The Wrong Fiancée: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance (Marriage by Contract Book 3)
The Wrong Fiancée: Chapter 6

‘Get out,’ Felicity screeched when I walked into the bedroom of her and Dean’s bungalow to clean after I’d knocked several times to make sure no one was there.

Seeing guests have sex was the last thing any of us in housekeeping wanted—and seeing Felicity ride Dean, my Dean, was not how I wanted to start my work shift.

I immediately shut the door and ran…just ran out of the bungalow. I closed the front door behind me and leaned against the trolly that held all my cleaning supplies.

I couldn’t unsee Felicity’s long and beautiful back as she rode Dean, his hands on her hips, his grunts of satisfaction loud as he asked her if she liked his cock inside her. Tears filled my eyes, and I didn’t know why. Or I did, but I didn’t want to face the ugly truth—I never got over Dean, and seeing him with his fiancée, the woman he was going to marry, was like walking into a nightmare.

Since I’d seen him, my stress level had increased—I knew that. My despair had become richer, my sense of failure starker.

I wiped my tears and got out of there.

I went to the next bungalow on my list. This time, I knocked and knocked and knocked yet again before I walked in. Once there, I texted Leilani to let her know what happened.

Me: I started my shift with #10. They were having sex.

Leilani: I know.

Me: What? It just happened.

Leilan: LOL! Now, everyone in Hale Moana knows because your cousin called the front desk and made a fuss.

Me: WTF!

Leilani: She wants you fired.

Me: WTF?

Leilani: I’m laughing too hard to talk to her right now. If we fired everyone who walked in on guests doing it…we’d have no employees.

Me: Argh! In #12 now. Talk soon.

I finished my shift (skipping the #10 bungalow, which Leilani had someone else cover) with just enough time to head home, take a shower, and get ready for my evening shift at Pele’s Flame Steakhouse at the resort.

Since I was not affiliated with a single restaurant at the resort, I was called in whenever there was a need, and lucky for me, there seemed to be one almost every day. What with the resort having six restaurants and four bars and full occupancy—we couldn’t afford for staff to be sick. Hence, I was able to pay Noe’s Ka Pono bills and pay my rent.

I rested my bicycle against my small cottage. What I loved about living here was that I didn’t have to lock my home or bike. Crime was nonexistent, and the only people who came to this part of the island were employees of the Hale Moana resort. We were a community and took care of each other. My colleagues and neighbors didn’t mind that I was an introvert or that I didn’t go out—they were there if I needed them, like Leilani, who would make sure I wasn’t fired for walking into…I closed my eyes and tried not to remember the scene.

Damn it! Why wasn’t I over this snobbish asshole? And what did I care that he was fucking Felicity?

He’s marrying her, a sad voice inside my head reminded me.

Well, all that proved was that he was even less deserving of my attention. Someone who wanted to hitch their life to that bitch was as bad as her.

I knew what Felicity’s problem was with me. Uncle Sam liked me, and because she was a competitive shrew, she wanted him to denounce me, which he didn’t do. Sometimes, I wished he did or stayed at some other resort for their yearly visits to Kauai. I mean, they could afford another place, I couldn’t afford to leave Hale Moana because I couldn’t earn elsewhere what I did here, and I needed every dime of my salary—and then some.

I changed into the Pele’s Flame Steakhouse uniform, which was a t-shirt with their logo and a pair of khaki shorts. I braided my hair as I stared at myself in the mirror. When was the last time I’d put on more than sunscreen, mascara, and some lip gloss? When was the last time I’d had my eyebrows done? Now, I just took a tweezer and went to town when it looked like I was going the path of Frida Kahlo. I looked at my nails. They were short and functional, not manicured. My hair had split ends, but who cared about my hair? No one. Not even me.

I should invest in some concealer, I thought. There were dark circles around my eyes—so dark that my eyes looked bruised. Maybe I could get something cheap from CVS to hide my raccoon eyes. My mother’s eyes.

Mama was an orphan born and raised in Hawaii. When she met my father, they came together as two unwanted people. He was the illegitimate child of a Hawaiian mother and a wealthy father from the mainland.

The Thatchers were from old East Coast money and moved to Hawaii two generations ago when Uncle Sam’s father, I guess my grandfather, decided to start an artist’s colony here. The colony was no more, but the Thatchers continued to have varied interests in the arts and antiquities business, buying, selling, and consulting for art galleries and companies like Archer’s and Sotheby’s.

Uncle Sam’s mother had never forgiven her husband for being so careless with his Hawaiian mistress that it had resulted in a child. She hated my father and refused to even let him have his father’s last name.

Dad had been fine while my mother was alive, but after her death, he became bitter—and that flared into an inferno of alcoholism when his father died without acknowledging him in any way, including in his will. Even though Uncle Sam’s parents and my father’s mother were now all dead, the animosity remained.

Before Uncle Sam married Ginny, he and my parents weren’t just friendly—they were real friends. But that relationship withered under Ginny’s demands, and now there was nothing left. Between Daddy and Noe contesting his father’s will, the rift between our families had grown to the size of the Grand Canyon.

Uncle Sam and Ginny lived in a fancy townhouse on Fifth Avenue in New York (as I’d been reminded more times than I could count). Every summer, they flew to Hawaii, traveling back and forth as needed. They’d sold their properties in Waikiki and bought timeshares at the exclusive Hale Moana Resort, ensuring their bungalow was always ready when they were.

They bought the timeshare before I started working here, and I’d briefly thought about taking a job at another resort. But with the pandemic and my need for funds, I was lucky just to get transferred from Honolulu to Kauai.

My phone beeped with a calendar alert. I had twenty minutes before my shift. I got ready and opened my front door to see Dean standing there, his hand ready to knock.

‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded, shocked to see him.

He smiled sheepishly. ‘I just wanted to make sure you knew that you were not…well, not going to lose your job or anything for what happened this morning.’

I quirked an eyebrow. The nerve! ‘I know.’

He looked confused. ‘I know Fee made a lot of noise and⁠—’

‘Dean, as my boss said, if they fired everyone who walked in on guests having sex, there would be no employees left.’ I stepped out of my house, leaving him no choice but to move aside.

I went straight to my bicycle, sliding my backpack onto the front handles.

‘I wanted to apologize all the same.’ He tucked his hands into the pockets of his designer shorts. I recognized the brand right away—it was the kind of stuff I spent my housekeeping shifts folding and putting away in hotel rooms. Tom Ford. Very nice.

He looked like he had four years ago. Gorgeous. His dark hair, blue eyes, olive skin that came from being outdoors, muscles for days—and a smile that could light up any room—all called to me. I wasn’t someone who indulged in jealousy or envy but I was feeling both when it came to Felicity. I never felt that way about her having financial and parental security for having a career that I’d have killed to have. None of that had made me feel like this. But her having Dean? Well, yeah, that was the universe just shitting on me.

‘Please think nothing of it. The fault was mine, Mr. Archer. I did knock, but I will be even more careful in the future,’ I told him politely. ‘I’m afraid I have a shift to get to.’

He looked at my door. ‘You didn’t lock it.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘Really?’ His smile was genuine, and I wished for a moment that he was mine.

Of all the people who had come in and out of my life, Dean had made me feel desired and wanted. He didn’t need me to do anything for him. He didn’t see me as a burden. It was obvious to me that I’d been so starved for affection that when a man gave it to me, I lost my heart and my head. Now, looking at him, I had to question my own self-delusion—how could a man like this ever want me? I’d just seen my reflection, and when I compared myself to the blonde bombshell Felicity, there was no contest. Even I’d choose her. She was a year older and had accomplished more than I could even dream about.

‘Yes, really. Have a good evening, Mr. Archer.’

‘Elika, I told you to call me Dean.’ He came closer to my bicycle.

‘I’m afraid that would be inappropriate. Thank you for checking up on me and⁠—’

‘What the fuck happened to you?’ he blurted out.

My phone buzzed, my calendar letting me know it was time to get to work. ‘I’m really sorry, but I have to go.’

‘When is your shift over?’

‘I don’t see how that is any of your business,’ I snapped.

‘Elika, I’d like to talk and⁠—’

I shook my head and started to pedal away from him.

Of all the resorts in the world, why did he have to walk into the one I cleaned toilets at?