Page 14 of Sweet Poison

At first, I frown, my sour mood bubbling to the surface. I just want to get to my fucking room and not deal with the world. “Look, kid—” I begin to say, but my words trail off as I look down at the child. The boy’s light eyes sparkle with unfiltered joy, and his chubby cheeks are flush from the heat.

Something in his innocent face tugs at a memory, softening the edges of my irritation. I can’t help but think of a girl I once knew, someone with the same playful spirit and those same bright, hopeful eyes.

A reluctant smile creeps onto my face as I kneel down to the boy’s level. “You want my squiggly letters, huh?” I ask, my tone lighter. The boy nods vigorously, grinning from ear to ear.

With a sigh, I motion for Lincoln to hand me a pen and a scrap of paper. When he does, I turn back to the kid. “Alright, kid. What’s your name?”

“Rafael!” the boy replies, bouncing on his toes.

“Okay, Rafael,” I say, writing on the paper. As I hand the paper back, I feel a weird tug in my chest as the kid smiles wider. “Have you been good this year for Santa?”

Rafael shakes his head vigorously, a cheeky smile breaking across his chubby cheeks. “Nope!”

“Good,” I reply, leaning closer. “Being good is no fucking fun.”

Rafael giggles, his laughter infectious. “Yeah! I just want fucking toys!”

I laugh at that. “Maybe if you’re just a little naughty, Santa will leave more toys under your tree,” I add.

He giggles some more, gives me a thumbs up and runs off to his parents.

“You ain’t shit, boss. You know that?” Lincoln shakes his head with a smile.

I rise to my full height, and shrug. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I mumble growing tired of the loud noise from the crowded lobby.

We resume the walk as finally, Javier ushers me into the elevator, and I let out a sigh of relief as the doors close behind us. The elevator dings softly as we reach the top floor. I step out and follow Javier down the corridor. The last floor is all mine and there’s only one more suite and I make sure that no one books it when I’m here.

When the door to my suite finally opens, I step inside, and I don’t waste a second before letting out a long, tired breath.

“Fucking finally,” I mutter, though my voice lacks any trace of warmth.

Lincoln trails in behind me, shutting the door with a soft click. I plop down onto the large leather couch, grateful for the quiet.

Lincoln drops my suitcase onto the floor and scans the room while I do the same. The suite like every fucking corner of this resort is decked out in Christmas decor. Tiny, twinkling, multi-colored lights are strung across the ceiling, and garlands with red ribbons are draped over every available surface.

There’s mistletoe too.

Great.

My gaze lands on a large mechanical Santa in swim trunks sitting prominently in the corner by the window, its fat bellyjiggling slightly as if the fucker was mocking me. The sight is absurd. Whose bright idea was to add the tacky as fuck decorations to the rooms? It sure as fuck wasn’t mine. Not the ugly ones at least.

There’s a 7-foot Christmas tree in the center of the room, adorned with colorful beach-themed ornaments—surfboards, palm trees, and even a Santa wearing sunglasses.

Lincoln, who has been silently observing from the doorway, raises an eyebrow at my reaction. The fucker knows better than to say anything, but I can tell he’s barely holding back a smirk and a sarcastic retort. “Looks like the staff went all out,” he replies, his voice betraying a hint of amusement.

“No, shit,” I grumble, pulling my phone from my front pocket.

He flips me off, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him. “Alright, I’ll get shit squared away for you. Is there something else you need, princess?”

“Fetch me a drink will you,” I cut him off. “I’ll need all the alcohol I can get to help me with this festive nightmare.”

“I’m not your fucking servant,” Lincoln chuckles softly as he ignites my request and moves to check the room’s security features.

“It’s so difficult to find good help these days.” I mumbled through gritted teeth at his retreating back.

“Love you too, motherfucker,” he booms just before I’m left alone with no drink and the horrendous decorations. I grimace at the same time I let my gaze linger on the inflatable Santa. Its grin seems to widen as if the ugly thing knew just how much its existence bothers me.

Having had enough, I rise from the couch and walk to the window, pushing aside the thin, flowy red and white curtains that are decked out in yet more Christmas-themed patterns and stepping into the balcony. Once outside, my eyes settle on theview, hoping for normalcy instead of the holiday horror inside. Instead, I find a sprawling balcony overlooking the ocean, where the holiday absurdity continues.

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