Catching Sam: Book 2 of 5: The MacDonald Brothers by Emily Matthews (best mystery novels of all time TXT) 📗

half or so,” he said. As they entered the lobby, Sam flinched and swore under his breath. “Why didn’t I think about this?” he mumbled to himself.

“What’s wrong?”

“See that man to our two o’clock? Don’t look, but he’s a reporter for one of the tabloids. I don’t need this right now,” he said. “Unless he has a room at the resort, he shouldn’t be here.” Just then, the man looked up and recognized Sam. He grabbed his camera and pointed.

“I got this,” Annie whispered. Turning away so her face wouldn’t be in any photos he took, she put herself between Sam and the photographer, then said in a loud voice, laced with a strong, Southern accent, “Well, thank you sooo much for the ride, Mr. MacDonald. You really saved my bacon. I can’t believe the prize people didn’t book a car for me. How was I supposed to get here? Anyway, it was real nice to meet ya’ll. I hope you have a great stay.” As Annie walked away, her back to the photographer, she could hear Sam chuckling. Sam by himself at the resort wouldn’t be nearly as newsworthy as Sam with an anonymous blond woman at the resort.

She made a beeline for the front desk and told them about the man trying to take Sam’s photo. The resort staff were appropriately outraged and escorted the man out. Annie guessed that the ritzy place was probably a celebrity magnet, and the resort wouldn’t want the reputation of letting in the paparazzi.

Once the photographer had been removed, Sam approached her with a chagrined look. “I hope you don’t think I was embarrassed to be seen with you or anything.”

“No,” Annie replied quickly. “I get it. You value your privacy. Don’t worry.”

He seemed relieved. “Okay. Here’s my credit card,” he said, handing over his American Express.

“I’m not using that,” she said. “I’ll pay for my own stuff.”

“It’s my fault that you have to buy anything at all. You are not buying your own stuff,” he retorted.

“Oh yes I am,” she said.

“Oh no you’re not.” He had a flash of déjà vu from when she insisted on paying for dinner at the bar the night they met.

“Oh, yeah. Watch me.” She winked and turned to go.

“Damn it, Annie,” he called after her as she walked away. She waved but kept walking.

After a few minutes of browsing, a staff person approached her.

“Hello, Ms. O’Neill. Whenever you’re ready to head to your bungalow, please come to the front desk and let us know. We will drive you there,” said the woman with a strong Hawaiian accent. Annie thanked her and said she would.

Drive her? How big was the resort that she couldn’t walk to their room? She shook her head and focused. She didn’t want to waste her beach time shopping and got down to business.

Sam was right about the shop having everything she needed. The prices were three times what she would consider reasonable, but what the hell? This was like a vacation. A little splurge wouldn’t hurt.

It was important to her that Sam didn’t think she was a money-grubbing mooch. It might drive her into bankruptcy, but she was determined to pull her weight, financially, in this relationship.

After picking out a pair of shorts, a swimsuit cover-up, a “cheap” pair of sunglasses, and some flip-flops, she moseyed over to the swimsuit section. Saving that for last had been intentional, and she started a short debate with herself about what to buy. She’d done so much work on her self-confidence, but she wasn’t sure it was enough to wear a bikini in front of Sam.

Concluding that if Sam weren’t a factor, and she were here by herself, she would be more comfortable in a one-piece, that’s what she bought. Sam was probably used to stick-thin, model-ready women, but if he thought he was getting that with her, he was in for a surprise.

This would be an opportunity to test her mettle. To put herself and her half-naked body on display all afternoon, she would need to summon her inner warrior, but she could do this. On a whim, she bought Sam a pet rock named George Washingstone and paid for it all on her Visa.

Walking back to the front desk, she was intercepted by a rotund, jolly Islander.

“Aloha, beautiful,” he said. He placed a lei of flowers around her neck, and the flowery scent almost knocked her off her feet. “My name is Pika, and I will be your personal concierge while you are here, Ms. O’Neill. Are you ready to travel to your bungalow?” he asked as he took her bags.

Pika had long, dark hair that laid in a braid midway down his back. He wore a sarong, flip-flops, and a brightly colored lei. He must have weighed close to four hundred pounds, but he still rocked it. It reminded her of the adage that it wasn’t what you wore, but how you wore it. She’d have to keep that in mind when she got into her swimsuit later.

“Bungalow? Wow, sounds fancy,” said Annie, still in awe over how lavish everything was. “Yes, by all means, let’s head there now.”

“Wait. Is this your first time to the resort? If so, we must take a quick tour,” he said as he led her to a modified golf cart. He put her bags in the back and helped her into the vehicle.

“Sure. That sounds great.” Annie removed her lei just long enough to pull off her hoodie. She was very much overdressed and couldn’t wait to put on her new shorts.

Pika pointed out the pool, which had a huge waterfall and two swim-up bars. He showed her where the golf course was and the location of the resort’s restaurant. The restaurant looked very romantic, and heavenly smells drifted from the general direction. If they ate there, she’d have to go back to the boutique.

Finally, he set off for their room, driving past several other bungalows, each one fancier than the last. The place reminded