WAVE

Chapter 1

WARNING: This story contains strong language and content that may not be suitable for some readers, including depictions of death.

Sweet.

Sour.

Refreshing.

Different.

This Thai Sabai is so like the country that patented it.

The citrus notes settle upon my tongue, the rum coating my throat with intense warmth. The outdoor bar of the Buri Resort is surrounded by flaming torches, placed to ward off the thicket of insects bathing the humid air at this time of night. While kids run rampant throughout the day hours, spending their time by the massive oceanside pools this resort is known for, at night there isn't much sign of them. Here, newlyweds cozy on lawn chairs and friends toast to years of friendship, filling the stools with excited chatter.

Compared to these people, my day was far less stimulating.

My ever-present cell vibrates in my clutch on the marble. Despite knowing it's my boss on the other line, I hesitate to answer, knowing my news won't settle her.

"This is Genevieve."

Alma blows out a breath, skipping pleasantries. "Did you land it?"

Rip it. Like a bandage. "They didn't bite. They don't want to restore it."

"Don't tell me the old blokes are actually against preservation. It's a century-old oil painting."

"I got him to agree, begrudgingly mind you, to a lunch tomorrow. But I don't expect much will come from it. The committee was pretty adamant it isn't transported overseas."

"Then they've sentenced it to ruin!" Her flare for dramatics is at an all-time high. "It's already chipping. It's discolored—"

"I told them all that. Didn't move them."

She groans loudly. I hear her fingers clacking forcefully on a keyboard. "Who invited you to lunch?"

"The museum head."

"Well, that's as good a sign as any."

Doubtful. After everything I heard today, it's very doubtful. But I choose to avoid further progressing a migraine tonight. "Hopefully. I'll really throw our portfolio at him."

"I'm counting on you, Gen. They said in the meeting that they're keeping you there until a deal is settled."

"Understood."

"The sooner you get it, the sooner you can get home. I have every confidence in you. I'll expect good news tomorrow."

"Thank you, Alma. Goodnight."

A noise of frustration accompanies the sound of my phone clattering against the countertop.

"Rough day?"

The voice came from my left, about three seats down around the bar. There's a couple practically molded to each other between us. I stare at the man who spoke to me for a moment...or a while. I honestly don't know.

Under the colorful Christmas lights dangling over our heads, you can still tell his hair is a vibrant, sun-streaked sort of blond. The wild wind today has tussled its way through his soft curls, sinking humidity into them. His shirt is black and hung open from the neck a few buttons, revealing tanned skin. He's been in the sun lately.

Did I answer?

Am I just staring like an idiot?

Snap. Out. Of. It.