Lauren Cashwell stared ruefully at her Long Island iced tea, swirling it into a wide vortex as she swayed slowly on her hammock, one leg hanging over the edge, the toes of her right shoe clipping the perfectly shaped grass of the Breakaway Resort and Spa.
“Why can’t we just live here forever?”
Anthony Reynolds scoffed, never lifting his eyes from his phone, holding the device first to the sky, and then away from his body, searching for a signal. “Because even in the off-season this place is six-hundred dollars a night. And you can go ahead and double that in the summer. Why the hell can’t I get anything on this damn thing? I had a signal earlier.”
Lauren addressed Anthony’s original statement, ignoring his grumbling about the cell service. “But you’re rich, Tony. That’s what you’ve been telling me anyway. It’s the only reason I’m staying with you, you know?”
Anthony smiled and nodded. “Yes, so you keep reminding me. But I won’t be for long if I live on vacation and shell out anywhere between four- and eight-thousand dollars every week for a cramped beach house and access to shuffleboard courts. That’ll make a rich man poor in a second. Besides, even if we wanted to stay, this place is shutting down after this weekend. At least until after the New Year.”
