Page 39 of The Physical Attraction Seminar
“Not at all. The air guitar championship isverylucrative.”
“That's just… wow.” Barrett's forced smile barely hides his apprehension. There’s a look in his eyes that’s exposing his desire to fade away into nothingness.
I have to exert every ounce of self-control I have to prevent myself from bursting out laughing. But it only gets harder to suppress my giggle when I glance over to see Barrett struggling to contain the horrified look on his face.
One of the richest men in the world is being inconvenienced by air guitar bands, and he can’t even buy his way out of it? You can’t make something like this up.
“You two are lucky,” the man behind the counter says while looking down at his computer screen. “According to the attendee list, you all snagged the last room.”
He prints out the receipt and slides it across the counter to Barrett, who scans it with widening eyes.
“Sorry to bother you again, but I think you may have given me the wrong receipt. This says it’s for an event called ‘The Physical Attraction Seminar.’ We’re here for a real estate conference.”
“No, sir, that’s the correct receipt. The real estate executives conference isn’t until next week. They signed a new contract with the resort last year and negotiated new dates.” The man leans over to grab a keycard from a small drawer on his right. “Give me just a second, and let me grab an itinerary pamphlet from the printer.”
“Next week?” I crane my neck toward Barrett, whose face is drained of color. “I was late for workonetime, andthisis what you got us into? How distracted were you, exactly?”
“I was trying to make your life easier by doing it myself.” Barrett rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Fuck. I knew I should’ve asked an intern to do it,” he whispers to himself.
“You think?” I mutter with a laugh. At this point, it’s the only thing I can do. If I don’t make light of the situation, I’ll curl up into the fetal position right here in front of the check-in desk.
“Maybe if you hadn’t been late, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
I scoff, nudging him in the ribs with my elbow, but Barrett just smiles with a shit-eating grin that makes my knees feel weak. If anyone is at fault here, it’s me since I was late, but I can’t resist the satisfaction of jokingly pinning it all on him.
“How adorable are you guys? Already bickering like an old married couple.” The concierge examines the two of us with a lopsided smile as he holds out a pamphlet and room key for each of us. “I mean that in the best way, obviously.”
“The Physical Attraction Seminar?” I read the title of the brochure, my voice filled with curiosity.
“It’s a retreat designed to bring couples together to help revive their… intimate life, if you will.”
We give the man a warm smile, expressing our gratitude before stepping over to the side. Glancing at the brochure, I take note of the activities listed on theitinerary.
Couples massages. Couples counseling. An information session on why men shouldn’t suppress their moans. Drinks and discourse on dirty talk. An hour-long Q&A on how scheduling sex into your weekly routine can build anticipation.
Barrett must have the same thought process as me because the second we’re out of earshot of other guests, he says, “If you want to leave, we can. I can have them turn the jet around at a moment’s notice.”
I pondered the idea for a moment while looking out the window at the beautiful beach. The sound of laughter fills the air as a few resort guests make their way along the stone path that leads to the water. They’re sipping on vibrant-colored drinks with little umbrellas and squiggly straws.
What if I want to be a squiggly-straw-having, vibrant-drink-slurping, beach-strolling kind of girl? What then?
Especially when the alternative is to hop back on another plane and reluctantly return to the office tomorrow morning, where I'll be glued to my desk for eight hours.
“When’s the last time you took a vacation?” I fold my arms over my chest, still staring out the window.
“Amalfi Coast. A few months ago, why?”
I hum, nodding to myself. “I haven’t taken a vacation in seven years.”
“Seven?You worked for Elliot for over half a decade, and he never gave you any vacation time?”
“Don’t blame Elliot. He tried convincing me on more than one occasion to use my vacation days, but I never had anywhere to go, so I never took them,” I explain. “Once, he tried telling me that the office was closed for a remodel to force me to take a week off, but I caught Camila stuffing work clothes into a gym bag.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You heard Aspen—we blew off one pilates class and never bothered going again. Camila doesn’t go to the gym. I don’t think she even has a membership.”
Barrett's chuckle echoes through the air. It's such a simple sound, but it instantly makes me happy. My stomach still twists with apprehension at the idea of waking up next to him for five nights. But I’d be stupid to turn down a fully paid vacation at a resort as stunning as this one.
