JULIAN STEPPED INTO the humid Hawaiian sun and headed for the back of the hotel where he’d been told Samara would be. He shook his head and let out a long sigh as he stepped up to the huge, industrial sized garbage area.
Where else would he expect to find his ludicrously expensive consultant, then up to her elbows in musty mattress’s, gag-able pillows, and soiled linen?
The cloud of stench wafted toward him even stronger than the heat that beat down on his head. He stood a few feet away from the staff and the bags of hotel accommodation they were entrenched in. Why wasn’t she inside organizing people?
“You haven’t answered your phone,” he yelled into the mattress pile.
Samara’s head popped up from behind a pile of stained pillows, her sun streaked hair plastered to her red, sweaty face
