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My karma wasn’t mean, she just had a quirky sense of humor. She strategically placed jackasses in my path so I wouldn’t grow bored. She messed with my personal and professional life, and every time I thought I was in the clear, she’d surprise me in the most peculiar way.

Today was my second day at a ritzy, all-inclusive Costa Rican resort, and everything was going well when a hotel staffer delivered a package addressed to me. It wasn’t my birthday, and it was two months past Christmas. I ripped it open anyway—blame it on cocktails at lunch. A bulky gold bracelet embellished with elegant swirls around four green stones fell out of the box. No note. It sparkled in the early afternoon light, beguiling me, and of course, I snapped it on.

My Apple Watch vibrated with a message.

William

Hurry. The Mr. Sexiest Legs contest is starting

I grabbed my purse and, like any sensible thirty-three-year-old, I rushed to have drinks with my brother.

The Triton bar was the indoor/outdoor extension of the main restaurant. It had a tropical vibe and offered a full panorama of an infinity pool and an extensive list of hand-crafted cocktails that could quench anyone’s thirst. I found William perched on a stool at the bar with a prime view of the lineup of contestants.

I sidled up next to him. “Thanks for finding great seats.”

“Only the best for you.”

“You and I both know it had nothing to do with me.” I smiled and leaned on the counter to catch the eyes of the busy bartenders.

“I already ordered us—Wowza!” William grasped my right hand and brought it up to examine the bracelet. “When did you go on a shopping spree without me?”

“I didn’t. It was delivered to our room a few minutes ago.”

“Two days at this resort and you already have a secret admirer. Bravo, Adriana.”

A strawberry daiquiri and a margarita on the rocks materialized in front of us. Without a toast—we did plenty of that yesterday—we took a large gulp of our drinks.

“I doubt it,” I said. “But it is weird. Who knows we’re here?”

The contest host’s booming voice reverberated around us, snapping William’s attention to the front of the pool.

For the next two hours, I enjoyed people-watching, my foot swinging to upbeat merengue music, but after the third or maybe fourth cocktail, the truth finally hit me.

“Son of a gun,” I said, with my margarita midway to my lips. “This isn’t a gift. It’s a bribe to let him back in on the deal.”

William, staring at a group of men with abs that should be used in an anatomy class, finished his drink with a loud slurp and turned to me. “Huh?”

“This bracelet.” I thrust my hand at him. “It’s from Jeff. Don’t you get it? He wants back in as my silent investor.”

He glanced at the bracelet, and then his hazel eyes focused back on the washboards. “I like my secret admirer theory better.” He sucked on the straw even though there was nothing left in the glass. “But it could be him.”

“I’d rather live in a cardboard box and eat maggots than partner with him again.” One week plus some blurred days ago, Jeff had left me in total WTF-ery. “I might be jobless and carrying a Texas-size mortgage loan, but my dignity is bigger. I’ll throw this thing away.”

“That’s the spirit.” William clinked his empty drink glass to mine.

I finished my margarita and tried to concentrate on anything that could hush the Itty-Bitty Shitty Committee chanting in my brain. But my rah-rah attitude ran its course, and my anxiety took over.

“I’m a total failure.” I folded my hands on the polished stone bar and pressed my head into my forearm. The bracelet’s center stone jabbed into my skin.

“You aren’t a failure,” William said. “Think of it as stepping in dog crap while jogging. It sucks. It stinks. But like all big girls, you wash your shoes off—or better yet, buy a new pair—and the next day, you run again.”

I lifted my head, and William grinned at me. I wished I had his let’s-stay-positive personality. Did he inherit it from our father? What did I inherit from him? I’d never know.

“Is Jeff the dog crap?” I asked.

I met Jeff through my work at Salzburg Wine Distributing and pitched him my idea to open a boutique store selling wine, olive oils, and vinegars supplied by women-owned businesses.

“Who else would I mean? That jerk left you high and dry. Who does that?”

“The jerk who had different motives.” I sighed.

Jeff’s only stipulation was for me to own the property—so I’d have some skin in the game, he said. That was fair enough since he would be the one investing hundreds of thousands of dollars into renovating the building and buying all the initial inventory. It wasn’t easy to get a loan, but I managed, scrapping the bottom of my savings and retirement funds to make a down payment. I just wished I hadn’t overlooked the line stating both parties could break the contract at any time.

A bartender placed two tequila shots in front of us. We raised our glasses in a toast, licked the salt off the rim, tossed down the spicy liquor, and bit into fresh limes. As the hot liquid went down my throat, I cringed at the taste. William gently patted his lips with a napkin while I wiped mine with the back of my hand.

“Now,” William said, “you promised not to ruin our trip by talking about your minor issue.”

I vaguely remembered making that promise in exchange for a paid-by-him vacation at a luxurious resort. After a day of hysterical panic, followed by three days of not being able to get out of my bed, followed by rage at every human with a dick—my brother excluded—I needed this break.

I raised my right eyebrow and scoffed. “How is being a million dollars in the hole a minor issue?”

William stubbed his finger above my raised eyebrow. “You need another round of Botox. When we’re back in Atlanta, come by my clinic.”

Annoyed that William wasn’t taking me seriously, I swatted away his hand. “I have much bigger issues to worry about right now than my wrinkles.” I should be grateful and not annoyed. He was only trying to take my mind off my dumpster-fire life. “Plus, I don’t have money to waste on something like that.”

“First, taking care of your beauty isn’t a waste. Second, since you refuse my help with your money problem, Botox will be my treat.”

He was thriving as the owner of Atlanta’s highest-rated non-surgical beauty treatment clinic, but I couldn’t take a penny of his hard-earned money. It wasn’t my pride, but rather my fear of dragging him down into my financial hole.

William unlocked his iPhone and pulled up our itinerary for the next two weeks. “So, tomorrow, we have a sunrise yoga class on the beach, followed by a detox breakfast.”

I didn’t need a green smoothie. I needed to sell an empty shell of a building or quickly find money to pay the bills that were already piling up.

I planted my elbow on the bar to prop up my heavy head, the tequila shot warming my bloodstream. “Are they serving Bloody Marys? It’s basically a salad in a glass. With protein , if they add bacon.”

“I don’t know if they do, but we can certainly find some after.” He scrolled down to the next item. “Then we have nothing to do, so we can be lazy bums until dinner time, which is… a barbecue at six and dance lesson by the pool.”

I felt bad my glum mood was ruining our vacation. William wanted to have fun, and all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and die from wallowing in self-pity. I’d bring a book with me, just in case it took a long time.

William looked up from his phone and leaned back in his seat. His lips shaped into an O as he stared over my shoulder for a few seconds. “OMG. Superman is in the bar.”

“Oh yeah?” Without turning to check out the guy, I wiggled my eyebrows—well, the right one at least. “Is he wearing a tight blue spandex costume and a red Speedo?”

His gaze slowly traveled up and down. “Nope, just a white button-up shirt and beige trousers, but he’d look great in a Speedo.”

“No one looks great in a Speedo.”

“I do.”

“Not even you.”

“Rude.” William’s eyes went wide, and he bumped my knee with his. “He’s coming over here.”

“Hello,” the man said in an English accent. “I’m Dr. Andrew Jones. I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.”

My eyes rolled so far back in my head it hurt. Why did so many men use cheesy conversation openers? Usually, I’d kindly brush off whoever hit on me, but in the current contingency, I was exhausted from dealing with men.

“Save your pickup lines for someone else.” I dismissively wave my left hand to flaunt my false princess-cut diamond engagement ring.

“The bracelet on your wrist is not yours. It’s mine,” the man said, voice edged with vexation. “Please take it off.”

What the actual fuck? Was he politely robbing me?

My mouth dropped open, and I spun in my seat. “What?”

This man with the face of a god walking amongst mere mortals looked to be in his early thirties and sported brown, wet-out-of-the-shower hair and a lopsided smirk. His green eyes… no, wait, blue eyes—how drunk was I—glared at me. I squinted. I was sure the iris of his left eye was a different color than the right one. Wild, but beautiful.

“No!” I said. “It’s mine. I just got it today.”

Dr. Jones’ jaw clenched tight, and he took a deep breath, his wide chest expanding. “I don’t have time for this. How much do you want for it?”

I glanced at my hand. The bracelet wasn’t my style and was cheaply made. Its gems weren’t set well and kept depressing slightly under finger pressure. I didn’t want it, but out of principle or spite , I said, “It’s not for sale.”

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars for it,” Dr. Jones said.

A cocky smile grew on my face as I met his intelligent eyes. “Five grand, and it’s yours.”

“Deal.”

For real? I was thunderstruck.

But why did he want it? And did I care that much to question him? Nope. This money was a drop in my debt ocean, and right now I was unemployed, living on William’s couch and cramping his lifestyle. Anything was welcome.

“Don’t do it,” William whispered to me. “It’s some pyramid scheme.”

“I don’t think you understand how a pyramid scheme works. And don’t you want me out of your condo?”

William peered over my shoulder. “You’ll need to Venmo it to her account.”

I twisted around and faced my brother. “You said you liked our bonding time.”

William made a puppy face. “We can still bond. Only at the end of the night, you can go back to your own place.”

My eyes widened with pretend hurt. “Let me remind you”—I poked his arm—“I came with a case of very expensive wine.”

“More like overpriced wine, and there’s now only one bottle of it left.”

Dr. Jones cleared his throat again. “Please provide me with your contact information to complete the transaction.”

“Who are you exactly?” I gave Dr. Jones a once-over, trying and failing to find anything incriminating about him. Instead, I found myself admiring his fine-cut features and downright intimidating confidence, which I found impossibly sexy in men.

“I’m an associate professor and academic director of Archaeology at the University of Cambridge.”

“That’s a lot of big words people shouldn’t say during happy hour.” William pushed my shoulder, sliding a cocktail napkin with my name, phone number, and Venmo username on it across the bar.

“William! Seriously?”

I exhaled an irritated breath, but my left hand went to the bracelet. I twisted it a few times but it was impossible to find the fastened clasp among the intricate engravings of serpentine vines, which now looked more like jagged lines than scrolls.

“How do I take it off?” I tugged on it, trying to pull my hand through the band.

“May I try?” Dr. Jones said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

I held out my arm to him.

His feather-light touch on my skin sent shivers down my spine and made me exceptionally aware of his closeness, the heat radiating off his body. He carefully rotated the bracelet, pausing a few times to examine it. While concentrating, he chewed his bottom lip, his eyebrows drawn together as his fingers applied pressure on the stones. Being so close to him, I couldn’t help but take a deep breath and enjoy the lingering scent of the hotel’s lavender and lemon soap mixed with a hint of sunblock. It had been too long since I’d felt a man’s weight on my body, enjoyed the smell of sweat and sex, or been touched in the way no battery-operated boyfriend can.

Dr. Jones cleared his throat. He rotated the bracelet some more, then pressed on the largest blue stone. Nothing happened.

“Hmm.” He raked his hand through his hair.

“Hmm, what?” I stared up at his face. The man was taller than I’d initially thought. I was five eleven, and he must have a good six inches on me. “You don’t know how to open it?”

“I need more time.”

“Let me try to pull my hand through it again.” I broke our eye contact and tugged hard on the bracelet. Why in the world did I put it on? Embarrassment crept up my neck and then morphed into hot anger. I took a deep breath, seized the stupid golden thing in a vice-like grip, and yanked it.

“Stop.” Dr. Jones grabbed my arm. “You could damage it.”

“Maybe if we put some lube on it, it will slip off?” William chipped in.

“I didn’t bring any,” I hissed through my teeth.

“I did,” William said. Of course, he did . “Lube will work. Let’s go to our room and try it.”

“It’s worth an attempt,” Dr. Jones agreed.

In awkward silence, we rode to the third floor and walked to the end of the hall. When we entered our suite, William disappeared into the bedroom, and I made my way to the bar, selected a mini tequila bottle out of the refrigerator, and found a glass.

“Do you want a drink, Andrew? Or do you prefer Dr. Jones?” I asked the handsome stranger who stood in the middle of my suite, typing on his cellphone, the right side of his mouth quirked in concentration.

“No, thank you.” He glanced at me and gave a tight-lipped smile. “And Andrew is fine.”

I studied the liquor bottle in my hand, thought better of it, placed it back, and grabbed a club soda. Years ago, a man like him—highly educated and striking—was my heart’s Achille’s heel. But, once bitten, twice shy, and now I was immune to his type.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.

“When the bracelet didn’t arrive, I checked with the receptionist, and we quickly figured out the issue.” He regarded me for a moment. “You are a very memorable woman. After a brief investigation, I was directed to the Triton bar.”

William returned, holding a box of Kleenex and a large bottle of lubricant.

“Let’s do it.” He poured a generous amount of liquid onto his palm and massaged it over my wrist. “Okay. Try now.”

I gripped the bracelet and tugged it as hard as I could. My skin wrinkled, turning red. “It doesn’t want to come off. We need to cut it.”

“No!” Andrew barked so urgently that my insides performed a backflip.

“Jesus, don’t give me a heart attack. You can pay me half of the money and take it to a jeweler to fix it.”

“It’s worthless if it’s damaged.” He glared at me as if somehow this was all my fault.

I yanked a couple of tissues out of the box and vigorously wiped my wrist and hand. “Why don’t we find a jeweler who can help us open it?”

Andrew walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass door that opened on to a terrace with a view of white sand and turquoise water. He linked his fingers together behind his neck and groaned.

“It’s not so simple,” Andrew muttered. “Christ, why would you put it on?”

“Um, because it was a gift for me?”

Andrew stared at the vast view. “No, it wasn’t.”

“It was delivered to my room with my name on it,” I said, incredulous.

“It had my name on it.” He turned. “Someone delivered it by mistake to your room.”

“You’re wrong, and I can prove it.” I strode to the powder room and fished the package out of the garbage bin. “See, right here.” I pushed it into Andrew’s hands. “It says Ms. Adriana Jones. That’s my name.” I pointed at the smeared writing with the first part of the name mostly gone, leaving only an “A” somewhat visible and only the last part with the surname Jones recognizable.

Andrew’s eyes flicked to me, then again at the writing on the paper. His smirk spread into a shit-eating grin. “Look closer, and you’ll see my name,” he said. “Dr. Andrew Jones.”

“No, I won’t.”

With confidence, I turned the package around and concentrated on the name. Andrew pushed the torn paper edges together. My stomach sank low, realizing that I was a total dipstick. It was Andrew and not Adriana. And what I thought was Ms. now looked more like Dr. I let go of the box, lowered myself onto the couch, and leaned my head back, closing my eyes.

“Okay, maybe it does say Dr. Andrew Jones. I really thought it was for me. There was no note.” The sting of embarrassment burned my nose, and I scrunched up my face, not wanting to cry. “I tried it on, and then William texted me…” The tears streamed down my face. “I’m such an idiot.”

My pity party must’ve been too much for Dr. Jones. One moment he was by my side, the next he was headed for the door.

“Let me think more about how to unlock it. I’ll be back.” Andrew started to leave, but then he ducked back inside, a warning on his face. “No matter what, do not cut or damage that bracelet.”