The Secret Rival

by Rachel Woods

  “By the way,” Amal said. “I read your article about St. Mateo on the plane. Very interesting and informative. Made me want to go there.”

  “Actually, the article could have been way more exciting if I had been allowed to investigate a rumor I overheard, but …”

  “What rumor?” Amal asked.

  “Apparently, there is a secret exclusive sex hotel on St. Mateo called the Heliconia.”

  “Are you serious?” Amal cackled mischievously, clapping her hands. “Maybe I should have gone to St. Mateo.”

  “It's just a rumor,” Vivian said, laughing. “Probably not true.”

  “That sucks.” Amal stood and walked to the full-length mirror in the corner near the wardrobe.

  Clearing her throat, Vivian said, “So, I hope I didn’t interrupt your phone call.”

  “You didn’t,” Amal said, scrutinizing her reflection, scowling slightly.

  Vivian hesitated and then said, “The conversation sounded intense.”

  Amal faced her, eyes hard and shrewd. “You were listening?”

  “Well, no, not really,” Vivian stammered, taken aback by Amal’s intense glare.

  “What did you hear?” Amal demanded, a fierceness in her gaze Vivian didn’t recognize or understand.

  “I heard you say that you were going to kill someone.”

  Amal glared, and Vivian saw a quick flash of hatred in her friend’s dark eyes, but then Amal glanced away for a moment, and when she looked at Vivian again, the ire was gone, replaced by frustration.

  “I’m sorry.” Amal exhaled, shaking her head. “I didn't mean to snap at you. I’m just …”

  “Just what?”

  Amal shook her head. “That was Snowdrop, my new assistant I told you about.”

  “Is her name really Snowdrop?” Vivian asked, skeptical.

  Chuckling, Amal said, “That is literally her name. Beyond ridiculous. Anyway, she is a long-term temp, and she has no critical thinking skills. But she can type one hundred and fifteen words per minute, and she’s a master at Word and Excel. She’s like an administrative savant.”

  Vivian laughed.

  “Anyway, there’s an issue with a new vendor,” Amal said. “He’s who I was threatening to kill. He claims there’s a problem with my purchase order for the new massage tables I requested which I need, like, yesterday. He’s refusing to deliver the tables. I really need to stay on top of the situation. That’s why I asked you if Snowdrop could call me here at the condo.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Vivian said, not sure she believed Amal’s story, not sure a massage table vendor could invoke the seething rage she’d heard in Amal’s tone. She didn’t want to prod and pry, didn’t want to treat her best friend to a St. Killian Inquisition. Besides, what did she know about the medical spa business? An unreliable vendor could very well inspire murderous anger.

  Amal said, “Once I get this issue with the vendor under control, I’ll be completely free to relax and enjoy these next seven days in paradise.”

  “Well, I hope the issue with the vendor won’t stop you from going to the street circus tonight.”

  “The street circus?”

  “It’s so much fun,” Vivian promised. “The street circus is like a huge block party with a carnival vibe.”

  “Sounds like fun, but …”

  “But … what?” Vivian asked. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to go. Amal, you have to go.”

  “No, I really want to go, and I plan to go,” Amal said. “But I also made some other plans, too.”

  “What other plans?” Vivian stared at Amal, slightly suspicious.

  “Other plans with Landon, the hot-to-death waiter from Dizzy Jenny’s,” Amal said. “Hopefully, anyway. He may, or may not, call me, but if he does, I want to be available.”

  “Yeah, about that …” Vivian said.

  “About what?” Amal asked.

  “Hooking up with Landon.”

  “I know I shouldn’t,” Amal said, giggling. “But, I can’t help myself. And, believe it or not, but it’s been beyond forever since I got laid.”

  Vivian nodded, noncommittal, saying nothing. She did know, actually, what it was like to go through a sex drought. She’d been celibate since—

  Stopping the thought, Vivian refused to go there, afraid of getting caught up in the memories.

  Focusing on Amal, she said, “I know some things about Landon.”

  Affecting a comical, horror-stricken look, Amal said, “Don’t tell me. He lied about the foot-long.”

  After a sigh, Vivian told Amal about Landon’s brush with the law and possible criminal ties.

  “But, he wasn’t charged with anything, right?” Amal asked, glancing away.

  “No, he wasn’t,” Vivian said. “But—”

  “Then it doesn’t matter,” Amal said, crossing her left leg over the right. “He’s not a crook, so he’s okay in my book.”

  Shaking her head, Vivian said, “Just be careful if you decide to hook up with Landon, okay?”

  With a sly grin and a sassy wink, Amal pointed to a red strapless sundress hanging on the bathroom door and asked, “What do you think about that dress for the street circus?”

  “That’s hot,” Vivian said, approving. “And you know what? I have the perfect red scarf to go with that sizzling red dress.”

  “Will the scarf help me get lucky?” Amal asked.

  “Maybe,” Vivian said, heading out of the room. “But hopefully not with Landon.”

  5

  “How long does it take to fall out of love?” Vivian cocked her head to the side and peered into the eye of the seagull perched on the edge of the railing. Staring at the torn-up pieces of bread in her hand, the seagull gave no response. Not that Vivian expected one. This wasn’t a Disney movie after all. This was her fucked-up life.

  “No answer? Some substitute for a best friend you are.” Vivian hunched her shoulders and leaned slightly to throw the bread over the railing. The seagull plummeted to the concrete below, landing softly, and began to feast.

  Vivian gazed at the horizon. The sizzling sunshine and postcard view from her condo balcony weren't enough to counter the storm brewing inside of her. She needed her best friend right now. Where the hell was Amal? She glanced at her watch; it was a quarter after eleven in the morning. How long did it take to bang a sexy waiter into oblivion?

  Punching her fists into her thighs, Vivian let out a low moan.

  How could she have let this happen?

  Last night, in one foolish moment of weakness, she'd unraveled over a year's worth of progress in finding herself and reconnecting with the woman she'd been. Her new life, rebuilt and renewed from the devastation of her past, had begun to crumble. This beautiful island that had healed her soul and spirit, the place she'd grown to love, would never be the same for her now.

  The largest of the Palmchat Islands, St. Killian was flat and sprawling with endless miles of pink sand beaches bordering the neighborhoods and jungles. The government had quickly learned to prostitute the allure of the island, monetizing its natural attributes to become a mecca for commerce. Developers had flocked there, building easily on the terrain, leaving behind a pristine mirage of resorts circling almost the entire coastline. With the resorts came tourists and a thriving economy, supporting a healthy base of well-to-do St. Killian locals and ex-pats.

  Vivian had been lured to the island initially for a short-term assignment to write the groundbreaking, first-ever Palmchat Island Tourist Guide commissioned by the local government. Traveling and researching the islands in the chain had started the process of healing Vivian’s soul. On her journeys through the islands, she encountered, time and again, evidence of survival in the local people, customs, and environment. More than surviving, the people and the land thrived from adversity and emerged better from tragedy. Nothing could dampen the spirit of the islands, not the hurricanes, water pollution, oil drilling, drug trafficking, or mafia infiltration. With each struggle, the island chain
and its people were made more glorious. Witnessing this time and again had been an inspiration to Vivian.

  Working on the tourist guide had also opened her eyes to a thriving community of writers, with several Caribbean-themed magazines and an award-winning newspaper all headquartered in St. Killian. Her passion for writing and investigating had been reignited, and she'd made another hasty decision, but this time she knew in her heart this one was for all the right reasons. Accepting a staff writer position, she'd packed up everything she owned and relocated to the island permanently, ignoring her mother’s protests and the wariness in her father’s eyes.

  Submerging herself in each article on crime and corruption in the Caribbean had been the cleansing needed to turn her life around and reconnect with the woman she'd lost. Her stories were groundbreaking and riveting, giving her renewed confidence and a quick promotion to senior staff writer. The life she'd obliterated was being renewed, bridges burned were repaired, and the broken heart that had started her freefall had begun to mend.

  The painful, bittersweet memories of her life in Africa were no longer sharp and debilitating, fading to a muted and transient presence that no longer haunted each of her days. That was, until three months into working for the paper, it was purchased by Burt Bronson.

  Burt Bronson was legendary in the publishing industry, a renegade breaking all the rules specializing in buying small-market publications with fewer than 50,000 subscribers in circulation and turning them into literary forces to be reckoned with. He was a self-proclaimed tyrant, an oracle of publishing, arrogant but with a long line of successful newspapers to support his claims. The core principle of his business model was to inflict his distinctive style on every paper he owned. Hands-on in all of his ventures, Burt had moved to St. Killian to evaluate the Palmchat Gazette and ensure it was functioning to his satisfaction and specifications.

  The reputation of the surly publisher had everyone at the newspaper anxious, except Vivian. She was reeling and off-kilter for an entirely different reason. One that had nothing to do with the man's demanding and critical editing style or his penchant for drastically cutting expenses through workforce reductions. Vivian had been stunned because Burt Bronson reconnected her with the past she was trying to forget. He was the one link to the man she was still madly in love with—his son, Leo.

  6

  One day Vivian would see Leo again and feel nothing.

  Too bad that day hadn’t been last night.

  The street circus had been epic, an experience she would never forget. The air had been charged with frenetic electricity. Bodies gyrated to calypso music as circus performers weaved through the crowd, thrilling onlookers with their acrobatic prowess. A massive stage, an island in the middle of the street intersection, displayed aerial acts including tightrope walkers, trampoline tumblers, and trapeze artists.

  Vivian sighed, remembering the moment when she’d paused from dancing with one of the street clowns to grab a plastic cup filled to the brim with Felipe beer and noticed Amal was no longer dancing beside her. Flushed and panting, she’d pushed her way through the throngs looking for Amal. With the record crowd flooding the streets, it had been an impossible mission. Giving up, Vivian decided to text her to find out where she was.

  Just as she grabbed her phone, it vibrated in her hand. On the screen was a text message from Amal: Found my waiter, gonna get laid tonight. See ya manana!

  Her best friend was notorious for disappearing to run off and hook up with locals on vacation. Vivian just wished Amal hadn't picked Landon George. Despite the warnings she’d given her best friend about him, Vivian couldn’t deny that the man was as sexy as it got and that was the only criteria Amal ever used.

  Stuffing her phone back into the front pocket of her cross-body purse, Vivian squeezed through the sweaty bodies in the street intersection. Thirty minutes later, she ducked down a side street to the back of one of the bars where a small wooden deck extended into the sand facing the water. The cool breeze wafting off the sea caressed her skin, giving her goose bumps. Vivian closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, allowing the ocean air to fill her lungs.

  “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes.”

  The baritone voice she would never forget had stunned her as she opened her eyes and focused on the stars, scattered across the onyx sky. Vivian fought the urge to turn around and face the man behind her. Her emotions in turmoil, she struggled to stifle the longing to do something she’d regret later.

  As a jolt of excitement flooded through her veins, resignation settled in. Tonight, restraint would lose the fight. Turning slowly, she saw the love of her life standing in front of her, too close and yet not close enough. His piercing, clear blue eyes bore into hers communicating a passion she’d seen only in her dreams over the past year and a half.

  Words were exchanged in a blur, snatches of sentences her mind couldn’t quite remember. She could still feel the sensation of his mouth, his tongue whipping and swirling around hers. His hand slipped beneath the hem of her short mini-dress and then trailed up the inside of her thigh. Her body throbbed in anticipation of what she knew was to come, what she was craving, what she had to have again, even if it was just for one night.

  His fingers had explored her, bringing her close but not over the edge, before entering her completely, with ardent force. He entered her inch by inch, slowly at first, before quickening his pace in a frenzied rhythm, awakening nerve endings and sending her into a spasm of deep tremors of ecstasy. The crowd singing loudly along with the circus musicians to popular island songs drowned out her moans.

  The squawk of the seagull landing back on the balcony railing shook Vivian from her memories. Her skin flushed, she wanted nothing more than to feel Leo pulsating within her again. Right now. The man was like a drug. Vivian felt a tear escape from her eye. How had she allowed herself to be seduced so easily by the man who'd trashed her heart? Her breakup with Leo had sent her into a dizzying downward spiral that annihilated her life and everything she thought she knew about herself.

  “Shoo, bird, I got nothing for you,” Vivian said as she waved a hand at the bird, sending him flying off toward the aquamarine water, its waves shimmering with a tint of gold from the bright sun.

  Wiping the tears from her face, Vivian walked toward the chaise and sat down. Amal still wasn’t back from her vacation sex, and Vivian had no one to commiserate with about her sexcapade last night. Fluffing the pillows behind her, she leaned back and gazed out at the water. Two sailboats were anchored off shore. Jet skiers zigzagged through the boats in concert with the fragments of thoughts shifting through her mind.

  All the credit for the distance after their split rested solely with Vivian. She'd walked out on Leo, leaving nothing more than a “Dear John” letter to explain her abrupt absence.

  The breakup itself was orchestrated by Leo alone. Five words uttered from Leo’s lips had done more than just end their relationship. It had devastated her entire life. Everything she thought she’d wanted had lost its appeal. The high of gallivanting across the African continent exposing political corruption and atrocities had gone from righteous and uplifting to sad and disheartening.

  With five little words, she’d grown dissatisfied with the life they’d built working side by side as investigative reporters. The microcosm of her life had changed, and she couldn’t get away fast enough. She’d flown halfway around the world, shocking her editor with her resignation from The Washington Post before slinking off to her mother’s winter home in Aspen. Depression had descended upon her, and she became a recluse, shunning her family and friends for months as she struggled to make sense of her disillusionment.

  Five words had triggered it all.

  I don't believe in marriage.

  Leo was matter-of-fact and unapologetic when he'd first said those words to Vivian as if he was speaking of leprechauns or unicorns.

  As much of a nonconformist as she was professionally, personally, Vivian was a traditionalist. She was proud
of her desire to get married to an amazing man and raise children with him. She'd been devastated to learn, after five years of a monogamous, committed relationship founded on passionate love, that marriage was off the table for Leo and children weren’t even on the radar. He resolutely refused to entertain the ideas, and Vivian still didn’t understand why.

  Leo had insisted that his views on marriage had nothing to do with his unconditional love for her or their relationship. She was the only woman he'd ever loved, and she would be the only one he loved for the rest of his life. Despite his reassurances, Vivian couldn't help but feel as though there was something wrong with her. Why was this man who professed to love her so much unwilling to marry her?

  Unable to accept the divergent beliefs she and Leo had about marriage, a line had been drawn in the sand the day she ran away, one neither she nor Leo could erase. Making love under the moon and stars on a Caribbean night would never be enough to bridge the chasm between them.

  7

  The high-end luxury outdoor mall was about a mile from Vivian’s condo complex, along a meandering sidewalk, offering unobstructed views of a shallow pink sand beach littered with seashells and lined with tall palm trees. Vivian had grown tired of waiting for Amal to return or even respond to her many texts and voice messages. She’d needed a distraction from Leo. The next best thing to a tongue lashing from her best friend was retail therapy.

  Heat wafted from the pavement, creating an outdoor sauna effect. Vivian regretted walking back with all her bags under the bright sun as sweat slid down her face to her neck and chest. Her braids clung to her damp skin, making her body temperature rise even higher. As the handles of her bags sent sharp stings into her left hand, Vivian paused to readjust them onto her shoulder.

  Shopping initially hadn’t provided the respite she wanted. The realization that Leo was somewhere on this island had panicked Vivian, making her antsy and nervous. Her heart longed to call him and find out why he was here, although she suspected it had something to do with the massive heart attack his father had suffered six months ago. Why hadn't Burt called to warn her that Leo was on the island?