes. Most of what Adelaide, my housekeeper, had packed for me was still sitting in my luggage, untouched.

I filled out the necessary information, not bothering to stop and read the policies. When it came time to pay, I selected a credit card that was saved to my computer. But before the payment could be completed an error popped up on the page.

My brow furrowed. Clicking back, I double checked all of the information before trying again.

Error.

Why wasn't it working? My index finger spammed the enter button.

Error. Error. Error.

Panic started settling in. Jumping up from the couch, I darted to find my wristlet. I found it on the entry table, the same place I had dumped it when I stormed into the room. Ripping the zipper open, I emptied the contents. Cards and old receipts were tossed about, creating an expensive collage on the glass surface of the coffee table. One by one, I typed in the string of numbers for each credit card. Nothing worked.

What the hell was going on?

I reached for my cell phone. There had to be some sort of mistake – an internal issue.

"I'm sorry Ms. Blackwell," the bank clerk said once I had gotten through. "It appears to me that your account has been wiped of funds and your credit cards deactivated."

"Wiped of funds," I echoed. "What do you mean, wiped of funds?"

The man on the other line cleared his throat. "It means that you no longer have funds in your account."

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I paced around the coffee table. "And where exactly did all that money go?"

"Unfortunately–"

"Who gave you the authority to remove the funds from my account?" I seethed, stopping to brace myself on a chair.

"The order was authorized by your mother. It states here that she has power of attorney. I am unable to reverse the changes or retrieve any of the funds back. I am sorry Ms. Black–"

As if it was burning me, I ripped the phone away from my ear. This couldn't be happening. Mary and Steven Blackwell were controlling, sure, but this took the cake.

I drew in one deep breath, then another before storming into the bedroom. Throwing myself down on the queen-sized mattress, I buried her face into a pillow. I took in one last deep breath before letting out a shriek and a promise that I would be leaving Blackwell Suites. No matter the cost.

✈

When I awoke the next morning, I decided that I needed space. I needed to get out of the suite and as far from my parents as physically possible. And for now, that meant the garden pool. If they did find enough heart to come and discuss things with me, the outdoors would be the last place they would search.

I didn't even know why I was bothering. There was no point in trying to hide. One call to the hotel manager, Mr. Gibbons, and Mary and Steven Blackwell would have my location in a matter of minutes. But no matter what, I knew I had to get out of the penthouse suite.

Shuffling through my bags, I searched for one of the two bathing suits I had brought along on this trip. My fingers found the black one-piece first. The material was stuffed away in a discarded ball somewhere near the bottom of my luggage. I hadn't planned on the springy fabric seeing the light of day. However, out of the two options Adelaide had forced me to bring, the conservative one-piece beat the cheeky bikini by a landslide.

I tugged the summer dress over my head. I analyzed it for a moment, taking in the softness of the fabric, before tossing it in the bin. The black swimsuit replaced it, a pair of cotton shorts and flip flops completing the ensemble. Grabbing a small backpack off of the dresser, I threw in an unopened bottle of sunscreen and left.

The elevator door dinged the moment I stepped into the hallway. I slipped inside, bumping into a maid in the process. The brunt force knocked the towels out of the woman's hands, scattering them all over the carpeted hall.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Ms. Blackwell."

I eyed the woman for a moment. Then I closed the elevator doors, pushing for ground level, and leaving the maid in a mess of sheets. I was grateful when the lift plunged to the lobby uninterrupted. I just wanted to be alone.

"Ms. Blackwell," The hotel manager greeted me the moment I exited the elevator. His faux British accent had me grinding my teeth in aggravation.

"Mr. Gibbons," I replied, smoothing out my feelings of distaste.

The man's hair was combed flat, the gel causing the top of his head to shine under the crystal chandeliers. "How are you this morning?"

"I am fine, thank you," I said, fixing the strap of my bag. "How are you?"

"I am quite alright, Miss. Thank you for asking," he said, his smile belonging to some sideshow clown. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'm sure you have a busy day ahead of you. However, I caught word of a situation that happened last night, and I wanted to inquire about it."

The polite curve of my lips wobbled the slightest amount. His words rehashed at open wounds. The last thing I wanted was to have a chat about what was going on within this damn hotel – the one place I was so desperately trying to get out of.

A war waged inside of me. Should I continue on my way to plot my escape or should I stay and humor the middle-aged man?

"I don't know if I'm qualified–" I started.

Gibbons cut me off, "It has to do with a situation that occurred in the restaurant last night. Apparently, you were involved."

"Okay..." I said, straightening my spine. "What seems to be the issue?"

He guided me away from the employees at the front desk with a simple gesture. When we reached an unoccupied corner of the hotel lobby, he turned to me.

"There has been a rumour floating around that a certain staff member has been fraternizing with the guests," Gibbons said in a hushed tone. "I was also made aware that he interrupted your meal last night. Is this true?"

Instantly, my thoughts travelled to Reuben.

"I wouldn't say interrupted..." I trailed off not sure how to continue.

"I was made aware that he made quite a few inappropriate remarks towards you. Is that correct?"

I couldn't be more confused. Sure, Reuben was friendlier than the average waiter, but inappropriate? My mind wandered to the conversation that we have in the hallway prior to Luca interrupting.

Luca.

Frustration flared in my chest. He had met me on a couple of occasions and he already thought he could control who I associated with. No wonder my mother liked him so much.

"No inappropriate comments were made."

"But he stopped you last night on your way back from the women's restroom?"

This was turning into a game of twenty questions. Impatience ate at me like fire ants. I was in no mood to be interrogated.

"Yes, he did," I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. "Will that be all, Mr. Gibbons?"

"Yes, Ms. Blackwell," he continued. "But first allow me to apologize for his unprofessional behaviour. I assure you I have plans on removing him immediately."

"Whatever you see fit," I assured him while taking a premature step back. "Now if you'll excuse me I was just about to head out to the pool."

Gibbons motioned towards the grand arches in the back of the lobby. "Very well, Ms. Blackwell. Enjoy the rest of your day."

I couldn't create distance fast enough. I beelined for the French doors and made my way out of the lobby. Burgundy loungers spotted the pool's perimeter, most already claimed with towels. I set down my handful of belongings, swiping a towel from a chair next to me. Resting my head back only one thought plagued my mind; how the hell was I going to get out of California?

As it inched closer to noon, I remembered why I didn't frequent one of the four outdoor pools. I couldn't handle the unforgiving heatwave of Sacramento, California. Even with the parasol over me, I felt like a polar bear in the Sahara. Jewels of sweat slid down my neck, sticky moisture clinging to my back. The black one-piece did nothing to keep me cool. The dark colour only summoned the sun's attention to my pale skin.

I needed a drink.

"Here are your beverages, ladies." The whiskey smooth voice had my eyes snapping up from applying my second coat of sunscreen.

The group of women swooned at Reuben, despite the horrible burgundy polo. They batted their lashes, saying thank-you as he made his way around. I watched as one of them dipped a hefty paper bill into his pocket. The dimple on his cheek dug in deeper as they carried light conversation with him. He was so natural when speaking, the charisma radiated off of him. It was no different to how he spoke to me the night before. The only thing missing was the dress shirt and tie.

"Drink?" A cored pineapple materialized next to me.

I blinked at the makeshift cup. "Well I guess, since you already brought it."

He grinned, his large frame sheltering the rest of me from the sun. "You looked like you could use it."

I took hold of the carved-out fruit, the pink straw inviting me in for a sip. The piña colada was just what I needed. The consistency reminded me of the fruit smoothies Julian, my personal chef, made me for breakfast. Within seconds I had sucked back more than half of it. When I finished, I was surprised to find Reuben still standing over me.

I squinted up at him. "Can I help you with something?"

"I feel like we missed out on a proper introduction last night. I'm Reuben." The tan hand that had offered me a drink extended towards me again.

Peering down my nose I replied, "I'm busy."

Avoiding conversation, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Bizzy."

The teasing grin from last night was back, his dimples on full display. Just what did he think he was doing? Maybe Gibbons was on to something. Fraternizing with the guests was one thing, but with the heiress? Was he asking for career suicide?

Ex-heiress, I had to remind herself.

"They have you working the whole hotel, eh? What's after this? Reception clerk?" I said, gazing at him with only one eye open.

"Whatever gets the cash flowing," Reuben said, shrugging one of his broad shoulders. He took in the sunscreen bottle on the side table next to me. "How come I've never seen you by the pool before?"

Sucking in a breath through my nose I responded. "I don't really do sun."

"And yet you're in good ol' sunny California."

"Not by choice."

The look of interest he held in his eyes did weird things to my stomach. It brought upon an indescribable feeling that started somewhere deep in my chest. "Where would you rather be?"

"Home."

"Then why are you here?" Reuben asked. "If you're not happy, what's the point in staying?"

"Are you the hotel's therapist as well?" I said, tongue sharp.

Reuben smiled at my backhanded comment. "Do you want me to be?"

I paused for a moment before sighing. "It's easier said than done," I said, taking another sip of the drink he had brought me. "I'm practically being held hostage. Trust me, I'd rather be anywhere my parents aren't right now."

"Is your private jet out of fuel or something?" Reuben teased, a light dancing in his warm hazel eyes.

I fought the smile off of my face.

"Or something."

"Well," Reuben took a step back. "I'm sure you'll figure out a way to get back home. Worst comes to worst you can hitchhike – or Uber. Where are you from again?"

"Toronto, Canada."

Reuben let out a low whistle. "That might just cost you a few grand."

I couldn't help but crack a smile. "You want to pay for it?"

"If it means getting you back home safely, absolutely," Reuben said. He repositioned the tray in his arms before peering back over to the bar. "Anyways, I should get going before someone comes to break up the party. I'll see you around?"

"Unfortunately," I said. Disappointment pecked at my chest. That was the most pleasant conversation I had since I landed.

Reuben inched another step back. "See you around, Bizzy."

He turned to leave. But before he could take more than two steps, I hatched a genius idea. An insane, but genius idea.

Leaping up from my seat, I wrapped my fingers around what they could of his bicep. "Wait! Take me home."

Reuben stared down at me as if I had sprouted two heads. "What?"

I closed some of the distance between us. "Take me home. I will find some way to pay you."

Reuben paused before letting out a low chuckle. "You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was. But I don't have too many options right now."

Reuben shook his head, amusement in his eyes. "If you haven't realized, I have a job. I can't just pick up and go."

"Not for long."

The whimsical sound of his laughter came to an abrupt halt. "What?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I had a run in with Gibbons this morning. He's coming for your name tag. Don't know why he hasn't gotten around to it yet, but it's inevitable. Might want to start flipping through the classifieds."

Reuben gazed down at me. I did my best not to waver. I was going to do anything in my power to get what I wanted. And right now, it was freedom. Even if it was only for a little while.

"I—" Reuben started. His ringlets blew in the breeze. The rest of him stayed static. He analyzed my face. It looked like he couldn't tell if I was being serious or not. But after another stare down a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"I didn't peg you as a hustler."

"I am..." I stopped to correct herself, "... was the heiress to an entrepreneurial empire. It would be in your best interest if you didn't underestimate me."

Reuben's signature dimple returned to his face. "I wouldn't dream of it."

authors note: 

And the adventure begins! This chapter has a little bit more interaction between Bizzy and Reuben and honestly, I'm in love with their chemistry. Let me know if you agree in the comments. These two characters are *chefs kiss*.

If you want to chat me with me and other readers about this story as we go along (and maybe get some sneak peeks before anyone else) join my discord group! The link can be found in my bio, but I'll be sure to put it in the comments here as well. I'd love to chat with you guys!

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Happy reading!