“What the hell?”
I do it again.
Nothing.
I dial Marlow. “What does it mean when the house lock blinks red?”
“Your bracelet went faulty. Which never happens, really, unless the Center is down. Which, again, never happens.”
Silence follows.
“Or?” I prompt him, tipsy and irritated.
“Or, it’s deactivated.”
I swallow, then close my eyes, feeling anger rise in me.
“You can call guest services but…”
“But?” I snap. “Come on, Marlow! Help me out!” I whine.
“You should probably take it up with Archer first.”
Fucking. Archer. Crone.
I want to murder him. I cancel our little meet-up because he is an asshole, so he is acting even more like one.
I won’t call.
Screw that.
He wanted a date—I’ll show up and break his freaking windows.
I storm toward Cliff Villa, and by the time I reach it, my anger has subsided. He is like a magnet. The fact that I’ll see him in a minute mixes my anger with anticipation.
The door is locked. I use the pin code he gave me to enter the villa, then step into the empty living room and frown at the familiar scent that I fail to recognize right away.
I hear male laughter. Big Dick has a guest? So, he locked me out of my house and now is having a party? Great. If it’s Margot, I’ll choke her, drag her body to the ocean, and drown her.
The voices are coming from the kitchen. I stomp in and freeze in the doorway.
It’s just Archer, sitting on a high stool at the kitchen island, and one other man.
In a white chef’s jacket.
“Sawasdee khap.” The Asian man presses his palms together in a prayer-like fashion and bows to me with a wide smile.
Sawasdee khap…
My heart whimpers at the words—Thai.
Archer’s eyes are burrowing into me.
“What is this?” I murmur and inhale deeply the smell that brings tears to my eyes. Because it’s so dear to my heart. It’s adolescence. The streets of Bangkok. Night markets. Pad Thai. Tom yum. The smell of scorching spices. Green tea. Exhaust-filled air. Cat-whistles. Street hawkers.
The smell saturates the air in the kitchen, and the chef smiles happily at Archer whodoesn’tsmile, just sits silently as I take several slow steps toward them, my eyes darting back and forth between Archer and the chef.
I can smell green curry. And papaya. Ginger. Garlic. Chili. This is not amateur cooking. This is legit.