Paradise Bay: Resort 1 (Surrender Isle #1)
Page 9
I was never one for partying, dancing, or anything festive that required my stiff body to move to music, but the island tunes coming from the pool area were fun, rhythmic, and filled with steel drums, guitar, maracas, and other percussion instruments. In short, I felt like dancing. I followed the party sounds and discovered a midsummer’s night dream in progress.
Round, white light bulbs hung in curving lines from tree to tree, stretching across the pool, bobbing in the breeze. Paper lanterns in all sorts of colorful hues—champagne, lilac, and white—danced to the music, and the guests in attendance were happy, as they ordered drinks from goddesses in white bikinis.
I took photo after photo so I could show Grace back home. Where was Tristan?
The thought of possibly seeing him here dressed in something other than the shorts, tanks, and swimsuits I’d seen him in so far sparked my excitement. He would look amazing in pants and shirt, stunning in a suit, and handsome in…
“A perfect vision.” Someone spoke near me. I spun around to view the source of the sound, coming face-to-face with the most perfect specimen of the male species I’d ever seen in my life. Tristan, tall and strong, broad-chested, and gorgeous as all get out in full tuxedo. A tuxedo! In the middle of a luau. Of a luau!
Whoa, did I feel underdressed.
“Mr. Giovanetti?” Natasha slinked up to him wearing a red cocktail dress showing off her amazingly fit body. Ugghhh… I thought it would mark the end of Tristan’s attention on me, but he barely looked at her, and in one second, I went from hating her to feeling sorry for her. She was about to tell him something when she noticed me wavering nearby like a standard white daisy in a bouquet of exotic flowers. “Miss Jones! Look at you so beautiful!” Natasha reached out to take my hands and beamed. “Doesn’t your very own hand-picked winner look gorgeous tonight, Mr. Giovanetti?”
Hand-picked winner?
Your very own?
Two young lovely ladies strolled by us, both of them rubbernecking at Tristan. They giggled into each other and twiddled their fingers. “Hi, Mr. Giovanetti…”
Tristan chanced an embarrassed glance at me. I was missing something here with no Lost and Found to help me out. Who, exactly, was Tristan, and why were people catering to him? He smiled, wide and gorgeous. “Indeed she does.”
Chapter 10
Natasha turned her focus back to me. Always with the hurry-hurry attitude. Would she ever just relax? I’d hoped that she wouldn’t engage me in the middle of the luau in front of Paris, but I suppose it was only a matter of time before Paris found out anyway. “Have you seen Mr. Coffe?” Tasha scanned the party, holding onto a clipboard. A clipboard, in the middle of a party. At least she was on top of the game. Every time. “I have a question about the large group arriving tomorrow at Hideaway.”
“No, I haven’t,” I said, still staring at Paris in her tropical dress that didn’t blend in with the high fashion of the other female guests but looked adorable on her. Somehow, she made it work. “Simon should be around,” I told Tasha. “But can it wait until tomorrow morning? We’re here to have fun. Relax and enjoy, Tasha.” I raised my half-empty glass at Paris, hoping to ease her apparent worries, but a troubled expression told me I had some explaining to do.
As expected.
“Yes, sir. I was only hoping to get ahead the game, but I see I’m in need of a mojito.” She calmed down and actually cracked a pretty Tasha smile. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Giovanetti? Miss Jones?”
“Oh, no, thank—” Paris started to say.
“Yes, she would love a drink,” I interrupted before she had the chance to deny herself anymore fun. Besides, I needed a buffer if I was to be divulging my secrets to Paris. “Bring Miss Jones one of Bella’s special mojitos, whichever one she’s making tonight, and I’ll take a Painkiller. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.” Smoothing down the front of my tux, I watched Natasha walk away, commanding the attention of half the men in attendance. She was quite the exotic bird, but way too uptight for me.
Once out of earshot, I smiled at the gun-shy Paris and prepared for the inevitable. “You really do look lovely, the prettiest I’ve seen you yet—”
“Mr. Giovanetti, sir?” Paris sidled up to me slowly. “A question about the group arriving tomorrow, sir? What exactly is it you do here, Tristan? Or should I say, Mr. Giovanetti? I thought you helped guests around the island, took them on boat rides, but there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Damn, you figured me out,” I said, taking my sunglasses out of my lapel pocket and donning them for an icebreaking effect. “I’m a Secret Service agent, here to protect you during your stay, Mrs. President. You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Tristan?” She was not amused, even though my joke was awesome. “What do you do here at Paradise Bay?”
I took off the sunglasses and folded them back into my pocket. Here it was, the moment everything would change. The moment when women’s eyes lit up into Christmas trees of currency signs. “I own this island. The whole of Sorendi Isle, everything on it. Well…one third of it, but Paradise Bay is mine, just for the record.” I paused to let her reply, but her mouth was slightly open, no sound coming out, so I went on. “Before the night is over, you’ll meet one of my best friends and business partners, Simon Coffe. The other, Reece Harden, is on a cruise. His own cruise ship through the Caribbean. That over there is Natasha Loren who you already met. She oversees the day-to-day operations of this place, leaving me time to boat, fish—”
“And sleep with random guests?” Crap, the arched eyebrow of death was making an appearance on Paris’s face.
I leaned into her. “I don’t go around sleeping with random guests. Though I have indulged a few times, but it’s not what I do for fun, if that’s what you mean.” Dare I say I actually felt offended that she’d thought the worst of me? “I do actually work around here. We’re in the middle of trying to rebrand our resorts, which was the reason for the essay contest. We hoped it would bring attention to our little corner of the world.”
Paris’s eyes narrowed, as she tried to take it all in. “So, you’re telling me that you own one-third of this place.”
“Give or take a tenth of a percent, yes.”
“And you employ all these people?” She gestured to the entirety of the pool deck.
“Not all of them, no. Only the ones who work here.” I was going to get slapped at any moment, and I would deserve it whole-heartedly.
Eyebrow of death and arm folding. Shit. “You know what I mean. You pay the workers here, like actual money, dinero, cash.”
“Well, not directly from my pockets, but yes, they are on the payroll.”
“I can’t believe this.” A shaky hand pressed against her forehead. Maybe I shouldn’t have surprised her.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is there something bad about being the proprietor? I imagined you’d be happy. Then again, you’re not like anyone else, and I should have known better.” I’d never been in this position before—of liking a girl so much, I didn’t want her to know the truth about me, and now it’d backfired.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” She wasn’t angry, just flustered.
“Would it have made a difference?”
“Actually, it would have.” Okay, now she was angry.
“How?”
“Tristan, I don’t know if you realize, but a large portion of the women here have eyes for you. I thought it was simply because you were hot.” She cringed at her choice of words then smiled sheepishly. “But you have money too, I assume, a powerful position, and that makes you quite the eligible bachelor, and I…I can’t compete with that.” A delayed flush came into her cheeks.
Compete?
This was why I hadn’t told her yet. One, because I wanted her to get to know me for me, and the other because Paris could sometimes be fragile about her self-esteem. “Love, first of all, it’s not a competition. And secondly, you are literally, hands down, the most stunning girl her
e.” I knew no matter what, she’d think I was being insincere, but it was the whole truth.
She frowned. Not what I was hoping. “So you’re hot, rich, and blind? Oof.”
“Paris, I’m serious. The moment you walked in, you know what I thought? I thought there, right there, is the perfect woman. Gorgeous, sweet, smart, and funny. I’m serious. I thought, could she be any more wonderful?”
Through a tiny smile, she scoffed and waved me away. “Please.”
I took her hands and pulled her closer to me. She’d dusted light shimmery makeup onto her eyes and cheeks tonight. She didn’t need it, but I liked the way it accentuated her light brown irises. “It’s true. Paris, you may not realize this, but you’ve knocked me on my ass since before you even arrived. The women here—I know what they’re like, trust me—they only wish they were half as talented as you. Don’t you see them hating you right now? Just look around.”
She did, but this was a matter of perspective. “Pfft, and I wish I was half as rich as them.”
“It’s just money.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is it that rich people always say that? Trust me, having enough money is a big deal. It’s not just money.”
“Trust me,” I said, “I’ve been on both sides of the fence, so I understand you more than you think I do. You, Paris Jones, will have money too one day, probably sooner than you think. You’re bound to, as hard as you work. With the skills you have.” I squeezed her hand, loving the way her small fingers shook in mine. “Seriously, how did you get to be so perfect? All I can imagine was that stardust somehow coalesced into this beautiful woman standing before me. How else would it be possible?”
Leaning in, I gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. I wished we could go somewhere and replay the events of the afternoon, but seeing her in this dress gave me something to look forward to. Hopefully.
Her lashes batted, and not in the forced way some women did either. She looked like she was nearly committed to believing me and leaving all worry behind. But now, I worried too, about whether money would change our relationship, either because she might stop getting to know the real me, or because she was a hard worker, determined to succeed without anyone’s financial help.
She shook her head. “You’re nice to me, Tristan. Handsome, kind, funny. Sometimes, you’re hard on me, like when you push me to do better. I was thinking you were already perfect, but now you tell me you’re loaded too. Oh, and good in bed, not that we’ve been in an actual bed yet, but seriously, what’s wrong with you? It worries me.”
“A lot, trust me. I got here, because of pushiness you mentioned. An MBA from UM before opening a place like this, along with restaurants and clubs you don’t even know about. I didn’t get it by sitting around crying about life. Not that you’re crying about life. I’m just saying.”
“Mm, hmm…”
“Yeah. I can be a hardass, Paris. I can push you, demand the best from myself and those I love. There’s a reason I’ve only had one girlfriend before. I think I was too hard on her, and in the end, she couldn’t open up to me, feared I’d judge her.”
“So, women can’t put up with you?” She laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Thank you. But most women aren’t you,” I said, waiting for that to sink in. “Can you put up with me, Paris? Would you even want to?” What was I asking? For her to be my girlfriend, when she was leaving three weeks from now? I barely knew her, and yet, I hated the thought of her leaving.
“I…I don’t know what to think.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It was totally unfair and too much to think about, especially when I want you to have a good time tonight. Come, let’s walk around.”
The suggestion seemed to shove a world of stress off her shoulders. We walked around for a minute before Tasha found us again, brandishing two drinks. “You people moved around on me. Here you go, a Painkiller for you, monsieur, and a mango coconut mojito for Miss Jones. Voilà!”
“Thank you, Tasha. Speak of the devil.” Behind Natasha, Simon was coming up the deck dressed to the nines as well in a tailored suit that had all the ladies dropping their jaws and mopping up their drool. I must say, we did clean up mighty well. “There you are, my brother. Been looking for you. Hey, Tash.”
“Evening, sir. I need to speak with you when you have a minute.” Tasha always seemed to blush whenever Simon was around, and my poor sap of a friend never even noticed it.
“Simon, this is Paris Jones, our contest winner for this month. Paris, this is Simon Coffe.”
Paris extended her hand and shook firmly. “I believe we already met, earlier today by the pool. Pleased to meet you. Thanks for having me here. I’ve really enjoyed the island so far and even gotten some work done.”
“Super…super, fantastic.” Simon nodded then looked me with that half-inebriated face of his that most people took to mean happy. “I take it Tristan here has let you in on our idea for you?”
“Idea?” Paris’s ear perked up. “Oh, the one you told me about, that someone would be contacting me?”
“Yes, that one. Tristan hasn’t mentioned it?” Simon asked.
“I haven’t told her yet,” I said reservedly. I’d been feeling terrible about asking Paris to give up her novel writing time only to write travel articles for us. “Paris,” I cleared my throat. “Simon and Reece have thought about maybe hiring you to write a couple really good articles about life here on Sorendi that we can then blast to all our affiliates all over social media. Would you be up for something like that?”
“Oh…I, uh…I don’t know.” She pushed her hair behind her ears, looking flustered. “I have a job I have to get back to at the travel agency in a couple of weeks. It was hard enough getting my boss to approve a month away from home.”
“We’ll compensate you for your time, of course,” Simon added. I wanted to tell him to stop. That not everyone jumped at his ideas so readily. Especially someone as indecisive as Paris was in her life right now. “It could be a good way to get your writing noticed.”
“How do you know she’s not already noticed?” I asked Simon.
Sometimes, Simon could be so clueless. He didn’t know the first thing about Paris Jones. She might’ve been a top notch travel writer in her industry. “How do you know she’s not the most well-known copywriter in her field? I would even take this a step further.” I looked at Paris, standing between us sipping on her drink, looking uncomfortable and well put-together all at the same time. How could I change her life? She deserved a big break, but I didn’t know how to help her without throwing money at her, which I knew would probably offend her.
“I have another idea.” My gaze flitted between Simon and Paris.
“Let’s hear it then.” Simon smiled facetiously, as if I never came up with good ideas.
I turned to Paris. She would kill me for suggesting this when she already had enough work on her plate, but…this might be worth her time. And it would keep her here a while longer. At least I hoped it would. “What if you wrote a book? A travel photo book about Sorendi Isle? A coffee table art type of thing. We could hire a photographer to come out and take pics around the island then include them in the book interspersed with Paris’s descriptions in between. Something visually and verbally stunning.”
“I like it.” Simon smiled in Paris’s direction. “Does that sound like something you can wrap your head around, Miss Jones?”
“It sounds…um…it sounds really amazing, but I just don’t see how I’ll have that done before my month is over, and I don’t know when I’d find the time if I worked on it back home.”
“You would have to stay a while,” I said, transmitting a silent plea into Paris’s brain. What was I doing? “Enough time to properly know the island the way we know it, discover every corner, every smiling face here.”
“I can’t afford to stay, Mr. Giovanetti,” she said. Mocking me? Or just teasing? “I have a lot waiting for me back home.”
Paris cringed and wrung her purse out. “That’s…really very kind, but I can’t exactly bring home a free stay from a resort and deposit it in my checking account when I get home. Know what I mean?”
Yes! She was driving a hard bargain. Perfect, Paris! I smiled and bowed my head. “Of course. Free room and board and payment for your services. How insensitive of me. We’ll pay you per article and for the photo book.” No, I hadn’t consulted this with Simon or Reece first, but making executive decisions was sometimes in the game plan. “The villa is yours, as long as you need it, to research the island and write a first draft. Will you at least think about it?”
“Tristan…” Almond shaped honey eyes pleaded with me.
I caught a curious flicker in Simon’s eyes when he heard Paris call me by my first name. If he hadn’t figured things between us yet, he knew it now. “Tristan?” Simon chimed in. “Just a friendly reminder that Ms. Moreau could be stopping by as early as next week. You know how she feels about—”
“Yes, I know,” I said. Everyone knew how Tatianne felt about anyone using her cabin when she wasn’t here. At first, she wasn’t scheduled to come anytime soon, but this afternoon, Natasha told me she’d received a message from Tatianne saying she was in St. Thomas for the weekend. Meaning, she could conceivably make her way down the isles. “She can stay in a woodland cabin then. I have no problem telling Ms. Moreau that, Simon.”
Fuck it, I was tired of Tatianne calling all the shots like she owned the place, like she owned me. How long was I going to let her get away with it? All because she’d lent me four million dollars?