Getaway Gone Wrong Read online

  Table of Contents

  Disaster #1 ~ Wrong Island

  Disaster #2 ~ Alarms

  Disaster #3 ~ Hangry and Dirty

  Disaster #4 ~ Spilled Tea

  Disaster #5 ~ A Sticky, Stinky Mess

  Disaster #6~Stupid Fears

  Disaster #7 ~ Coming Back Down

  Disaster #8 ~ Vulnerability

  Disaster #9 ~ Degrees

  Disaster #10 ~ The Clay Pigeon

  Disaster #11 ~ The Matinee Crowd

  Disaster #12 ~ The Urgent Call

  Disaster #13 ~ Back on the Job

  Disaster #14 ~ Something Completely Crazy

  Northwest Locations Mentioned in Getaway Gone Wrong

  Special Thanks

  More Sweet Romances from Lia London

  Getaway Gone Wrong

  (Team Northwest Sweet Romance #2 ~ Parker’s Story)

  Lia London

  This is a work of fiction. All locations are used fictitiously, and all the characters are figments of my imagination except for Christopher Peacock, manager of Rosario Mansion. I contacted him via his website requesting that he alert me if he had any concerns about my usage of his real name in a fictitious scene regarding a recital he presents regularly at the mansion. After waiting a month, I received no word, so I hope he’s okay with how I portrayed him. He’s a very entertaining fellow, and I highly recommend taking in his show.

  © 2017 Lia London

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Disaster #1 ~ Wrong Island

  Disaster #2 ~ Alarms

  Disaster #3 ~ Hangry and Dirty

  Disaster #4 ~ Spilled Tea

  Disaster #5 ~ A Sticky, Stinky Mess

  Disaster #6~Stupid Fears

  Disaster #7 ~ Coming Back Down

  Disaster #8 ~ Vulnerability

  Disaster #9 ~ Degrees

  Disaster #10 ~ The Clay Pigeon

  Disaster #11 ~ The Matinee Crowd

  Disaster #12 ~ The Urgent Call

  Disaster #13 ~ Back on the Job

  Disaster #14 ~ Something Completely Crazy

  Northwest Locations Mentioned in Getaway Gone Wrong

  Special Thanks

  More Sweet Romances from Lia London

  Disaster #1 ~ Wrong Island

  Parker grunted and punched some more numbers on her phone. Ever since the Who Wants to Be a Soap Star? execs had revoked her director’s status, getting through to a human being at Star Power Studios took five times longer.

  A perky recording recited menu options, and Parker crossed her eyes. “For the love of peanut butter, don’t give me voice command options on your stupid Call Delay System. The slightest background noise, and—”

  “I’m sorry,” soothed the recording. “I didn’t catch that. Please rephrase your request, or say ‘Repeat Menu’ to hear your options again.”

  Parker stifled a growl and gripped the phone closer to her mouth. “I neeeeeed to talk to a human being, preferably not an idiot, who can—”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. Please—”

  “Gaaaaah!” Parker disconnected and flopped in a faceplant onto her bed. There were few things she hated more than talking to machines on the phone, and she’d already done two of them today: shopped at a mall in downtown L.A., and endured inane small talk with a nail technician at the salon during a mani-pedi so her digits would sparkle on the tropical sands of Puerto Rico. She understood such trials were the expectation of those going on luxury spa vacations, but who had time for those things?

  After a few suffocating seconds, Parker lifted her chin to rest awkwardly on the pillow. She knew most people would find her unreasonable for complaining about an all-expenses-paid tropical vacation, but she didn’t want to sip fruity drinks with paper parasols and fend off passes from handsome-but-boring beach loungers. She wanted to work. In the television business, taking a week off could give some flashy little upstart with a well-connected uncle a chance to steal the next major opportunity from the people with real talent. The people like Parker.

  She groaned and rolled over. “One more time,” she told herself. “Make nice with the studio phone system. Try not to kill anyone.”

  She dialed. She listened. She opened her mouth to speak her selection. The groundskeeper for her condominium revved his lawn mower, and the neighbor’s dog barked his objections.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. Please rephrase—”

  “Gaaaaaah!” Parker decided the day was already a bust, so she might as well do that other thing she hated: drive in Los Angeles traffic to the studio. She’d probably get there before anyone answered the phone, anyway.

  “Sandy!” Parker marched into the business office for Star Power Studios and plastered what she hoped passed for a pleasant smile on her face. She braced herself for the frustration that always came when dealing with 93% of the people at work.

  “Hiya, Parker! You on the island yet?”

  Parker looked down at her scuffed tennis shoes and jeans. “Actually, I’m right here.”

  “Ha ha, so you are. You’re even still dressed for work.”

  Was she still wearing her standard black t-shirt and ponytail? Parker wasn’t one for fluffing herself when there were more effective things to do with her time. Let the soap stars and reality show contestants worry about fashion. She had to make the show look good despite their efforts.

  “So, Sandy, I couldn’t get through on the phone system and figured I’d stop by and talk in person.”

  “Why didn’t you just email?”

  “Because you never check your email after noon.”

  “How did you know I …?”

  “I know everything, remember? Except my flight information.”

  Sandy’s tattooed eyebrows scrunched. “Flight information? Why would you need that?”

  “Uh … remember the bit about the island vacation?”

  “Well, sure, but you take the ferry. You have to reserve in advance, but—”

  “Sandy.” Parker checked her temper by pressing her new, glossy fingernails to her forehead. “Sandy, since when do they have ferries out in the Caribbean?”

  The explosion of laughter from Sandy startled Parker. “Oh, Parker! I didn’t know you had a sense of humor!”

  “What? Puerto Rico’s still there, right? The hurricane didn’t wipe it out completely?”

  “Puerto Rico?”

  Parker over-enunciated to keep herself from yelling. “San Juan, Puerto Rico.”

  Sandy hiccuped. “San Juan Islands, not San Juan, Puerto Rico! Why would we send you there?”

  Parker rubbed her eyelids trying to fathom how she could have missed such an important detail. “I don’t know, Sandy. Because it’s a popular vacation destination this time of year for TV directors who have been banished for not showing enough boobs?”

  Sandy released a loud sigh and adopted a maternal tone. “Parker, you directed Team Northwest. The execs are sending you to a famous vacation spot in the Pacific Northwest, namely the San Juan Islands in Washington. You go up north of Seattle and take a ferry out. I’m the one that did all the research and reservations. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  “Wait, what?” Parker released a whimper and dropped her forehead to the high counter between them. “I don’t even want to go to a resort, and now you’re telling me I’m going north for the winter?”

  “Just like Santa’s elf,” said Sandy with a giggle. “Here, I think I printed something out when I was searching … yes, here it is.” She handed Parker a screenshot of a website.

  Feeling her jaw flop open, Parker stared at pictures of tall evergreens, not palm trees. “Silly me. So, I should…”

  “Pay incidentals and send me pics of the rec
eipts with your cell phone. We’ll reimburse you within three business days. The studio already paid for your cabin—it’s actually on Orcas Island, not San Juan—and there are some vouchers waiting for you there for local attractions. There’s a bunch of islands all close together. You’re going to have a blast. I wish I could go.”

  “Trade you. I’ll run the office while you—”

  “No way, Parker. My staff can’t handle your level of intensity. You go relax. I’ll hold the fort while you’re gone.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Parker deflated as she studied the map at the bottom of the sheet. “So I’m supposed to drive clear up to … for the love of lube jobs, Sandy, this place is practically in Canada! Why are they doing this to me?”

  “You gonna want a rental car? I can order one delivered.” Sandy could be so oblivious to the pain of others. It was a coveted trait for anyone working in the business.

  “They can’t even fly me up to Seattle?”

  Sandy shrugged. “My bad. I forgot you’d be getting there from here.”

  Parker blinked slowly. How had this studio stayed open for seven years with this kind of incompetence behind the scenes?

  “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks, Sandy.” Feeling heavy with defeat, Parker turned to go. “I guess I should have left yesterday.”

  “I’ll make sure they deliver a car to your place by tonight. Anything else?”

  “Not unless I can talk you into taking my place on vacation?”

  “Oh, Parker, you’re so weird. Just go have fun and relax for a little while. There will still be soap operas and reality shows when you get back.”

  “I know. Just no directing positions open,” she mumbled.

  Sandy bounced back into cheerful mode. “Hey, I really am sorry no one from your team survived past the first few rounds. I thought your guys were the classiest.”

  Gratified, Parker smiled. “Thank you, Sandy. Thank you so much. I wish the execs seen it that way.”

  Waving, Sandy returned to her computer screen. “You go enjoy a great getaway. You deserve it!”

  “No, no. I’ve never done anything to deserve this.” She banged open the door and stormed out to the car.

  Disaster #2 ~ Alarms

  Guy waited for the crowds of people to file past his old, blue, VW van as he gave Booster’s pale-yellow coat a good scratch. He knew the bear-like golden retriever wanted to get out and walk the decks of the ferry, but crowds made it harder to get around. Booster licked at Guy’s hand and watched as the last of the stragglers left their cars and headed up into the passenger seating areas.

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. His fleece-lined blue jacket kept his lean frame warm, and his dark, short-clipped beard shielded him from the autumn chill. “Come on, Boo. Let’s get some fresh air.” He stepped out and clucked his tongue. Booster scarcely needed his leash because he never left Guy’s side, but his size often alarmed strangers.

  Guy didn’t bother to lock the van. Who would steal its contents? A month’s worth of dry goods and groceries might be valuable, but hardly portable.

  As the ferry pulled away from the Anacortes dock, Guy led Booster to the back of the boat where he watched the aquamarine waves dance in formation with the white foam V trailing behind them. Raised on Orcas Island, he still took a simple delight in the surrounding natural beauty as the ferry traced its way through the forested mounds rising up from the northernmost waters of the Puget Sound.

  Booster nuzzled at Guy’s knee, as if urging him into motion.

  “All right. Up we go.” Avoiding the crowded passenger deck, they bounded up the stairs to the top deck, where they could roam in the open breeze, waving from a distance at the other dog owners and stopping to observe the gulls fighting the mid-November gusts.

  At this time of year, Guy recognized most of the faces on the top deck as actual residents of Shaw, Lopez, or Orcas Island coming back from a Sunday of city errands or activities. As he came into the forward covered area, he recognized an elderly couple and their yippy chihuahua. With a tug of the leash, he steered Booster away, hoping not to provoke the little tyrant into one of its territorial tirades. He circumnavigated almost all the way around the front of the deck before the little dog asserted its vocal dominance over Booster. Booster replied with a single, contented “Woof” and wagged his tail.

  Guy chuckled and tugged Booster along. “People are funny,” he said conversationally to his dog. “Dogs, too. We worry about image. About power and prestige. About getting more stuff.” He paused, leaning his elbows wistfully on the railings. “We should worry about each other.” Even as he said it, he sighed. When would he ever find someone to be his ‘other’. If he had real love, maybe he wouldn’t worry about anything at all.

  Parker set the emergency brake and sighed. She’d boarded the ferry in the very last slot for the 1:55 to Orcas Island.

  Grabbing her windbreaker, she opened the door of her rental car, a mint green Prius, and wriggled out into the narrow space between the rows of parked cars. She bumped the door shut with her hip and tugged the sleeves on, noting right away the bite in the wind even on the relatively enclosed car deck. Further ahead, she followed other passengers doing the same, all working their way to the stairwells leading up to the lounge deck with vinyl, restaurant-style booths for sitting.

  Several of the passengers fell into comfortable conversation with one another, and Parker sensed these were the regulars. She scanned the large, beige room and saw families piling into booths with partially-completed jigsaw puzzles already on the table. Others settled in for a quick nap, pulling their jacket hoods over their faces. A few with dogs, continued up one more flight of stairs to the open deck above. The picked-over vending machines failed to entice her to stay in the lounge area, so Parker decided to brave the chill and try the top deck. Sheltered benches at either end provided a measure of relief from the breeze, and she decided to head to the aft section where there might be less wind. Walking in opposition to the direction of the boat gave her pause, and she took a moment to adjust her equilibrium before continuing at a brisk pace. She smirked at the exercise, so like her life: racing along, but getting nowhere because she was headed in the wrong direction. A voice inside her brain nagged occasionally that she should slow down and figure out just what she wanted to accomplish, but she never had time to listen because she was too busy trying to succeed.

  Still, for a moment, she allowed herself to admire the play of colors as a wide wake formed behind the ferry. There was something to be said for resting and enjoying a view. She gazed with a bitter longing at the mainland and wondered what opportunities she was going to miss this week while she froze herself to death on some stupid, not tropical island in November.

  Something knocked at the back of her knee, and she turned to see a large golden retriever nosing at her.

  “Sorry, about that.” The dog’s owner, a skinny, bearded man in a fleece-lined jacket tugged the leash. “Booster, c’mon.”

  Parker raised her hand for the dog to sniff. “Hey there, pooch. Lend me your fur coat?”

  The man chuckled. “He loves this weather.”

  “Someone has to, I suppose.” Parker smirked and ruffled the dog’s ears. It immediately lifted its front paws to her thighs and licked towards her face. Parker laughed. “Sorry, pup. I don’t have any treats.”

  “Booster, c’mon.” The man grinned shyly and tugged the leash again. With an apologetic wave, he said, “I need to keep him moving or he’ll sit on everyone.”

  “In a few more minutes, I might not complain. He’s a toasty fur blanket.” Parker shivered.

  The man set off at a brisk pace, glancing back with a friendly smile. A few minutes later, she saw them on the narrow deck below, taking a lap. Their eyes met briefly when he looked up, and she felt an odd sensation of comfortable recognition, as if he were an old friend from the neighborhood.

  When she could feel the goosebumps on her arms through the windbreaker, she headed back inside. The
view would be the same from the boring lounge room, and she could defrost her fingers. She browsed a rack of brochures, noting that all the pictures showed a sunnier version of the archipelago than she now saw gliding by.

  The public-address system announced something in static about keeping pets out of the main cabin area. More static, and then she heard the call, “Return to your car.”

  With a yawn, she made her way to the stairwell, curious why no one else moved to gather their belongings. The ride had been shorter than she had expected. As she entered the stairwell, she heard the announcement again: “Will the owner of a green Prius parked on the left side of the second deck please return to your car. Your car alarm is going off.”

  Parker yelped and took the stairs two at a time. Sure enough, off to her left, she could hear a car alarm, and in-between, at least a dozen dogs in parked vehicles articulated their opinion of her as she writhed through the maze of sideview mirrors.

  “Oh hey, is this your car?” asked a ferry worker in a bright orange vest. “It’s scaring all the dogs.”

  “Yes, sorry!” Parker snapped, trying to block the sound with her shoulders while grabbing for her purse. “My purse!” She splayed her fingers on the window and stared at the tiny black purse with the long strap hanging from the back of the driver’s seat, right where she had left it. “The keys. Where are the keys?”

  “Oh hey, they’re in the ignition,” said the worker, leaving a greasy finger print on her window as he pointed. “That sucks.”

  “This is not happening,” shrieked Parker.

  “I’m pretty sure it is. Can you get that thing turned off?” asked the worker.

  “Can you help me get the keys?” countered Parker.

  “No way. I’m not breaking into a car.” The worker frowned. “Well, you need to get it figured out. We dock in about five more minutes.” He lumbered off down the ramp towards the bottom deck, leaving Parker with her face pressed against the windshield to keep the profanity from drowning out the alarm.