The Twin Switch

“That was fast, and not particularly believable.”

“I—”

“You’re a smooth talker, Max Kendrick. But here’s a heads-up for you—what you’re after is not what’s going to happen.”

“That’s not where I was going.”

“Sure it wasn’t.” Logic and reason told me that much.

“You’re a skeptic, Layla Gillen. I’m simply enjoying our conversation.”

I wasn’t about to believe that. Guys often took a shot and backed off when you called them out on it.

Then again, he’d vaguely mentioned a second date. He hadn’t suggested skinny-dipping in his hot tub or checking out his hotel suite. Maybe I was too quick to judge.

“Okay,” I said. “My mistake.”

“No. It was my mistake for letting it come out wrong. Can I back up a couple of minutes and take a do-over?”

He could. I wasn’t about to say no when he put it so reasonably. But just in case I really did have his number, I was keeping up my guard.

Three (#ufe167c1a-bd62-5db8-9ab3-1a7ee14f31cf)

Just as the chocolate soufflé arrived with Devonshire cream and a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, I spotted Brooklyn. She was crossing the lobby, her long blond hair swinging in a high ponytail. I couldn’t see her face, but I recognized her walk, the slant of her shoulders and the oversize green-and-gold earrings she’d bought from a funky little stand at Pier 54.

The soufflé looked magnificent—a molten center, topped with the Devonshire cream, powdered sugar and plump raspberries. I’d gone with a seafood salad for dinner, saving space for an indulgent dessert. But I couldn’t let Brooklyn get away.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Max, grabbing my purse and shopping bag as I slid from the booth.

The pastry chef and the waitress looked baffled.

“Is something wrong?” Max asked.

I kept my gaze on Brooklyn. She disappeared behind a pillar.

“I’ll settle up later,” I called back to him, tossing the words over my shoulder as I hurried away.

I felt terrible sticking Max with the bill. I told myself I could drop off some cash at the front desk. They might be sticky about confirming someone was a guest, but surely they’d take an envelope for them.

I also hated to waste the chef’s hard work. He’d clearly taken pride in the chocolate soufflé. I also selfishly hated to miss eating it.

That was twice today.

Indulgence karma was not on my side.

I could see now that Brooklyn was alone. Perfect.

The lobby was octagonal with four passageways leading off the four corners. She headed down one of them. I thought it led to the pool, an outdoor restaurant and an atrium garden.

I wanted to call out, but I didn’t think she’d hear me. And I was half-afraid she might try to escape. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay away from me.

I knew why she’d done that.

I knew that she knew that I knew she didn’t really want to do this. And she knew I’d talk her out of it without half trying.

I saw the paradox in my thinking. If she knew all that, she wouldn’t be hiding from me. She’d simply admit she was wrong, and I was right, and she’d made a big mistake. But I was always the rational one between us. Brooklyn was emotional, and she could talk herself into peculiar things.

She was still a hundred feet ahead of me when she turned again, disappearing from my sight.

I broke into a trot, then discovered she’d taken a doorway that led to the garden.

I followed on polished brick pathway that wound through lighted shrubbery and towering palm trees. I hurried, but I couldn’t see her in front of me. Then the pathway forked.

I stopped to consider my next move.

I could hear voices in one direction, and music and laughter. I could see the lights of a restaurant or a patio lounge.

The other way was quiet, no sound but a burbling brook beneath an arched footbridge.

Brooklyn liked to be where the action was, so I followed the music.

I came to a café called the Triple Palm. It was fresh and lively, with a breeze blowing through. Beech-wood tables and chairs were surrounded by greenery and decorated with lights and candles. A trio of musicians played in one corner, and a few couples danced on the raised floor. This was Brooklyn’s kind of place.

I did a methodical search of the tables. Then I checked the bar area. Then I repositioned to see the entire dance floor.

No Brooklyn.

I couldn’t believe I’d guessed wrong.

I didn’t have any time to waste.

I trotted again. It was hard to trot in the heeled boots, but they were better than pumps or spiked heels. That was for sure.

I made it to the fork and over the footbridge. Things got quieter around me. The music faded into the distance. The lights were fewer and farther between.

I listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything. My best guess was that Brooklyn was meeting her new soul mate in a secluded corner to talk or cuddle or kiss.

I couldn’t see her having sex in a hotel garden, not when just anybody could happen by and catch her. That wasn’t like Brooklyn.

Then again, this wasn’t like Brooklyn. I realized there was a chance that she’d been having risky outdoor sex with James all this time without telling me.

I groaned out loud and quickly scrubbed that image from my mind.

“Layla?” It was Max.

I heard his footsteps before he appeared around a corner.

I was more than surprised to see him. “How did you find me?”