Chapter 4: Forty-One Hundred

At two o'clock my manager gave me a forty-minute break and a look that said do not do anything.

I took the break and went to the pool deck.

It was ninety degrees in October.

Dean was at the swim-up bar with a drink in each hand.

The woman in white lay on a lounger beside him, wearing a swimsuit and sunglasses and my money.

He had a fan of cash in his fist, and he was peeling bills off it for the bartender.

"Keep it, man. Keep the change. Keep the whole hotel."

A table of men from a bachelor party cheered him on.

I walked straight across the hot tile in my work flats.

I wore my blazer and my name tag, and I did not slow down.

"Dean."

He turned around with a grin.

"Lace! You came."

"You said you'd give me something back."

"I did say that." He swirled the ice in his drink. "I was thinking more like a thank-you note."

The bachelor party leaned in.

A couple on the next lounger lowered their magazine.

I looked at the room, all the sun-oiled faces.

I had spent four years being polite to people on this deck.

I did not feel polite.

"Everybody," I said, clearly. "I work at the front desk. I'd like to tell you about the man buying your drinks."

Dean's grin thinned.

"Lace, don't."

"Two days ago he emptied my savings account."

"Forty-one thousand dollars."

"It was supposed to pay for our wedding, and then a down payment on a house."

"That's not what happened."

"It's why I'm standing here in a blazer and he's holding my cash."

The bartender stopped drying a glass.

The groom of the bachelor party, a big man in a flamingo shirt, took off his sunglasses.

"Is that her money?" he asked.

"Every dollar," I said.

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