We make it to West End, but all I can think about is the woman's brown hair clinging in clumps to her face and her neck and her shoulders. Marcia rushes me through the rest of our day, trying to convince me to take this meeting or accept that sponsorship, but I focus on the woman's piercing eyes and the sound of the waves washing up on the shore.

In my current state, I really shouldn't be answering Marcia's questions, because I have no idea what I'm agreeing to. But if I don't, she'll notice something is up and make me take my focus off the woman at the Corona Cabana. What was so interesting about her? What had possessed me to dive off a wharf to chase her down?

I try to convince myself it's because she can't swim. Or that she is afraid of the ocean. And I try to convince myself it had nothing to do with her laugh or her light. But a part of me knows I'm lying. All of me knows I'm lying. I hadn't known any of those things before I jumped in after her. It's like a foreign entity took over my body.

"And I still need you cleared by a doctor," Marcia sighs as she pulls me away from another crowd of fans. "¿Qué estabas pensando? I cannot believe you risked your career for her and won't tell me who she is to you."

Because if I tell you she's no one, prima, you will absolutely blow your top.

"I will figure it out eventually–ya tú sabes. You don't pay me enough to stop me from digging into that."

"Más te vale. I would expect nothing less. But for now let's get through this day. We have to be back to Sunset Bay before seven for Enrique and Bianca's rehearsal dinner. The family are all coming in today and I'm already going to get reamed out for not being there to greet them."

The smell of a charcoal barbeque grilling chicken wafts out of the bright yellow and blue restaurant as we pass, and my mouth waters. The window to take orders is crowded three rows thick with would-be customers, but I slow almost to a stop. It would be so worth it. The outside is just as I remember it except there is a new oceanscape painted on the side of the patio and the roof has been newly covered with dry palm leaves held in place by the fishing net that's seen better days.

Marcia stops dead in her tracks. "No," she whispers, staring down at her phone.

I pull her away from the crowd under a small patch of almond trees and make her sit on a nearby log. Even sitting down, her face is pale and clammy. My nerves are shot after this morning and I have no idea what to do. "¿Qué pasa? Marcia, do you need a doctor?"

She blinks a couple times and then hands me her phone, pulling open her purse and rifling around.

I keep one hand on her shoulder to make sure she's stable and then look down at the screen, currently open to a text message from her jerk of a boyfriend, Abel. The first line is some stupid update about his being promoted. Vomit. But the second...

"He's coming?"

She nods.

"To Bianca and Enrique's wedding?"

She nods again, head still buried in her purse. Finally, she comes up with a piece of candy she must have been looking for because she pops it in her mouth and then gestures to the phone. "Hay más. Keep reading."

He hopes coming to the wedding as she wanted would make up for the fact that he... I didn't know it was possible to see red until this moment.

"He stole your personal computer, found the information for Sergio and then hired your favourite employee from under your nose and thinks one day at a wedding will make up for that?"

"¿De veras? That's what you're mad about?"

"Is that not what I should be mad about? Marcia, he's always doing stuff like this. Siempre. And I leave it alone because you have a right to decide who you date but look, this is too far. He hacked your phone. He stole from you. And now he expects to come here and be your date to a wedding? Dime, how can you not be mad about that?"

"Keep reading."

I look down again and read the rest of the message. "He's hired Sergio as of Monday? Like the Monday after the wedding when we are supposed to start this tour that was entirely arranged by Sergio?"

She nods, face drooping to her lap. "So you see I have to stay on his good side. No tengo otra opción. I have to act normal. Because I have to get those details from Sergio before Monday and I doubt he'll want to talk to me, but I bet he'll talk to Abel."

I want to wring his neck. I want to beat him to a pulp. Which is very unlike me.

"So you want me to act normal around this guy and pretend nothing is wrong? You want me to just treat him with respect after all of this? ¿En serio?"

"Yes, Óscar. Por favor."

A crash from the street draws my attention and I swear I see the woman from Corona Cabana and her friends racing through the street.

Maybe I'm making things up again. Probably I'm making things up again.

But Marcia needs me. And usually I'm the one relying on her for everything. So I turn back to her and pull her into a hug. "Lo haré. I'll get him to give us the details and I will find someone new to take over. You will not have to do his job. I'll find someone else."

"Like who?" she practically shouts. "We have to find someone skilled, organized, and efficient in less than three days? How are we going to do that? Explícame."

"Tranquilo. Leave it to me," I pull her in tighter. "I'll figure everything out."

There are a lot of things money can't buy, but good help on short notice is one of those things wealth can usually solve.

And as much as I want to go offer Sergio all the money in the world to poach him right back from Abel, just to get back at the guy, I really don't want someone on my team who wants to be somewhere else.

He has as much a right to decide his future as anyone and what kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn't allow him the one thing I wish I had.

Marcia doesn't stop crying. She just sobs more and more until she flings her phone into the wall, cracking the screen.

And my phone seems to have been lost somewhere around jumping into the ocean. So we have absolutely no way to contact my brother and tell him we will be late. Or to deal with any of the mess Sergio made by leaving.

Regardless of what I want to do, I know what I have to do. We need new phones. And we need them now.

* * *

I had to buy three extra phones to get the guy to give me his last charger. It wasn't the most reputable institution, but we got what we needed and made it back to town in time to catch a ride back to the resort. If we are very lucky—and we might be, because I'm me—we will make it before they get to the speeches.

And my speech was on my phone.

No amount of money is going to fix that problem.

"Marcia, I have no speech."

"Of course you do. You've been working on it all... week."

She's usually more organized than this, eyes glazed over and staring at every group of people we drive past. "Marcia?"

"Hmm?" She turns to face me, tears pulling at the corner of her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"No sé–I don't know what to do," she whispers.

"We'll be okay. Relájate. We'll find someone to do the work and we'll get to the rehearsal dinner in no time. I'm sure the girls will have decorated even in your absence."

"Yes. I know. It's just." Her eyes dart around as though checking to see if she's being watched.

"It's just Abel?"

She nods. "I can't believe he would double-cross me like that and announce it in an email in which he decides to crash my cousin's wedding. And he seems to think I should be excited because his business is going to be doing so well I won't have to work anymore."

The inside of my lip bleeds as I bite down to try not to spout out what I want to say.

"Calm down, primo. I'm not going to quit my job. You're stuck with me for a bit longer."

The car bounces along the road, traversing the hills with relative ease for a vehicle so small. Our driver seems to know what he's doing but Marcia looks like she's about to lose her lunch. Whether that's the driving or her pendejo of a boyfriend, I don't know. A car honks behind us, but I can't see it through the dust kicked up by the speed-demon and his little car's tires.

"I'm not worried you'll leave me Marcia. You always said you would. I'm..."

"Say it," her eyes narrow and her voice bites like the cold of a Canadian winter.

"I'm worried about the way he's behaving. He does what's best for him with no regard for what's best for you and now he's trying to take away your financial independence? I just don't like it, Marcia. Ninguna parte."

"You've never liked him, Óscar. You aren't being fair. He's just obtuse. He doesn't know what he's doing. I'm sure once I explain the situation he'll have Sergio reinstated to us in no time. Vas a ver."

Even if she's right, it only lasts as long as she is my employee. And there isn't much time left there either. It's no good. But that's not the biggest problem. The biggest problem is that she's still defending him.

"... will see that he's really a kind man underneath and he does love me and he just wants what's best for me. We just see that differently, that's all."

"And you don't think that's a problem?" She's talking herself into believing him again.

"I think that's a problem that can be worked on. Not all of us cut and run at the first sign of commitment. Sometimes, we like to fix what's broken. Some of us actually want someone to spend our time with."

An image of the brunette jumping into my arms earlier warms my cheeks, but thankfully Marcia's still on her rant and doesn't notice.

"I really just want you to promise you'll give him a chance, okay? He's important to me and I'm sure we can sort this out. ¿Me lo prometes?"

That makes one of us.

We crest the hill we're on and the road opens up in front of us, grass growing on either side of the dirt road and a view of the ocean pulls up in front of us like we're at a three-dimensional movie. The deep blue of the ocean draws my attention, and it looks like we're about to drive off the road and right into the sea. A deep breath of ocean air is just the calming prescription the doctor ordered.

"I promise to be cordial and to do my best to objectively observe the situation, but I'm biased, Marcia. I'm worse than your brothers."

"Ay! You can't take my own words and use them against me."

"I just did."

"Well, that's—" I'd be lying if I said her being a little flustered wasn't a badge of honour for me. Her unshakable stability is legendary.

Before I have time to bask in my glory, though, our driver hits a particularly large bump and we come crashing down. Hard. The string of expletives the driver lets out, together with the metallic screeching and the dust bowl blown up by the irritated guy behind us blazing past us, tells me everything I need to know.

The car is not going any further today. Maybe not ever.

"How late are we?" I ask Marcia.

Her watch lights up as she taps it. "Well, if we were still driving, maybe five minutes. Given our current situation..." She reaches for her phone before remembering she broke it several hours ago. And while I had time to set up my email accounts, nothing else was working. At all.

"Well, I'm not sure how far it is, but even if we can find another car we'll be late."

"I guess we start walking then," I sigh, pulling our things off the seat between us and shoving them into her bag and then slinging it over my shoulder. "Adelante, pues.. I'm not missing my speech."

"Don't you think we should wait for another car?" she asks, jogging after me.

"I'm sure one will come along soon enough," I say, waving her off.

She doesn't say anything, just falls into step beside me, looking out over the horizon as we walk.

After far longer than I expected, a car comes down the road behind us and, to my extreme relief, it's a truck. Stepping into the road so I can be seen, I wave my hand, signalling for the driver to stop. He barely does before I'm dragging a very reluctant Marcia into the bed of the truck and holding on for dear life as he blazes over the bumps on the still-dirt road. It's going to be a miracle if I don't lose my lunch out here.

Marcia looks like I feel, but we're almost there.

And then my phone starts buzzing incessantly in my pocket. A huge part of me wants to ignore it and focus on where we're going so I can maybe see straight when we arrive, but when it doesn't stop, I dig it out of my pocket and slide open the alert.

"Óscar Calderón in Honduras: Local Sources Spot Fútbol Legend on Home Soil."

Shit.