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  My Wanderlust

  Bites the Dust

  The Travel Mishaps of Caity Shaw

  Book Four

  Eliza Watson

  What do you do when your life of travel begins to unravel?

  Caity Shaw has come a long way since her appearance as a sausage at her first meeting in Dublin. The shadow of her abusive ex is fading. Learning about her Irish grandmother’s past has brought her family closer together. She’s building confidence as an event planner, along with her client list. And she’s no longer always flying by the seat of her knickers while traveling abroad. However, she is nervous about flying solo at her first meeting without her sister, Rachel, or her Irish love, Declan.

  When Caity travels to the fairy-tale city of Prague, grim reality soon sets in. She’s stuck working in a historic hotel with her archenemy, a psycho planner, and a resident ghost. The romantic notion of meeting Declan in exotic locales is proving more difficult than she’d imagined. Maintaining balance between her professional and personal lives is becoming a losing battle. And when she’s wrongly accused of a crime, she must fight to prove her innocence.

  Everything Caity has worked so hard for—Declan, her reputation, and family relationships—begins to bite the dust!

  My Wanderlust Bites the Dust

  Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Watson

  All rights reserved by author.

  Cover design by Lyndsey Lewellen at LLewellen Designs

  Interior formatting by Author E.M.S.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Elizabeth Watson.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0-9992168-3-X

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9992168-3-5

  Table of Contents

  MY WANDERLUST BITES THE DUST

  About the Book

  Copyright

  Books by Eliza Watson

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Family Tree

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Coming Soon

  Author’s Note

  About Eliza Watson

  Books by Eliza Watson

  The Travel Mishaps of Caity Shaw Series

  Flying by the Seat of My Knickers (Book 1)

  Up the Seine Without a Paddle (Book 2)

  My Christmas Goose Is Almost Cooked (Book 3)

  My Wanderlust Bites the Dust (Book 4)

  Other Books

  Kissing My Old Life Au Revoir

  Writing Romance as Eliza Watson & Eliza Daly

  Identity Crisis—Eliza Watson

  Under Her Spell—Eliza Watson

  ’Til Death Do Us Part—Eliza Daly

  Writing Young Adult as Beth Watson

  Getting a Life, Even If You’re Dead

  Dedication

  To my dad, Doug Watson, for inspiring my wanderlust.

  I will forever cherish the memories of our travels around the world. I love you.

  &

  In memory of our 18-year-old baby, Quigley.

  You were my best friend and confidant.

  You are deeply missed and loved.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my mom and dad for encouraging me to follow my dream of studying abroad and traveling the world. For the numerous trips we have enjoyed together over the years, including the first visit to our ancestors’ homeland, Ireland. It wouldn’t have been nearly as special without you both. I’m looking forward to Scotland and walking in the steps of our Watson ancestors!

  Thank you to my husband, Mark, and all my friends and family for believing in me and supporting my writing in so many ways. I would have given up years ago without your encouragement. To Nikki Ford, Elizabeth Wright, and Meghan Lloyd for reading this book several times and for your in-depth feedback, helping to make it a stronger book. To Judy Watson for reading the book even after I sent the wrong version. Sorry about that. And to Laura Iding for all the brainstorming and support sessions over wine and dinner.

  To Dori Harrell for your fab editorial skills and for always exceeding my expectations. To Chrissy Wolfe for your final proofreading tweaks. Thanks to you ladies I can always publish a book with confidence. To Lyndsey Lewellen for another incredible cover and for capturing the spirit of Caity. And to Amy Atwell at Author E.M.S. for a flawless interior format and for always promptly answering my many questions.

  Thanks to my brilliant fans, who began this adventure with Caity in Flying by the Seat of My Knickers and who continue to follow her journey around Europe!

  Chapter One

  This was going to be the best Valentine’s Day since my third-grade crush, Tommy Blanchard, gave me a heart-shaped Play-Doh cookie. I’d cracked a tooth biting into it, expecting a sugar cookie. Sixteen years later, I’d be celebrating the romantic holiday in the fairy-tale city of Prague with the Irish love of my life, Declan. We hadn’t seen each other since Christmas in Ireland.

  Since the first time we’d said I love you.

  The thought of experiencing another first together in Prague about made me faint.

  I walked through the upscale restaurant searching out the perfect table for our romantic dinner tomorrow night, Valentine’s Day Eve. Patrons weren’t paying for the basic black-and-white linens and décor—they were paying for the view. I fished my phone from my purse to send Declan a teaser pic from an intimate corner table overlooking the Vltava River. Perched high on a hill, Prague Castle was set against purplish-pink fluffy clouds. I snapped a pic as a text alert shrilled. My hand jerked, causing a blurred picture.

  It was from Blair, the meeting’s planner.

  F & B lead here soon. Come to staff office.

  I replied, On my way!

  The F & B team was in charge of the meeting’s food and beverage functions. It wasn’t my area of expertise. I didn’t have an area of expertise. I also didn’t have experience with a group as large as two hundred attendees. Fifty had been my max. And Declan or my sister, Rachel, had always been on-site to have my back. I gave myself a little pep talk to calm the nervous fluttering in my tummy.

  I tossed my phone into my purse. I’d missed a shot of the perfect sunset and now didn’t have time to shower. I felt skanky, having landed only two hours earlier. It was 4:00 p.m., and my workday was just beginning even though I’d left Milwaukee twenty-two hours ago.

  I thanked the host for allowing me a sneak peek at the restaurant and slipped him 400 korunas—twenty bucks—requesting the corner table for the following evening. He gave me an efficient nod. I’d already forked out 500 korunas to my meeting hotel’s concierge to secure the last-minute reservation. Declan and I would have to share an appetizer, skip dessert, and drink the house red. But the dinner wouldn’t be about the food�
�it’d be about setting the tone for an evening we’d never forget.

  Only nineteen hours until Declan arrived, making a side trip on his way from the Canary Islands to a meeting in Florence.

  I let out a contented sigh, and my cheeks flushed from anticipation as I stepped outside into a cool breeze. I envisioned Declan and me strolling hand in hand down the quaint tree-lined cobblestone sidewalk along the river.

  A silver-and-red electric tram rolled past. The modern invention was a contrast to the Gothic-style Charles Bridge with its massive stone statues spanning across the river toward the castle. Prague was often referred to as turn-of-the-century Paris. A step back in time. Hopefully I was able to find time to step across the bridge and visit my third castle. According to the agenda, no off-site dinners were planned, so we should have some free evenings. I snapped a few pics just in case.

  Ten minutes later, I skirted around a tour group outside La Haute Bohème and entered the hotel. An iron railing with decorative brass accents led up the sweeping red-carpeted staircase to the mezzanine level. Etched stained-glass mirrors and art nouveau paintings hung on the walls. Couples decked out in formal attire, likely off to a romantic dinner before attending the opera or symphony, strolled across the white-and-black tiled floor. Feeling out of place in my wrinkled jeans, windblown auburn hair, and no makeup, I imagined myself in a red velvet dress with long satin gloves, like a character on Downton Abbey—

  “I requested a room on a lower floor.” A woman’s harsh, demanding voice shattered the ambiance.

  An annoyingly familiar voice…

  My gaze darted to the blond American arguing with a front desk clerk.

  Gretchen!

  I gasped, inhaling the mint in my mouth. It shot down my throat too quickly to cause coughing or choking. Yet panic pressed against the lump in my chest. I pounded a fist against my chest, hoping the mint hadn’t become lodged in a lung.

  Gretchen and I’d met on my first meeting in Dublin. My sister, Rachel, an event planner, thought her star contractor could do no wrong. Even when I’d proved she could, defending myself when Gretchen attempted to use me as a scapegoat, Rachel had sided with her. Gretchen had spent the entire meeting making me feel incompetent and causing Rachel to question my abilities, at a time when I was trying to gain my sister’s respect and rebuild our relationship.

  Also, Gretchen had slept with Declan, once.

  I hadn’t yet slept with Declan.

  “What if there’s a fire?” Gretchen said. “I’m not racing down fifteen flights of stairs.”

  “There’s a fire?” called out an alarmed woman from the line forming behind Gretchen.

  The front desk clerk peered over at the guest. “I assure you, there is not a fire.” He glared at Gretchen, his fingers lashing out at the keyboard, rather than around her neck. He gave her a room key and a strained smile. “Here, madam. It is on the second floor.”

  Gretchen snatched the key from his hand. “Thank you.” She spun around, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder, her green-eyed gaze landing on me.

  I stifled a distressed squeal, heart thumping against the mint in my chest. She didn’t look as shocked to see me as I was to see her.

  Her skinny jeans and formfitting black sweater weren’t practical for a long flight and preventing a pulmonary embolism. Her jade-colored eye shadow and black winged liner weren’t even smudged. I touched my mouth, wishing I’d at least put balm on my dried lips.

  She headed toward me, designer suitcase in tow. “Well, hello, Caity. How nice we’ll be working together again.” Her voice oozed sarcasm.

  I plastered on what was likely my fakest smile ever, resembling Gretchen’s. “You’re here for the Evans and Walker meeting?” The company made high-end desserts and confections, which they distributed in their boutique shops and upscale food halls throughout Europe and the US.

  She nodded. “I contacted Nigel, the banquet captain, and asked him to meet us in the staff office so we can inventory the products. There’ll be a ton.” Her gaze narrowed. “I hope you’ve worked more F and B functions since Powerscourt in Ireland.”

  Gretchen was the food and beverage lead?

  I was going to be her bitch?

  My stomach took a swan dive.

  “Yeah, I’ve worked several,” I lied.

  Gretchen arched a skeptical brow.

  She’d make sure I failed at my job, which wouldn’t be difficult, even though I was a bit more experienced than the last time we’d worked together. I couldn’t let her shake my confidence. And if she outed me to Blair, that my résumé was embellished, she’d jeopardize her relationship with Rachel, who gave her a ton of work. Yet if she discovered my personal relationship with Declan, she’d throw me under the bus, or an electric tram, in a heartbeat.

  The concierge—a dapper-looking older gentleman in a black suit—stopped as he was passing by. His name tag read Tobias, Austria. “The restaurant was to your liking for a romantic dinner?”

  Gretchen tilted her head, eying me with curiosity.

  I smiled calmly at the man while panic raced through me. “Yes, thank you. It should work out perfectly for them.”

  His gaze narrowed. “I thought it was—”

  “Ideal for my friend’s honeymoon this summer? You were right.”

  The poor man looked confused, since I’d tipped him well to secure a last-minute reservation for me at the city’s most romantic restaurant.

  I slipped a 500-koruna bill, the smallest I had, from my pocket and handed it to him. Gag money. “Thank you again so much.” I’d blown through 1,400 korunas in under an hour. Forget dessert. Declan and I would be sharing a glass of house wine at our romantic table for two.

  The concierge walked away with a baffled expression, slipping the money into his pants pocket.

  I gave my head a concerned shake. “Hopefully, we won’t have to rely on him for too much assistance during our stay.”

  Hopefully, I wouldn’t need to rely on him for help, since he now thought I was completely bonkers.

  Gretchen looked more annoyed than curious. “Whatever. See you in the office.” She strutted off, suitcase bouncing in rhythm with her size D boobs, attracting the attention of several leering businessmen.

  Gretchen hadn’t even been here five minutes and I’d almost been busted. Declan and I had been discreet about our relationship, never mentioning it on social media. We’d have to continue flying under the radar when he was here. If Gretchen found out I was seeing Declan, she’d make my job an even bigger living hell.

  Suddenly, working with two hundred people didn’t worry me nearly as much as working with one. Gretchen.

  Chapter Two

  I frantically texted Declan on my way to the staff office.

  Gretchen is here!

  Had he known she was working this meeting? He and Gretchen shared a lot of the same clients, most of whom I’d submitted my résumé to. She and I would likely be working together in the future. I had to figure out a way to tolerate her.

  My fingers tightened around the phone. Inhaling a calming breath, I loosened my grip. No way was I allowing that wretched woman to ruin my one romantic evening with Declan.

  He replied to my text. Boarding the group on a boat. Will ring ya soon.

  He’d been warned.

  I entered the staff office, smiling at a half dozen unfamiliar faces. My heart thumped wildly, being the new kid on the block. A girl my age—twenty-four—sat at a back table, her fingers pounding her laptop’s keyboard, a tear rolling down her cheek, leaving a faint trail of mascara. She looked ready to pull out her short blond hair. Everyone appeared to be ignoring the fact that she was in meltdown mode. Maybe she had a history of being a drama queen. I hoped that was the case and not a sign that I should turn around and run.

  I assumed the only person in a black suit, rather than jeans, was Blair, who worked for Taylor Made Events, hired by Evans and Walker to plan their meetings. Her features were all hard angles—high cheekbones
, narrow chin, and pointed nose. Her black bob haircut and deep-maroon-colored lips contrasted with her pale skin, even lighter than mine. Her lips clashed with the client’s uniform shirt—a pink oxford with an E & W in the middle of an embroidered chocolate. Blair carried on an intense conversation with a hotel employee, never glancing my way.

  Three staff sat at gold-skirted tables with their backs to a view of a cream-colored building with fancy peach scrollwork and decorative statues. Before I could introduce myself, Gretchen blew in, flitting around, distributing hugs and kisses, droning on about the last time she’d worked with everyone. They appeared happy to see her, putting me at a serious disadvantage.

  Mindy, thirtyish with short, dark hair, blue eyes, and a friendly smile, was the VIP lead. Chad comprised the meeting rooms’ “team.” With his dark tan, it was difficult to determine his age, thirty, maybe forty. He had on jeans and an eggplant-colored paisley print oxford that made me crave my favorite angel-hair pasta dish with eggplant and roasted tomatoes. Rita, a white-haired English woman with a pair of red funky-patterned reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, was working registration.