Page 7 of Accidental Getaway

I feel lied to by every single movie ever made. Heroines arriving at their tropical destination with beautiful windblown hair, perfect makeup and a million-dollar smile ready to hit the ground running? Lies!

I don’t know what magic those girls are dabbling in because when I hail a cab at the Mykonos airport, I’ve got matted hair, hot pink compression socks digging into my swollen legs, and a dozen new pimples across my face.

Well, here goes nothing! Neck pillow and all .

I’m not even sure what day it is. All I know is that I have been on three different airplanes and crossed nine time zones.

With how exhausted I am, I cannot wait to get to the hotel.

Once I’m there, I can figure out everything else.

And while I wish I was talking about whether I’m going to sip cocktails by the pool or on the beach, I’m not.

That isn’t remotely on the schedule. I’ve got my first meeting with Niko Psomas tomorrow afternoon, and my brain has been running circles around it since I left Colorado, playing potential conversation topics over and over. I still don’t feel entirely ready.

While in the cab, my phone pings with messages from Piper and my mom, both equally as concerned about my welfare but for different reasons.

Mom: Did you make it okay? How are you getting to the hotel? I keep telling your father we should cancel our camping trip so we’re reachable. I don’t want something to happen and for us not to know because we’re in the middle of the desert in Utah.

Jenni: I’m fine. I’m in a cab. The company is paying for it. Please, do not cancel your camping trip. Go, have fun.

Piper: You made it! Woohoo! Okay, what’s up first? The pool or the beach? And where are you going out tonight?

Jenni: I’ll be staying in, drinking water. Alone. I have a meeting to prep for.

Piper: Ugh. Jenni. Live a little. Please!

Jenni: Can I please just take a nap first?

Piper: Fine. If you must. LOVEYOU.

When we pull up to the Omorfiá Hotel, I’m struck by just how white everything is.

I’ve seen pictures but these white walls are practically blinding in the afternoon sun.

As we made our way here through windy roads, I couldn’t help but stare at stark-white buildings of all shapes and sizes.

It’s breathtaking. I feel like I’ve been dropped down right into a magazine spread.

Inside the hotel, everything from the floors and walls to the furniture are white too. It’s immaculate and sparkling—a far cry from the Pineview Inn, or any hotel I’ve ever stayed at, for that matter.

I immediately feel 100 times more self-conscious about my haphazard appearance and the neon-green zebra-print suitcase I borrowed from Piper. I didn’t want to, but had no choice when she pointed out that my duffel bag wasn’t going to cut it for an international trip.

There is nothing I want more than to get to my room, take a long hot shower, and collapse in bed. I smell like the airport, and I’m pretty sure I could sleep for twenty-four hours straight at this point.

As I approach the desk, a waterfall that seems to be running right out of the ceiling and down the wall at the far end of the lobby distracts me.

The muted blue-green of the water is a striking contrast to the white stone walls as it falls into a colorful pile of marbled rocks.

It barely makes a sound, just carries on, endlessly cascading.

“Checking in, miss?”

It takes me a second to register that the concierge is talking to me. I turn away from the waterfall and face the front desk.

“I’m sorry. Yes. My name is Jenni Swanson with Aspen Sky Marketing.”

The man is about my age, maybe a bit younger, with a sincere smile. “Ah, yes! Welcome, welcome.”

I set my backpack down on the counter and dig out my passport and a credit card to hand over. He taps away at his computer. “Mr. Psomas is very excited for your meetings tomorrow. Very excited.”

I smile at the sweet way he repeats everything he says.

“Are you telling lies about me, Alexander?” A deep voice says from behind me.

My breath catches. I didn’t realize anyone had walked up behind me. I spin around and come face-to-face with Niko Psomas. I recognize him from the photo on Sarah’s phone. His tanned golden skin, deep eyes, perfectly messy hair—all of it, about six inches from my face.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and my legs suddenly feel like Jell-O. I cover my mouth, afraid he can smell my airplane breath or body odor—a sharp contrast, I’m sure, from his fresh sea air aroma. I stumble backward, trying to find the right distance of space between us.

I bump into my suitcase and then practically land on top of the front desk, sending a glass of pens flying in the process. Niko never breaks eye contact.

“Are you all right?”

I nod, so he turns to gather the pens scattered across the lobby floor.

I notice a bit of dried salt on the curve of his jaw and wonder if he’s just come from the beach.

He’s taller than me, but not towering, and he holds himself with an air of comfortable confidence, neither pretentious nor arrogant.

His gray eyes and tousled hair are striking, giving off a sense of calmness, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Which is probably true, looking that handsome.

As much as I hate myself for it, I am tongue-tied and stuttering in his presence.

It must be the sleep deprivation and how intimidating it is to meet him this close up.

Niko is dressed in white linen pants and an ocean-blue button-down shirt, which is only about half buttoned, showing off his muscular chest. Of course.

My elbow slips off the front desk and I stumble again.

I feel my pulse quicken as I move my suitcase and find a place to stand.

He grins at me, as if waiting to see what catastrophe I’ll cause next.

Finally, I sidestep away from Niko, pulling down my sweatshirt in the process, hoping he can’t see where I spilled my in-flight tomato juice during a bit of turbulence. I inhale a deep breath and crack a smile. What does one say after making a complete fool of herself ?

Alexander saves me from having to figure it out.

“Mr. Psomas! So nice to see you. So nice. I didn’t know you were in today! This,”—he gestures at me—“is Jenni Swanson. From Aspen Sky Marketing. She is very excited to meet you. Very excited.”

“So you’re the pinch hitter, huh?”

I’m thrown by his American accent. Amber told me his family is one of the richest in the country. They own a bunch of vineyards or distilleries, I think.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, it’s a baseball metaphor. It’s a person who is sent in to cover for someone who can’t bat.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, jet lag. My brain is mush.” I twirl my fingers by my temples. “Yeah, that’s me! Just call me good ol’ Babe Ruth.”

Oh my gosh. Did I really just tell him to call me Babe? I can’t be any more awkward. And where did that bit of baseball trivia come from anyway? I guess my dad has rubbed off on me more than I realized. I swallow. “Or don’t. Sorry, that was weird.”

“I’m impressed. I didn’t peg you for a Yankees fan.”

“I’m not. More of a Rockies fan, but they are terrible. My parents joke that if the Rockies ever make the World Series, they’ll sell the house and move to Morocco.”

Why can’t I stop talking? Shut your mouth, Jenni.

Niko is staring at me, again, like I’ve lost my mind.

And I’m staring at his insanely pretty eyes.

On further inspection, they aren’t just gray.

Specks of green and blue swirl together in a moody haze.

My heart flutters in my chest. I haven’t felt this way in years, if ever, locking eyes with a man.

“You must be?—”

And then, out of nowhere, I yawn. Are you freaking kidding me?

“—tired,” Niko finishes, in that low gravelly voice. “I’ll let you get checked in, but I’m really looking forward to working with you. I can’t wait to see what you’re planning for the proposal.”

The reminder that Amber sent me with a pre-written sales pitch and slide deck hits me like a ton of bricks.

I reviewed them on the plane, and it was painful.

Everything seemed so out of touch and impersonal, like a telemarketer.

I was bored out of my mind. If I’m not convinced from reading the materials over, how am I going to convince this has-it-all-together man?

“Yes, me too,” I say, wanting to run and hide before I say or do anything else embarrassing. “Oh, and thanks again for hosting me.”

Niko extends his hand. I take it and shake, trying desperately not to notice how soft and warm it is, like morning rays of light. Niko smiles and turns toward the front door of the hotel.

“Excuse me, Mr. Psomas?” Alexander asks, looking unsure of himself. “Before you go, I just wanted to let you know that there were more … you know … ducks in the elevator about an hour ago.”

The tail end of his statement comes out as a whisper. Ducks? What is this place?

“I was afraid that might happen. Have you disposed of them?”

Disposed of them? Cute little ducks? My heart drops.

“I’m sorry.” I throw up my hands. “What is going on? You can’t just dispose of perfectly innocent ducks because they get stuck inside your elevator!”

I cover my mouth, shocked that my inside thoughts made it outside. The sleep deprivation really must be getting to me. Who knows what they can and can’t do? This is Greece. This is his hotel.

But then Alexander and Niko are both laughing .

I stand speechless, looking between the two of them. What is funny about duck massacre?

“Not live ducks, Miss Swanson,” Niko says, fighting off more laughter.

“Small rubber ducks. Someone has been leaving them around the hotel for the last few days. I have asked Alexander to get to the bottom of it because I have watched all of the security footage twice and not seen a single sign of our culprit.”

My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry, sir! You can count on me. We won’t have any ducks, real or rubber, by the end of the day.”

“Thank you, Alexander. I know you can quack the case.”

Niko winks at me and then turns and disappears out the front door. Did he just drop a duck pun and then saunter off without another word? Who is this man? I turn my attention back to Alexander, and I can finally breathe normally again.

“Okay! I’m so sorry about that disruption,” he says. “I have everything ready. Can I show you to your room? Let me grab your bags. Follow me to the elevator.”

I insist on carrying my backpack myself while he takes the suitcase and leads the way around the waterfall to a tiny elevator.

On the second floor, we snake through the maze of a hallway.

There are steps up and then down again without reason and so many twists and turns that I might get lost trying to find my way back to the lobby.

Each corridor is full of light from open windows facing the sea, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders from the flight—or maybe my interaction with Niko—easing as we reach my room.

After thanking Alexander, I place my suitcase near the closet and head to the bathroom to freshen up.

I splash my face with frigid water from the tap.

The cold against my face grounds me and uncoils the tension in my body.

I take in the bathroom after blotting my face dry, taking in marble and gold fixtures, fancier than I’ve ever seen.

There are little glass bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and perfume, with facial masks and makeup remover in turquoise sea glass bowls.

I really, truly, don’t belong here with my plastic dollar store travel toiletries.

I open a water bottle from a basket on the counter and take it to the window.

I draw the curtains and open the windows, a wave of fresh sea air washing over me.

My room has an ocean view. Every little detail continues to leave me stunned.

To the left, I can see the deep blue of the Mediterranean lazily rising and retreating.

The sun glimmers off little peaks in the water like diamonds floating in the tide.

To the right, I can see the white-and-gray rooftop of what must be the front lobby of the hotel.

Behind that, a rocky hillside slopes up to the sky, dotted with buildings, and filled with the faint noise of scooters and taxis vying for space on the winding roads.

The view is to die for. Maybe this trip wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I could get used to this. As long as I don’t think too much about Niko or next Monday’s board meeting. So long as I don’t fall into Niko’s arms or send any more office supplies flying, I think I’ll be okay.

I snap a picture and post it to my socials. I tag the hotel location and drop a song lyric in the caption.

After a few mesmerizing minutes, I pull myself away from the window to collapse on the bed and tell myself I’ll rest my eyes for five minutes before jumping in the shower.