He said I’d have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, and I tried to keep from gagging. Keith always made a big deal about any campers. They mostly catered to wealthy campers, but even the 4-H campers got the celebrity treatment. At this point, the island could’ve been rented out for a makeup consultants convention and Keith only needed us to staff concessions or the gym courts.

In my case, it was the gym courts.

That’s what I learned when we arrived, four hours later and severely needing coffee. We’d taken off the morning after what I now called Tequila and Regrets Night. Trent had gotten up, the ambitious overachiever he was, and went for a run.

“Just the gym courts?” I signed the NDA with a little flourish under my name.

Keith started to take the paper away, and I couldn’t help myself.

I added two dots over the i in Charlie.

He paused.

I was done.

He started to take it again.

Wait. I had to add a line under my name.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you done?”

“Is your name Keith?” That was tame, even for me. I nodded.

I didn’t like Keith. I never had.

He’d been my boss every summer I came here, and each year, his belly got bigger and bigger, and so did his arrogance. He always had on a golf shirt with a mug that spelled out BOSS with the B being the handle (Maybe I was attracted to always being an employer for those types of bosses? The asshole kinds?), and he wore khaki shorts with white socks and white sneakers underneath. It was the same uniform every single day—with a bounce in his step as he strutted around the campgrounds that made me grit my teeth.

And then there was his hair. There was a small amount of curl on top, a blondish brown color. Or maybe it was his laugh. He would always echo out a “HAR HAR HAR” laugh at the end of his jokes. Not anyone else’s. His.

When Trent and I had arrived and walked into the office, I’d braced myself for some suggestive, snide comment. There was usually something sexual from him, at least with me. It was what he did, what he leered about, what he suggested with an appraising look, or a slightly dirty joke, but I’d been surprised.

He hadn’t said a word, just shoved over the NDA, announced I would get paid a little less than the normal rate and I wasn’t special because I was older. Then he’d picked up the B-oss mug and taken a sip.

When I finally let him take the NDA, he left his mug on the counter as he took the papers over to his desk. I eyed it. I was tempted to knock it on the floor, but this was my first day back. Probably not a good idea.