“No. Good to know so I won’t be caught off guard if some guy steals you away. Just try not to do it in front of everyone. My friends might have fallen for this ruse, but they’re not going to believe we have an open relationship.”

She pursed her lips. “Don’t run off with my man-whores in public. Got it.”

I groaned. “Okay. Now that that’s settled—”

“You can’t run off with anyone, either. To be fair.”

“Who am I going to run off with?”

“A certain ex. Unless you want to?” Her tone went up on that last word, baiting me for information that I didn’t want to give. Circumventing our rules.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about anything. I’d just like a heads-up. Should I find out and be theatrically upset or just disappear when it happens? How do you want to play that?”

“I’m not telling you what happened with us.”

“Should I be friendly toward her or cold? A real girlfriend would know the story. And if she didn’t, it would be an obvious point of quarreling between the couple. How should I respond?”

“Try as you may, Bane, you won’t get the details of my past relationship. Per the rules that you agreed to.”

She pouted. “And here I thought I’d get to act out all my dramatic girlfriend fantasies.”

“Not exactly what I’d consider a fantasy.”

Bane tilted her chin into the morning sun. “What do you consider a fantasy?”

“I…don’t know how to respond to that.”

She squinted into the sun. “Well, feel free to order in breakfast while you think on it.”

“Thanks. I’ll pay for it instead of charging the room.” I walked inside as she called to my back, “Order me waffles!”

Waffles were the least I could do. Just add them to my bill.

After checking my phone to find that Aamar had sent out a group chat reminder about lunch, I perused the hotel’s breakfast service menu. There was too much time until then to risk not eating beforehand. The menu offered plenty to choose from and it all arrived on literal silver platters decorated with pink orchids and small vases of hibiscus and complimentary items of chocolates and 100 percent Kona coffee. Which, after Googling to see what that was, meant this coffee was grown on the lava soil slopes of the island and cost about fifty bucks a pound.

Was it worth it? For my salary, no. To my taste buds? Yes.

Nine Bhanu

Out of all the things I’d imagine doing on a lovely Hawaiian Wednesday morning, having waffles with roasted macnuts smothered in coconut syrup with my work nemesis wasn’t one of them. The open-concept room was quiet, awkward, with the sounds of chewing and gulping coffee and juice, and the swish of the fans. That was all. No talking.

At times, my eyes kept flitting toward Sunny out of habit, only to find him glaring at me. Ignoring him had failed. Offering a small smile had failed.

“What’s wrong with your face?” I prodded.

He cut through his French toast smothered in powdered sugar and whipped cream. This meal couldn’t be healthy for either of us. “What?”

“Is something wrong with your face? Because I know you can’t be this upset to have breakfast with me. I mean, you could eat at the counter, the couch, outside, even leave.”

He scowled. A line appeared between his eyes, making him appear serious and hot-tempered, the kind of person who needed to be in control at all times. But he was in control. He wasn’t sleeping out of a rental car or floating in the ocean. Also, I’d never known him to be ill-tempered.

“You just seem upset for someone who got a posh, emergency vacation villa.”

His expression softened. His brows unknotted themselves, his jaw less rigid, but that line remained in between his brows like it was fighting for its life. I almost laughed.

“I’m grateful,” he said. “Truly. You’re going out of your way for someone you don’t even like.”

I mean, he wasn’t lying, so I did not correct him.

“Definitely true, then. You detest me,” he stated.

“We’re not friends. You’re a bit of an ass. Can I say that? Yes. We’re not at work.”

“I’m the ass?”

“One of us is, and it’s not me.”

“Says every ass ever.”

I nearly spat out the chilled POG (passion fruit, orange, guava juice) Diya had left for me in the fridge.

Sunny went to tip his cup of juice into his mouth. I snatched the glass.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“My sister bought that for me. Go get your own POG.”

He leaned back against his chair. “See?”

“See what? You can’t just stay here, out of my good graces, drink my juice, and insult me. Be careful. You might get kicked out.”

The Return of the Scowl should be the title of his memoir because there it was. “I better get going. We obviously can’t be civil. I might as well come clean with my friends about you. But you should learn to ease up.”

“I should learn to do nothing.” Although I pushed his glass of juice back toward him. It was almost empty, and full of his germs. There was no point in wasting it.

He looked at the glass like I’d somehow poisoned it right in front of him. “You’re always riding me. I mean, are you trying to make me look incompetent in front of others at work so I can’t become PM?”

“First of all, did you apply for the PM position?”

“Inappropriate,” he said without a fluctuation to his tone to hint one way or another.

“Coming from the guy who partakes of the Sunny versus Bhanu pool.”

“So you admit to trying to make me look bad?”

“No. I’m not awful. You’re not nice to me.” I crossed my arms. “There. I said it. You’re not nice to me, so why should I smile and pucker up for you?”