Zale did his best to school his expression. “My apologies, there must be a mistake. I checked the system yesterday and you’re booked for a two-night stay in our Harbor View Suite.” It was busy season and he had guests to care for. He’d agreed to hear her offer, but he wouldn’t be entertaining her for a week. Not to mention he’d be leaving for Bermuda for a speaking engagement on Friday morning. Thankfully, they’d been booked for the month of June for six months.
“The front desk was lovely when I called last night to extend my stay. There was a cancellation moments before I phoned. I haven’t taken a vacation in a long time. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.” The idea of her staying at the hotel while he was away unsettled him. A little like leaving the fox unsupervised in the hen house.
She slid her glasses up so they rested on top of her head. A glint of humor danced behind her coffee-colored eyes. “All I’ll ask of you is an afternoon of your time, Mr. Carris.” A breeze swayed the ornamental grass that lined the portico.
“I have time at noon for a tour, and we can discuss your agenda.” Zale checked his watch. The Brighams were due to arrive at any moment. He always personally greeted the regulars who stayed at the resort through the summer. When he’d inherited the hotel from Mr. Howe, there was a personal connection lacking between the guests and management. By greeting his guests, leaving welcome notes in their suites, and addressing them by name around the resort, they experienced a sense of belonging. A sense of home away from home.
Gemma gave him a professional smile.
“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ll see you in the lobby at noon.” With confident strides, she entered the hotel. He released a breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Gemma seemed less intimidating than the director of acquisitions at first glance, until she took off the glasses that shaded her shrewd eyes. She was a woman who got what she was after. Luckily, he was a man who wasn’t easily swayed.
The Brighams’ Mercedes turned onto Harbor Drive, and when the sleek vehicle pulled under the portico though, a group of bellmen surrounded the car and began unloading the family’s belongings the moment the trunk was popped. They worked like a well-orchestrated team. Avery and Ally Brigham, twins in pigtails and yellow sundresses, leaped from the car and raced toward him. “Where’s Mila?” they both asked.
“She just left for school, but she’s looking forward to seeing you.” Most of his families knew Mila. She seemed to charm everyone she met.
“Did you leave something in our room, Mr. Carris?” Avery clasped her hands together. Her sister laughed, showing off a full mouth of pink and purple braces.
“Avery.” Cressida Brigham came up behind her girls, and their shoulders instantly shrank. “Didn’t we talk about asking people for things?”
The tips of Avery’s ears turned red, and she shuffled her feet.
“As my uncle used to say, if you don’t ask, you won’t receive.” He gave the kids a quick wink. They giggled and skipped into the hotel. They’d enjoy the iridescent mermaid pillows, gel glitter pens, and notebooks his concierge left on their beds, just as their parents would savor the fresh fruit and sparkling wine. And who knew, maybe he did have an uncle back in Greece. His mom had come to America to do better for her son. It made her sad to talk about the family they’d left behind, so he didn’t actually know much about his relatives.
“They need to learn manners.” Cressida sighed.
Her husband, clad in pleated dress pants and a silk shirt, clapped Zale’s shoulder. “We’re looking forward to another beautiful summer on the harbor.” Mr. Brigham drew in an exaggerated breath. “Ah. Smell that sea air.”
“Nothing compares, does it?” Zale smiled and escorted them to the front desk where their keycards were waiting. When they had walked away, and the lobby was clear, he let his forearms rest against the pearlescent front desk.
“You’ll be wanting these.” Maria slid a small key card packet toward him. “Two show rooms, one king, one double, a key to the spa, and the board room for your site tour.” She pulled at the hem of her shirt, which was beginning to get snug over her pregnant belly.
“You’ve been on your feet most of the day. I thought you were going to do reservations until the baby arrives?” She couldn’t be comfortable standing at seven months along. His staff was his family and he looked after them the best he could.
“I wanted to make sure the Brighams’ check-in went well. I know my replacement is more than capable. I’m just have a hard time letting go.” She massaged her back with one hand and rested the other on her hip.
“I want you to enjoy the time with your new baby. There’s nothing more important.” Another entrepreneur had once told him his maternity leave was grossly unnecessary, but the six months of paid time was essential to a new mother’s wellbeing, and the baby’s. Who could expect someone who was awakened every few hours to perform essential tasks the next day? He’d never forget that initial shock of lost sleep. Who would’ve thought rest was such a luxury—that he’d crave it more than his next breath? But he’d woken up for the late-night feedings before powering through meetings with his staff and day-to-day hotel operations fueled by coffee and energy drinks. His mother had helped to care for Mila during the day. He owed his mother everything. In his mid-thirties, he was thrilled to be a new father, but he never expected his girlfriend to announce she was having an affair and was starting a new life—one that didn’t include him or their child. From that point on, he carefully controlled who was in their lives. He couldn’t make Mila’s mother stay, but he could protect his daughter from any hurt in the future.
He left the desk, checked in at the restaurant, then with his team members who staffed the spa. Zale returned to the lobby with ten minutes to spare. At eleven fifty-nine, heels clicked against the glossy floor. Ms. Dalton was very attractive. She shared a likeness to his mother’s favorite film star. The name of the movie escaped him at the moment—something about breakfast and a woman named Tiffany. Or maybe that was the name of the restaurant.
“The views are just incredible here.” Gemma smiled at him and suddenly his throat was dry. “I can see why you’ve been giving Dalton such a difficult time about selling.”
Zale bristled. “Then you’ll understand when I turn down your offer, too.”
“I think I’ve come up with a solution that will please us both.” Her eyes twinkled, and his stomach tightened when she shot him a cunning grin. Her beauty was amplified when she smiled, but there was something ruthless behind those crimson lips that put him on edge. He’d loved and lost, and between raising a child and running his resorts, there was no time left for women. Still, he hadn’t felt this jolt of attraction in a very long time.
“Shall we?” He held his arm out wide, inviting her down the northern wing that led to the spa. There was no need to waste time. Zale still had a conference call with the general manager of his Nantucket Resort, The Tupelo, later this afternoon.
“Your color and material choices are lovely.” Gemma seemed to be taking it all in, eyes wide. “The whitewashed oak floors are so refreshing.”
“I wanted the design to be modern, minimalistic, but with the occasional lavish decoration.” The scent of lemongrass swirled through the air as they neared the spa entrance.
“Like the driftwood and crystal chandelier in the lobby, and the stacked stone fire places,” she noted, eyes constantly assessing and taking stock.
“This is the spa.” He inserted the keycard and opened the door for her when the light flashed.
They toured some of the open massage, Reiki, and facial rooms, the indoor saltwater pool, sauna, and locker room. After looking at the standard accommodations and the boardroom, Zale took Gemma into the Slipper Shell, the resort’s fine dining restaurant. Their table was already prepared next to a floor-to-ceiling panel that showed a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the harbor. He was spending a fair amount of time trying to impress her with the resort. Not just because he was p
roud of it, but if she could imagine the possibilities of stretching Dalton’s reach to the islands, they’d be more willing to partner with him.
“The views here are really unbelievable.” She glanced out toward the stretch of lawn that led to the water. A few of the lounge chairs were occupied by sunbathers and magazine readers. A trio of kids were taking part in a painting class on the lawn. “Smart.” Gemma flashed a true smile at him—one that reached her eyes—and his breath caught in his throat. He was surprised to see dimples indenting her cheeks. It tempered the aloof aura that surrounded her and spoke to something sweet and unguarded lingering beneath the surface. Even though he fully intended to say no to her proposal, maybe getting to know her over the next week wouldn’t be such a travesty after all. It would give him a chance to learn more about Dalton and plan out his pitch. The resorts performed exceptionally well during the summer months, but if he could tap into Dalton’s corporate business and conference travel during the slow winter months, the possibilities of what Carris Retreats could achieve were endless.
If Carris became affiliates of Dalton, the expanded marketing budget would help him cast a wider net, targeting business travelers. The trend of boutique hotels becoming affiliates to larger chains was nothing new, but Dalton wanted to own his hotels outright. Zale’s goal was to convince them otherwise.
Zale removed the lemon wheel from the iced water that had been soundlessly delivered to the table. The first sip eased some of the tightness in his throat. He’d never found himself tense around women, but then again, he hadn’t experienced this stirring of desire low in his gut since his last relationship ended. “We’re a family resort, but the adults need an escape, too,” he said, responding to her comment about the kids’ activities on the lawn.
“And the best way for that to happen is keeping the children occupied. Boy, I could’ve used an easel and paint the other night.” Gemma whistled softly through her front teeth.
“You have children, then?”
“Oh my, no,” she chuckled. An odd heaviness rested on his shoulders. The commonality of children would have settled him. “My father and his wife have a toddler and a new baby at home.”
Zale started to lift a brow and quickly recovered his expression.
“Very scandalous, I know. Especially since my stepmother was only a year ahead of me in boarding school.” Gemma brushed it off with a wave of her hand and opened her menu.
When the waiter came with bread and oil for the table, they placed their order. She smiled at their waiter, and on his recommendation chose the sea scallops. Points to her for treating the staff with respect. He ordered the swordfish. Neither of them would be disappointed.
“Let’s talk shop before lunch comes. If this bread is any indicator, I’ll most likely be too busy eating to chat.” She placed her half-eaten roll on her bread-and-butter plate.
Clever. Gemma might be a nice woman, but Zale knew when he was being disarmed with friendly banter to let down his guard. He hadn’t built a small fortune through luck. He’d learned to read people. To listen not only to their words but to observe their body language.
Zale fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest. “Please, jump right in.”
“First, let me just say you’ve done a wonderful job with the Stargrass. But I think you could do more.” Gemma reached down and grabbed a pen and a notebook from her shoulder bag.
“Oh?” He might not have plans to sign away his properties, but if she was willing to share her insight, he had no issue taking her counsel for the benefit of his guests. Warmth seeped into his skin when he scooped up one of the kitchen’s homemade rolls.
“This is your property here.” Gemma moved the bread basket and centerpiece to the left and put her rough sketch in the center of the table. “And when we toured the property you mentioned you own several hundred acres on each side of the resort. If you built cottages here and here...” She etched six smaller squares flanking the main building. “You’d draw more guests who want the right-on-top-of-the-water, summer rental feel with all the amenities of the hotel. The other large missed opportunity for revenue is a ballroom for catered banquets.”
“Interesting thought, but a rowdy bridal party might not be conducive to our guests’ relaxation.” Zale broke the roll in half, and steam rose out of its center.
Gemma’s mouth flattened. “I disagree. Families come here year after year. It’s where they build memories. The twins you greeted…what were their names?”
He didn’t like that she had watched him. “I don’t disclose the information of my guests.”
She nodded and continued. “They come here with their parents. It’s a special place to them. Picturesque location. If you had a wedding venue, this would be the first place they’d think of when they get engaged someday. The families that come here know the resort has a classy and relaxing vibe. Most of them will respect that, but it’s easy enough to block all the wedding rooms on one wing to reduce noise.” Gemma leaned back as her dish was set down in front of her. Gemma was certainly business savvy, which gave her a few extra points in his book.
He had to admit her ideas lit a spark of excitement and had his mind whirling with the possibilities of a timeless ballroom and quaint cottages dotting the shoreline. He had the capital to do one project and still be in the black, and the second could wait until the following year.
Gemma sampled her scallops, and a pleasurable sigh escaped her lips. His gut tightened in response. “These are delicious.” She set down her fork and stared at him curiously over her water glass. “If Dalton purchases Carris Retreats, you could proceed with expansion projects instantly once the board approved them, as general manager of the Stargrass. You’d have access to the most talented vendors, the most luxurious materials.” She leaned forward, and a strand of glossy hair slipped out of its hold and rested against her porcelain cheek.
“I have my own vendors, and my own funds to complete projects. And I’m the only one who needs to approve of them, without being demoted to general manager of a single property.” He wouldn’t be answering to anyone’s board every time he wanted to change the vanity granite or light fixtures. Access to instant project funding was rather appealing, but not worth the price, and he’d only be allowed to manage one of the properties. “Besides, my director of operations has advised me wholeheartedly against the sale.” He suppressed the smile that threatened to break free. Mila liked to have a say in business decisions. And why not? His little entrepreneur had an eye for details and strong opinions at the tender age of eight.
Something flashed in the woman’s eyes. Anger, frustration? He couldn’t be sure, but the look put him on the defensive, and he sat up straighter in his chair. This could very well be a woman who’d climbed to success on the broken dreams of others—or solely through her last name. He needed to remember that.
“That’s a bold assumption when we haven’t discussed the terms.” Her face was a blank slate now, holding no emotion.
“And what are your terms, Ms. Dalton? I’m only prepared to hear them once. Then perhaps I’ll have a counteroffer for you.” He frowned, ready to get out from under her suffocating stare. Once he turned down her offer of the sale, he could present her with the opportunity to affiliate with his hotels.
“We’re prepared to offer you shares in Dalton,” she said pulling a folder out of her binder. “And you’ll be manager of the Stargrass.” She slid a packet across the table. “That contains my offer. Take some time to look it over. If you sign with us, you’ll still have a say in the future of the properties, plus a world-class marketing team, advertising, and the flexibility to have a life away from the hotels. You must work eighty hours a week to maintain three resorts.” Their fingers brushed, and despite the tension between them, a tingling sensation spread over his skin. He drew back quickly, annoyed with his physical reaction to her.
She didn’t need to know how many hours he clocked to juggle fatherhood and a profitable business. He’d run himself
ragged for years being a father, mother, maid, nurse, teacher and all the other roles of parenthood. Combine that with entrepreneurship, and he rarely fell into bed before the early morning hours. If he could do it all over, he’d change nothing. His failed relationship with Margaret gave him Mila. And his endless hours provided his family with peace of mind for the future.
He wouldn’t be distracted by Gemma’s beauty or confidence, though both were appealing in an aggravating sort of way. He’d always found strong, independent women appealing. Her eyes softened, and for one moment, then two, the air around them crackled with electricity—a hypnotic attraction that was impossible to ignore. Was this all part of her game to win his signature on a few pieces of paper?
Gemma slowly pulled her hand off the file, cleared her throat, and busied her hands with her fork.
“I’ll review it.” His voice came out in a low rasp, and his neck was suddenly impossibly hot against the stiff collar of his shirt.
They finished their lunch, sticking to casual pleasantries. He couldn’t wait to go up to his apartment and escape the odd stirring that ensued each time he looked at her full lips.
“Perhaps you’d like to meet a few days from now, after you’ve reviewed the proposal,” Gemma suggested as they lingered in the lobby.
“I’ll let you know when I have a moment,” he said, desperate to regain his professional demeanor. “I leave on Friday for a speaking engagement in Bermuda. If I decide a counter offer is worthwhile, I’ll reach out before the end of the work week.” They shook hands, which again proved to be a small gesture with lethal results, as her skin connecting with his sent a bolt straight down to his groin.
He fought the urge to snatch his hand back and walk away. There was a pile of reports on his desk that he hadn’t reviewed, emails left unanswered, and an under-the-sea diorama waiting to be completed for a school project once Mila arrived home, not to mention the conference call. He’d agreed to a short visit, and now this woman was staying at his hotel for a solid week. Maybe she hadn’t meant to be inconsiderate by overstaying her welcome, but there was no way she was going to take any more of his time outside of a quick chat—or maybe an email—that he was rejecting her proposal.
SEDUCTION AT THE STARGRASS Page 2
