I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t date.”
“Maybe you should,” he says. “Dating can be fun. And you seem like you could use some fun.”
“Fun isn’t the word I would use to describe my experiences with dating.”
“What word would you use?”
I ponder that for a moment. “Disappointing. Aggravating. Repulsive. Depends on the man and the duration of the torture.”
He chuckles. “Then you’re picking the wrong men. Or the wrong activities. Take your next victim to see some live music or for an afternoon on the slopes. Something that’s always a good time, no matter who’s along for the ride.”
Ignoring the “victim” dig, I say dryly, “Thanks for the tip, but I think we have more important things to discuss.” I nod toward the resort sprawling out around us. “This place is bigger than it looked on the map.”
Nick’s eyes narrow, and he reaches for a pair of sunglasses on the small table between the lounge chairs, sliding them onto his face. “I noticed that, too. And there’s a cluster of buildings at the base of the mountain. I don’t remember seeing those before. Not even in the satellite imagery.”
“They could have been concealed by foliage.” I sit up straighter, lifting my chin to study the mountain, where, supposedly, the resort has zip lines that thread back and forth between the trees from the summit down. I can’t see any of those from here, but I can easily spot the squat, windowless, light green buildings Nick noticed.
He’s right. They couldn’t have been there before. The trees surrounding them aren’t large enough to hide the structures in an aerial shot.
“Maybe they’re recent additions?” I muse.
“Could be. They build things quickly around here, for sure,” he agrees. “A friend of mine bought land on the other side of the island a few years ago. In three months he went from being the proud owner of a patch of scrubland to wandering around his luxury home, complete with patio and tasteful landscaping. The builders here don’t shillyshally.”
I stand, stretching my arms overhead, but I can’t see much more of the area than I could before, other than the fact that the carefully manicured pathways of the resort don’t seem to connect to those buildings, making it unlikely they’re being used for housekeeping or groundskeeper storage.
“I’m sure they don’t,” I say. “Not when it comes to Euros in their pocket. A little of that goes a long way around here.”
“Right. That’s why Stefano’s establishing a base here, isn’t it?” he says, but there’s doubt in his tone.
“You don’t think that’s the case?” I claim the chair next to Nick’s but keep my legs curled beneath me in the shady portion of the lounger. I’m far too pale to stretch into the sun without applying multiple layers of sunscreen first.
“Could be.” He runs a hand through his hair, combing the windswept strands away from his forehead. “But I was thinking on the drive over…a lot of famous people fly in and out of Bali, and they go unnoticed in a way they couldn’t in, say, Italy or France, or even Prague or Croatia. The main airport here is already tiny, and the private airstrip is flat-out deserted. Think about it—there was no one there except that little man in his hut. No paparazzi, no crowds of tourists snapping pics on their phones.” He motions toward the village beyond the resort walls. “And most of the locals have no idea who’s famous and who’s not. To them, we’re all just rich people on vacation. There’s still a certain amount of anonymity here.”
“Agreed,” I say, following his thought trail. “So you think that may have played into Stefano’s decision to establish a presence on the island?”
“Right. Or be the entire reason for it. Maybe this is the place where he intends to service the illicit needs of the rich and famous?”
I frown, considering. “Well… you’re certainly not the only well-known scoundrel to spend time with Stefano and his crew.”
He slides his sunglasses lower on his nose, his eyes sparkling at me over the frames. “Scoundrel?”
“A rogue. A rascal. One who traffics in mischief on the wrong side of polite society.”
“I know what it is,” he says, grinning. “I’ve just never heard anyone use the word in real life. Are you a fan of historical romance novels, Alexandra? Is that your secret vice?”
“If it were, it wouldn’t be a secret.” I sniff. “Or a vice. The act of reading promotes brain health, no matter what sort of literature you’re consuming. And shaming people for their choice of material is so last century.”
“Agreed.” His lips turn down at the edges. “Does that mean you don’t read historical romances? I was hoping we could start a book club. I can’t get enough of them, especially anything set in Tudor England. It was such a violent and awful time, but sexy, too.”