Before I have a chance to even assess the buildings, I notice a girl—no, a young woman, maybe a little younger than I am—running toward me, flailing her arms in excitement as if I’m her long-lost lover who’s finally returned from war.

Surely she can’t be racing like that to me.

Nick comes around and opens the backseat door of the Escalade to let me out, and I instantly shield my eyes from the sun, swinging my backpack over my shoulder and watching this figure in white shorts with tanned skin and billowing brown hair come running toward me.

“Who is—”

“Mr. Vice!” she calls out, racing down the driveway, still waving her arms like a maniac. “You must be Mr. Vice.”

I blink back a little as the woman finally reaches me, laughing and throwing her head back as she catches her breath.

“Hi.” She giggles breathlessly, attempting to push her wild hair behind her ears. When she does, she reveals a shockingly beautiful face, with dazzling brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a smile that’s more blindingly bright than the sun. “I’m Mari-Elena. But you can call me Emmy.”

Her gaze catches mine and I jolt back a little, studying her. She’s wearing a tiny little crop top to match the tiny little shorts, with the strings of a bikini showing underneath it. And she’s…barefoot.

“Emmy…” I say softly, letting my eyes take in the stunning fireball of energy and excitement that’s woken me up faster than the triple shot latte I had in the car.

“Yup.” She nods, her hair bouncing. “My parents have called me Emmy ever since I was a baby. Mari-Elena was too much of a mouthful, so they just took the M and the E and decided I was Emmy.”

“Well, Emmy, it’s a pleasure. I’m Ethan Vice.” I hold out a hand and force a smile onto my face, which undoubtedly pales in comparison to hers.

“I know who you are!” She ignores my initiation of a handshake and opens her arms wide for a hug. “And we are so happy you’re here!”

I stiffly accept her embrace, the curves of her body against mine awakening some tingles of desire and attraction.

“Good, good.” I clear my throat as she pulls away. “Well, the place looks…” Like it’s gonna make a damn nice location for a Haywood hotel. “Awesome.”

“Oh, please.” Emmy waves a hand and whips around to start strutting back toward the big resort building. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Diego! Julian! Benny!” she calls at a volume that actually shocks me. “Come make yourselves useful and help Mr. Vice with his bags, would ya?”

Three of the kids that were playing in the big, grassy area come running over, two of them shirtless.

Emmy looks over at me, rolling her eyes. “Little rascals.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” I gesture back at my car, which looks laughably out of place. “I have my driver, he can bring my things in, it’s not—”

“No, no, no,” she insists, pointing at the three young kids who are eagerly grabbing at my thousand-plus-dollar suitcases. “They need to be kept busy or else they’ll cause all kinds of trouble. So please, as long as you’re here, feel free to boss around any of my cousins. It keeps them in line.”

“Cousins,” I repeat softly as the three kids run ahead of us, dashing into the lobby with my luggage. “It really is a whole family affair you’ve got going on down here, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Emmy slows to a stop as we step underneath the shade of the awning, the cool blast of air conditioning from the resort lobby settling onto my skin. “My Abuelo Santiago started this place when he first came to the Keys in the late sixties. He met his beloved wife here, and they had four children, the oldest of whom is my father, Gabriel.”

She opens the glass door wide, standing aside to let me into the lobby first. “And all four siblings still live here? At the resort?”

“On the property, yes.” Emmy proudly straightens her shoulders and grins, that smile still filled with so much fire and spark it’s almost breathtaking. She swings a mountain of thick, shiny brown hair over her slender shoulder. “This, of course, is the inn where our guests stay.”

She twirls around the lobby, which is painted one absurdly bright color after the next, decorated with palm trees and a big fountain in the middle. The floors are a coastal beige tile, leading out to a huge patio and pool area. There are giant, sliding glass doors displaying the resort pool, where I can see a little tiki bar, string lights everywhere, and more children splashing in the water while their moms read romance novels and sip tropical drinks.

Vacation. Gross. It just doesn’t sit right with me.

Beyond the pool deck is a crystal-clear ocean, much calmer than the beaches in Miami and South Florida, with emerald green and glittery blue water.

The resort itself, while it would definitely benefit from a facelift, has a certain kind of charm to it. Nothing like the cool, luxurious, sleek, elite Vice hotels I’m used to staying in on all my work trips.

There are certainly no children running around screaming at the pool of a Vice hotel. This resort somehow feels like everyone here knows each other, or they want to know each other. Every single face I see has a giant smile…none as bright as Emmy’s, though. It’s all got a certain energy of carelessness, freedom, spontaneity…

Fun.

Yes, that’s what it is. This place feels like fun.

I wrinkle my nose a little at the realization. I don’t like fun. I think it’s a waste of time. Hence the distaste for vacations. I’m not here for fun. Or vacations.