Raise Your Game: A Stand-Alone Romantic Comedy

by Cassia Leo

  She flashes me a look of disgust. “Are you saying this isn’t the real world? Everything about this trip is a lie?”

  I shake my head as I try to recover from my poor choice of words. “That’s not what I said and definitely not what I meant. Let’s just hurry up and get the scoop so we can go back and be ourselves again. I mean, not that I’m not being myself now, it’s just—”

  She yanks her hand out of mine and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not doing a single goddamned thing. I'm not going to Tantra yoga. I'm not going to the tribal council meeting. I’m not getting your stupid scoop. I’m not doing anything else until I see the amendment your lawyer drafted.”

  I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Before dinner yesterday, you didn’t seem to care. Why do you want to see it now? Want to make sure my offer is better than Everett’s?”

  “I should never have come here with you,” she says, shaking her head with utter contempt in her eyes. “I have a spa day to get ready for. Do not follow me.”

  I close my eyes and try to process what a complete shit-storm this trip has turned into. I need a fucking drink. But when I turn away from the hotel restaurant to head in the direction of the bar, I almost slam face-first into Jason Costello, who looks about as happy as I feel right now.

  “The husbands’ bonding ceremony starts in a couple of hours,” he remarks flatly. “I heard we’re going on a field trip to a hog farm to kill a pig for roasting, for tonight’s vow renewal bullshit.”

  “Sounds like we have two hours to hopefully drink enough to erase this trip from our memories.”

  He nods. “Sounds good to me.”

  Chapter 12

  SOPHIE

  Leaving Logan to fend for himself at Tantra yoga, I take the elevator up to our room and grab my little red notebook. The last note I wrote down details our experience at Tantra yoga yesterday morning. I’ve been trying to keep the notes strictly about Kitty and Jason, but after the amazing kiss I shared with Logan, I wanted to preserve the memory.

  I didn’t get a chance to write about our dinner with Kitty and Jason. Logan and I both had other things on our mind when we returned to our room last night. Now, with my stomach in knots over the possibility Logan may be hiding something from me, I feel like I don’t want to write about what happened at dinner.

  I sigh as I plop down onto the bed, which remains unmade, and begin recording what I can remember about last night. When I arrive at Everett’s attempt to bribe me, I consider leaving it out. I shouldn’t put incriminating things like that on paper. The last thing I need is for Logan to decide, since he is my boss, he has a right to snoop through my notes.

  But I need to preserve my memory of the event. I’m a journalist — okay, a gossip columnist – but I do still like to cling to most journalistic principles of preserving the record for truth and decency. Leaving out important details is lying by omission. Others at Close-Up may be okay with this type of deception, but I’m not okay with it.

  Well, except when it comes to $500,000 bribes.

  This assignment has made me compromise my principles.

  I shake my head as I realize I have to tell Logan about the bribe. As soon as I’m back from my spa day with the other wives, I’ll text him and tell him we need to talk. Then, I’ll come clean.

  When I’m finished memorializing my entire account of last night’s dinner, I stuff the notebook under a towel in my beach bag. If Logan gets back to the room before I do, I don’t want him to find my notes. I want to be able to come clean about the bribe face-to-face.

  I change into my bikini and toss an extra change of clothes in my beach bag to use after my spa day. I consider throwing the only evening dress I packed for the trip, so I can get ready for the vow renewal ceremony at the spa. But I don’t know what the locker room situation is at the Mandara Spa, so I’ll just have to come back to the room to get ready.

  Sliding my phone out of the pocket of my cutoff jean shorts, I see I have a text message from Logan. It’s just three words: Here it is. A link underneath the text appears to be a DocuSign link. I get a pang in my chest as I tap the link and it opens up the amendment to my compensation package.

  My promotion to travel features editor at Open Sky will now come with a raise to $220,000 per year — almost $60,000 more than I asked for. And my severance package, should Kensington Publishing decide to eliminate my position, is $660,000 or three years’ wages, whichever is greater.

  I sit on the edge of the bed for fear my legs may give out on me. I’m an awful person.

  I didn’t tell Logan about Everett’s bribe because I feared Logan was stringing me along. I didn’t want to walk away from this retreat with nothing but a ruined reputation. Everett’s bribe was an insurance policy. But now that Logan has proved his sincerity in writing, I can see how he would think I didn’t tell him about the bribe because I wanted to wait and see which brother had the better offer.

  Last night was the first time since my father’s diagnosis that I’ve actually felt anything more than a superficial connection. And now I’ve gone and fucked it up. Just like I screwed up when I agreed to that loan from Kensington. Typical Sophie.

  I have to make it up to Logan. But how?

  I shake my head as I realize the obvious answer. I have to get that scoop. I don’t like the idea of betraying Kitty’s trust or privacy. But if Logan and I don’t get this scoop, someone else will.

  My empty stomach gurgles, though I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten breakfast or because I’m about to compromise my journalistic integrity.

  Tucking my phone into my pocket, I sling my beach bag over my shoulder and leave the suite. On the way to the elevator, I grab a piece of honeydew melon and a slice of bacon off a room service cart next to the suite across the hall. As I wait for the elevator to reach our floor, I place a call to Jen.

  “Did you dig up anything good?” I ask her over the sound of Knickknack barking in the background.

  “All I found was a production assistant who worked with Kitty on that motorcycle club TV show, the one where Kitty and Jason met,” Jen replies as Knickknack’s yapping becomes more distant. “She said she’s pretty sure Kitty had a miscarriage on set and that’s what brought them closer. She said they got married, like, less than two months later. Did you dig anything up?”

  The elevator doors open, and I press the button for the seventh floor as I step inside. “Not much. I got an email from a guy who drove them around Chicago last year, while Jason was filming that spy thriller. He said he overheard them arguing, and he’s pretty sure they were talking about adopting a child, but it seemed like Kitty didn’t want to talk about, so he assumed that meant she was against adopting.”

  “Oh, shit,” Jen replies. “That’s pretty big, right?”

  I shake my head as the doors open up, and I step out onto the seventh floor. “Not really. I asked him for dates and he seemed kind of sketchy on the details, so I’m not sure I can use him as a source. I’ll have to dig a little deeper for someone else who can corroborate his story. Anyway, I have a spa appointment, so I’ll have to call you back.”

  “Wait a minute! You didn’t tell me how things are going with Logan. Have you and Mr. Gorgeous consummated your union?”

  I swallow hard. “I can’t really talk about it right now. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I get to the airport tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I guess I can wait another twenty-four hours, but that’s it. You have to put me out of my misery soon, or I swear to God I’ll OD on Gail’s Twinkies.”

  “I will. I promise,” I reply, ending the call and tucking the phone into my beach bag as I pull open the glass entrance door to the spa.

  As I queue up behind a line of guests waiting to be checked in ahead of me, I try to think up some convincing vows to recite at tonight’s ceremony. I promise to worship your Magnum if you promise to keep doing that thing you do with your tongue. I giggle at this thought and the redhead in front of me glances
over her shoulder at me with a stanky sneer on her face. I vow that from this day forward, it will be Team Ka’pipi forever. Ugh.

  When I finally arrive at the front desk, I’m greeted by a pleasant receptionist with a hibiscus flower tucked into her hair over her right ear.

  “Good morning. Welcome to Mandara. Do you have an appointment with us today?” she asks with a warm smile.

  “Yes, I’m booked for the Paradise bridal package. My name is Sophie Bishop. I mean, Sophie Pierce!”

  Her smile widens. “Oh, yes, of course. Please follow Nia,” she says, nodding toward the girl standing behind her.

  I follow Nia through a heavy teak door into a corridor lined with doors on the left and a relaxing waiting area on the right complete with a babbling tabletop water fountain in the corner.

  Nia stops at the first door on the left and opens it for me. “Please feel free to choose any locker to place your personal belongings. Clean terry cloth robes are hanging inside the all the open lockers. Make sure to turn the lock before removing the key. The keys have flexi-bands to secure them to your wrist comfortably. But if you wish, you can leave your key with Brianna at the front desk, and she will keep it secure for the duration of your visit. If you need to use the restroom, just turn left as you exit the locker room and it will be your first door on the left. Do you have any questions?”

  My eyes lock on Kitty, who is in the process of changing into her robe near a locker in the far corner. “Nope. I’m good, thanks,” I say, hurrying away to snag the open locker next to my new celeb BFF.

  “Hey!” I say when she notices me coming toward her.

  Her cheeks flush pink. “Oh, God. I’m so embarrassed about last night. I swear Jason and I are not usually such party-poopers.”

  I wave off her comment. “Oh, please. I’m just sad you didn’t get to finish your meal. Logan sure finished his, if you know what I mean.”

  Kitty cocks an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but…you really don’t care that those girls were totally flirting with him in front of you?”

  I shrug as I step out of my shorts. “I don’t know. What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I’m going to find anyone better than Logan.”

  On the inside, I’m cringing at my own words. Unfortunately, there’s no way around this pitiable wife routine. I have to pretend to be as pathetic as Kitty hopes I am, so she can feel better about her own dysfunctional marriage. Only then, will Kitty feel safe enough to give me marital advice or a juicy scoop.

  Kitty cringes on the outside. “Eek. Is that really what you think? You think you can’t get better than some jerk who basically forgets about you the moment you’re out of sight? Nuh-uh. Jason would not be able to get away with something like that.”

  I pull my tank top off and hang it on a hook inside the locker. “According to Logan, any man as good looking as him — or Jason — is going to be inundated with offers from flirty women. As long as they don’t act on those advances, there’s no harm in flirting, right?”

  “Aw, you poor thing,” Lindy simpers as she rounds the corner into our row of lockers. “Is that what Logan has been telling you? That it’s good for him to flirt with other women?”

  “Right?” Kitty exclaims, high-fiving Lindy. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing here. I’m sorry, girl. But you must be drunk on Logan’s Ka’pipi if you think it’s okay for him to flirt with other women.”

  This is working so much better than I anticipated. Maybe it’s time to go in for the kill.

  “Really?” I remark, pulling the bathrobe off the hook inside the locker and hanging my beach bag on the empty hook. “But? How do you stay married if you’re never allowed to flirt with anyone else for the rest of your life?”

  Kitty laughs as she ties her bathrobe. “Now you sound like Jason,” she says, turning the key and removing it from her locker. “I don’t have enough time to explain how wrong you are. I don’t want to be late for my coconut milk salt rub.”

  As Kitty walks away, Lindy shakes her head. “Shame. You almost had her. Guess you’ll have to try being even more pathetic. I’m sure you’ll have no problem doing that. Toodles.”

  I yank my robe on in a huff. “Bitch,” I mutter just as the elderly woman who sat behind us in Tantra yoga yesterday enters my row of lockers stark naked. “Sorry. That wasn’t directed at you.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” she says, using the key dangling from her wrist to open her locker. “Why do you think I’m here?”

  I laugh as I shut my locker door and groan when I see the key is missing. Trying the latch, it doesn’t open. But, I could swear I chose this locker because it had a key in it.

  Shaking my head, I make my way out to the waiting room to find someone to open my locker, but it’s just guests sitting patiently with magazines in hand. I head back toward the door leading out to the reception area.

  Sticking my head out of the door, I wave my hand to get Brianna’s attention. “Yoo-hoo!”

  Brianna’s warm smile is MIA. “Yes?”

  “I need someone to help me open my locker. I think I may have closed my key inside. I’m so sorry.”

  She rolls her eyes as she picks up the phone and dials an extension. “I need locker assistance in the female locker room… Yes… Okay, thanks.” She turns to me looking distinctly unamused. “Someone should be in to help you in about fifteen minutes.”

  “But, I’m going to miss my massage. And I have very important…things in there. Isn’t there someone else who can help me?”

  The woman standing at the desk waiting to be helped by Brianna rolls her eyes. “Ma’am, can’t you see she’s busy?”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Excuse me, but I am getting married today!” I proclaim so passionately I’ve almost convinced myself it’s true. “I just need someone to help me get into my locker,” I say, stepping out into the reception area as panic begins to set in at the thought of someone opening the locker while I’m getting a massage, and my notebook falling into the wrong hands because this Brianna refuses to help me. “You can go ahead and help this woman. She obviously needs a facial. I’ll just use your phone.”

  Brianna smacks my hand as I reach for the handset. “Stop it!”

  “No! Give me the phone,” I say as I try to wrestle my arms out of her spindly fingers.

  Nia comes out to get the next client and gasps at the struggle going on behind the desk. “What’s going on here?”

  I immediately stop struggling and step away from Brianna. “Nia! I need your help. You said if I needed anything to just ask. So I’m asking, I’m begging, please can you help me get into my locker?”

  “I’m calling security,” Brianna declares as she reaches for the phone.

  “No!” I shriek. “No, no, no, no, no. Please don’t do that. Everything’s fine now. Nia’s going to help me. Right, Nia?”

  Nia seems unsure if she should agree, but she finally nods. “Okay. Show me which locker it is.”

  I let out a huge sigh of relief and follow Nia back into the locker room, but when we enter the row where I got undressed next to Kitty, I find my locker wide open.

  “Is that your locker?” Nia asks.

  I chuckle sheepishly. “Guess the latch must have been stuck. Sorry about that. I swear I’m not usually like this. Just wedding jitters. You must see that all time.”

  Nia rolls her eyes and turns on her heel to leave without another word.

  I spin around to face the open locker again, glancing over each shoulder to make sure no one else is around, then I dig my hand into the bottom of my beach bag. Panic rises in my throat as I feel around frantically for anything solid, but all I feel is clothing and my towel. In a state of sheer terror, I turn the bag upside down to dump everything out onto the concrete floor.

  My notebook is gone.

  It has to be Lindy.

  I stuff everything back into my bag and close the locker, leaving it cracked open just a sliver, so I don’t lock myself out again. I have to find
Lindy. That wily little ginger is going to regret the day she decided to mess with Team Ka’pipi.

  I turn on the voice recorder app on my phone, then I slide the phone into the front pocket of my terry robe. Setting off to find Kitty, or Lindy, I turn right at the end of the corridor. The first door I open is a facial room.

  “Sorry! Wrong door! Carry on,” I say, quietly shutting the door.

  The next door I open, I find the elderly gentleman who was sitting behind us in Tantra yoga yesterday getting a massage. He probably was excused from the husband’s bonding ritual due to his frailty. I apologize again and hang another right at the end of the hallway. Angels sing as I spot a large wooden door at the end of the corridor bearing a nameplate that reads: steam room.

  I race toward the door and yank it open, finding myself in a tiled vestibule where about eight white robes are hanging on wall hooks. On the opposite wall of the ropes, there are two doors, one with a sign that reads “men’s sauna” and another that reads “women’s sauna.”

  I begin to remove my robe, when I suddenly remember that my phone is in the pocket, still recording. I decide to keep my robe on, despite warning bells going off inside my head, telling me that I won’t survive in a hot steamy sauna while wearing a thick cotton robe for more than a few minutes. Then, I get a brilliant idea.

  As I grab a complimentary bath towel off the shelf, I wait for the woman who has just come out of the women’s sauna to exit before I take my robe off and wrap my head in the towel. I tuck my phone inside the towel, so the end of the phone where the microphone is located is only slightly obscured by my hair. I puff out my chest with pride at my investigative journalism skills, then I enter the women’s sauna.

  As expected, Kitty and Lindy are sitting next to each other, leaning their heads back with their eyes closed. My little red notebook is nowhere in sight. I can only conclude that Lindy has not yet read my notes or brought the notebook to Kitty’s attention. I make a point of bumping into Lindy on my way to sit next to Kitty. Both Kitty and Lindy open their eyes, but only Kitty appears pleasantly surprised.