voicemail either. Seriously? That’s like a half-hour drive, without traffic.”
“What’s happening?” I mouthed. “I thought we were free today?”
I secretly thought it was a bit cheeky of Anders to have made Whitney arrange any publicity during our Miami trip, as it was supposed to be a holiday. The media launch was one thing, as it was a major event in the surf calendar, but it sometimes seemed as if Anders couldn’t bear the thought of us having any actual time off. As if every hour of chilling out was a missed opportunity to build our brand.
“I know we made a commitment, but I just told . . . OK, OK. Yeah, Iris is here too she says . . .” Zeke looked at me, and I whispered, “I’ve really got to find a loo before I pee myself.”
“She says hi,” Zeke said, ever the diplomat. “OK, I’ll remind her to edit that clip for the website. Speak later.”
I was already looking through my beach bag for cab money. “How much time do we have?”
“Forty minutes.”
“To leave, or to get there?”
“To get there.”
“I just need a quick wee.”
“Iris, we gotta go.”
“I will also need to find a vending machine, as I’m bloody starving.”
Chase appeared at our sides and said, “What gives?”
“We have to go to this mall signing that we totally thought was tomorrow. Could you drop our surfboards back at the Grove Hotel? The girls at reception will hold them until we’re back later.”
“No problem. You’ll be at the party tomorrow though, right?”
Zeke looked at me for an answer.
“It’s up to Iris.”
I very nearly said, “ No, I’ve changed my mind ,” because, I suddenly had a really bad feeling about that party. But Chase looked so hopeful, and I’d just met him, and he was Zeke’s friend and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
“We’ll be there,” I said.
chapter nine
Messing up the day of the mall promo was a seriously unprofessional screw-up on our part, but I trusted Zeke to lay on the charm and stop us getting a bollocking.
We had a two-minute loo-and-snack break, then caught a cab to the Dolphin Mall. Sitting in the taxi, with Zeke staring out the window, I had nothing to do but think, and my brain kept going back to the girls I’d met. Zeke definitely had some history with Inga. No doubt about it. And Amber had just taught him Spanish? Yeah, right.
Zeke kept looking at his watch, stressing. Even with the taxi driver weaving through the traffic like a pro, we still arrived at the mall fifteen minutes late.
It was just a poster-and-merchandise signing, but bona-fide surf fans were going to be there and we couldn’t skip it, even if we did both reek of massage oil, sweat and sunscreen.
Most of the people that showed up roughly 99.9 percent, I guessed would be there for Zeke. I knew this because we’d done around twenty of these events already, in various surftowns around the world, and the fan breakdown was always the same.
The queue for the Billabong store was out the door, snaking past a Dunkin’ Donuts, a kids’ clothing store and all the way down to Ron Jon’s Surf Shack, which actually looked better than the Billabong store.
Zeke looked fine in his shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops. He’d shaken his hair out from the topknot and, like always, it had dried perfectly tousled, whereas mine was a bleached-out mess of frizz. My face was pink with sunburn, my T-shirt was creased and I had Cheeto breath.
As we walked past the queue of surf fans, I heard a bunch of people saying, “There he is!” and “Oh my God, I can’t believe it!” Then another voice said, “Gross! Who is she ?”
I turned toward the voice, and made eye contact with the girl, who didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.
When we entered the store, a local photographer in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and white boat shoes greeted us with a big smile.
“Zeke and Iris, welcome to our store!”
“Thanks,” Zeke said, shaking his hand. I looked up at the back of
“What’s happening?” I mouthed. “I thought we were free today?”
I secretly thought it was a bit cheeky of Anders to have made Whitney arrange any publicity during our Miami trip, as it was supposed to be a holiday. The media launch was one thing, as it was a major event in the surf calendar, but it sometimes seemed as if Anders couldn’t bear the thought of us having any actual time off. As if every hour of chilling out was a missed opportunity to build our brand.
“I know we made a commitment, but I just told . . . OK, OK. Yeah, Iris is here too she says . . .” Zeke looked at me, and I whispered, “I’ve really got to find a loo before I pee myself.”
“She says hi,” Zeke said, ever the diplomat. “OK, I’ll remind her to edit that clip for the website. Speak later.”
I was already looking through my beach bag for cab money. “How much time do we have?”
“Forty minutes.”
“To leave, or to get there?”
“To get there.”
“I just need a quick wee.”
“Iris, we gotta go.”
“I will also need to find a vending machine, as I’m bloody starving.”
Chase appeared at our sides and said, “What gives?”
“We have to go to this mall signing that we totally thought was tomorrow. Could you drop our surfboards back at the Grove Hotel? The girls at reception will hold them until we’re back later.”
“No problem. You’ll be at the party tomorrow though, right?”
Zeke looked at me for an answer.
“It’s up to Iris.”
I very nearly said, “ No, I’ve changed my mind ,” because, I suddenly had a really bad feeling about that party. But Chase looked so hopeful, and I’d just met him, and he was Zeke’s friend and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
“We’ll be there,” I said.
chapter nine
Messing up the day of the mall promo was a seriously unprofessional screw-up on our part, but I trusted Zeke to lay on the charm and stop us getting a bollocking.
We had a two-minute loo-and-snack break, then caught a cab to the Dolphin Mall. Sitting in the taxi, with Zeke staring out the window, I had nothing to do but think, and my brain kept going back to the girls I’d met. Zeke definitely had some history with Inga. No doubt about it. And Amber had just taught him Spanish? Yeah, right.
Zeke kept looking at his watch, stressing. Even with the taxi driver weaving through the traffic like a pro, we still arrived at the mall fifteen minutes late.
It was just a poster-and-merchandise signing, but bona-fide surf fans were going to be there and we couldn’t skip it, even if we did both reek of massage oil, sweat and sunscreen.
Most of the people that showed up roughly 99.9 percent, I guessed would be there for Zeke. I knew this because we’d done around twenty of these events already, in various surftowns around the world, and the fan breakdown was always the same.
The queue for the Billabong store was out the door, snaking past a Dunkin’ Donuts, a kids’ clothing store and all the way down to Ron Jon’s Surf Shack, which actually looked better than the Billabong store.
Zeke looked fine in his shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops. He’d shaken his hair out from the topknot and, like always, it had dried perfectly tousled, whereas mine was a bleached-out mess of frizz. My face was pink with sunburn, my T-shirt was creased and I had Cheeto breath.
As we walked past the queue of surf fans, I heard a bunch of people saying, “There he is!” and “Oh my God, I can’t believe it!” Then another voice said, “Gross! Who is she ?”
I turned toward the voice, and made eye contact with the girl, who didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.
When we entered the store, a local photographer in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts and white boat shoes greeted us with a big smile.
“Zeke and Iris, welcome to our store!”
“Thanks,” Zeke said, shaking his hand. I looked up at the back of
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