I'm Telling You

In the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, Marigold was escorted by the austere housekeeper to her chamber. From her room, she could see an expansive azure pool. Earlier upon her arrival, she might have found solace in such a setting; she might have yearned to frolic in its depths or bask under the sun. Now, however, her mind was consumed by the need to extricate herself from the island, preferably with Brian in tow.

Speaking of Brian, where was he? Marigold, her countenance clouded with worry, leaned against the windowsill, watching the sun wane in the western sky. If he would not come to her, then she would go to him.

At that moment, her phone erupted with an insistent ringing.

"What's wrong?" she asked, answering the call. It was Grace, her beleaguered assistant, who had been left at the office, awaiting her instructions.

"Boss! You said you'd contact us as soon as you arrived on the island! Boss, how are you?"