He sat next to me on a soft bench while we ate. “How’s this meal for cost-efficient?” he asked.
I gave him a grin. “What’s the fuel efficiency on this beast?”
Harrison shook his head and laughed. “You’re going to give me a run for my money, aren’t you?”
“I just might.”
Now I’m back in my room, wide awake even though it’s well after midnight. I feel all giddy and stupidly happy. Then I feel horribly guilty for feeling stupidly happy because – let’s be real here – it has very little to do with me getting him to agree to the deal and much more about the man who said yes. But, please don’t judge me too harshly. I’m sure it’s just a reaction to being so utterly rejected at that church the other day. I’m clearly in need of a major ego boost, and the way Harrison looks at me is definitely enough to boost the hell out of any girl’s ego.
I let out an exasperated sigh, then grab my phone and scroll through my pictures. While we were eating, Justin grabbed my phone and said, “Let’s make everyone back home jealous.”
He snapped a few photos of me sitting next to Harrison, our delicious meals on our laps, the orange and blue sky behind us. With the angle of the shots, I actually don’t look bad in my bikini. In one of the pics, I’m laughing because Harrison just said, “Say Breeze!”
I stare at his gorgeous face, and the thought pops into my mind that I could literally stare at that face forever. But that’s a crazy, confused thought. I’m just transferring romantic feelings from Richard onto Harrison. It means nothing.
But, if I’m smart, I could use this to activate the ‘I want what I can’t have’ response in Richard. Yup. That’s what I should do. Before I overthink it, I post the pic on Instagram with the caption ‘Dinner in Paradise #happiness.’
Putting my phone on the pillow next to mine, I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.
***
Text from Alice to me: Holy spitballs! Just saw your IG post. Is that HIM?!?
Me: Yes, ma’am.
Alice: Forget Dick and marry him IMMEDIATELY so you can make gorgeous babies. Also, does he have a brother? Jack really pissed me off last night, and I wouldn’t mind relocating to the other side of the planet with the kids.
Me: There’s seriously nothing going on between us. It’s just business with a side order of using him to make Richard jealous. Could work, right? Also, oh no! What did Jack do?
Alice: Completely forgot our anniversary and came home from work expecting dinner on the table instead of “surprising” me with our usual dinner at Chez Lawrence.
Me: Oh. Doghouse time.
Alice: Yeah. Indefinite stay in Maison de Dog for him.
Me: Oooh! Fly here and hang out with me for the next week!
Alice: SO tempting. But here’s my week: Take Maisie for vaccinations tomorrow, volunteer at Colby’s play-school class on Wednesday afternoon, then cut up enough orange slices for his entire tot football team and get him to practice by five p.m., Music Together class on Thursday morning with both kids, and round out the week by hosting a four-course dinner for the oral surgery partners and their wives to celebrate their ten-year anniversary (do you see the irony there? Because my husband doesn’t).
Me: In that case, DEFINITELY get on a plane immediately and come.
Alice: Only if Hot Harrison has a single brother who loves children (and has a chiseled bod).
Me: I’ll have to get back to you on that.
Alice: Please do.
TWELVE
Breezy Breeze and Dolphins with No Sense of Shame
Harrison
“I'm coming home,” Emma says for the third time in the two minutes since she called.
I'm standing in my bathroom, dripping wet from the shower, drying myself off while I simultaneously try to calm my hyper sister down. Glancing at the clock, I see I have exactly six minutes to dress and be all the way on the other side of the resort if I'm going to beat Libby to my office. And I absolutely must get there before she does because if Rosy greets her, everything could fall apart. I haven't exactly had a chance to tell her about the whole GlobalLux thing, and Rosy isn't the kind of person who embraces change easily. She is the kind of person who will chase off anyone she thinks is a threat, though, and she won’t be nice about it.
“There's no reason for you to come back. Seriously, I've got it handled, Emma, and there's absolutely no way I'm letting you give up your dream just because there's a teeny financial squeeze at the moment.” I toss my towel onto the floor and grab my boxer briefs off the counter.
“A teeny financial squeeze? Are you kidding me right now? I know it's much worse than that because nothing short of bankruptcy could ever make you sell Matilda to Stogie Stew.”
I wince, then curse under my breath. “I take it Wikileaks called you?” Pulling my polo shirt over my head, I then quickly slide my arms through and reach for my bottle of cologne.
“I called her. Unlike Will, I feel like I owe it to Rosy to stay in touch.”
I’m not even going to touch that one — Emma and Will butt heads like a couple of mountain goats. Something about being a year apart and complete opposites seems to have doomed their relationship. “Listen, I have to run. I need to be over at the office in about half a minute. Just promise me you’re not going to do something stupid like quit school.”
“I'm not going to sit here in New York and let you spend thousands of dollars a month on my education while you're there struggling.”
“We've talked about this, Emma. I'm making an investment in your future that is going to have huge returns for all of us. If you come home now, we can’t add that we have a Culinary Institute-trained master chef to our promotional material. I need you to stay put. And I’ve really got to run.”
“Harrison, do not hang up on me!”
I grab my keys off the counter and rush out the door, hopping into my golf cart and starting it up. “I need to hang up. I could get a big ticket for talking on the phone while driving.”
“How is it possible someone with no children has nothing but dad jokes in his repertoire?”
“You know, if you’re going to be mean, you should just stay in New York. In fact, stay anyway.”
“Not a chance. I'll see you in a few days,” Emma says.
“Do not—” I don't finish my sentence because she's already hung up on me.
“Son of a bitch,” I murmur. I hit the accelerator and zip around tourists who are meandering along the wide path on their way to breakfast. One of them is leaning down, feeding a pastry to an opossum but I don’t even bother to try to stop her. Redialing Emma's number while I weave my way to the office, I then wait for her to answer, but her phone goes directly to voicemail.
“Hey, this is Emma. I'm busy perfecting a soufflé right now, so leave me a message. Beep.”
“Do not come home. I repeat, do not come home. Stay exactly where you are. Finish school. I will see you next year when you are a fully certified chef and not a moment sooner. I promise the resort will still be standing when you get here.” With that I hang up, feeling a knot in my stomach caused by the possibility that, even though the resort will still be standing, we may no longer be the owners.
I round the next corner as fast as the 48 volts of power in the batteries will take me and slide into a parking stall in front of the office. Hopping up the steps two at a time, I rush into the building, only to see Libby has arrived ahead of me. Rosy goes from glaring at her to glaring at me. Shiiiiitttttt.
“Good morning, ladies. I'm sorry I’m a few minutes late.” Giving Rosy a sharp look, I say, “I was on the phone with my very panicky sister, who’s insisting on moving home.”
Rosy gives me a sheepish look and backs down just slightly from her previous aggressive, mother bear stance.
I smile at Libby. “I haven’t had a chance to bring Rosy up to speed on our conversation from yesterday.”
“I gathered that,” she says, looking
utterly uncomfortable. “Rosy was just telling me where GlobalLux can stick our proposal, in rather graphic detail.”
“I wanted to be sure GlobalLux got the message,” Rosy says, narrowing her eyes.
“So, then I take it you already know that Libby is a business analyst who’s going to…well, analyze our business and save us from ourselves.” That may not have been the best way to word it, because Rosy looks utterly pissed at the thought of me bringing in an outsider for advice when I won’t listen to hers.
Libby holds out her hand. “Oh, no, I’m not here to tell you how to do your job, Rosy. I’m more of a process person. I look at all the procedures in place and offer solutions to make improvements where needed.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you telling me how to do my job,” Rosy says, raising one eyebrow.
Libby nods and chews on her bottom lip. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
I decide to step in and save her. “Do you want to go grab a coffee, Libby? I think it might be beneficial for Rosy and I to have a quick chat.”
“Sure,” she says, sliding the strap of her briefcase onto her shoulder and turning to the front of the building.
I usher Rosy into my office and shut the door.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Rosy asks, her tone rising with each word.
I hold up my hand before she can start yelling. “Hear me out. This just may be the most sane thing I’ve ever done.”
“You better have an ace up your sleeve because it sounds like you’re about to sell everything Oscar spent his life building just so it can be dismantled for parts.”
“It’s not…they won’t…” I shake my head, horrified by the idea. “Listen, I cut a deal with Libby. She’s going to do her assessment, then tell her bosses we aren’t selling. We get all her ideas for how to get out of the considerable hole we’re in free of charge, and she goes home.” Okay, I may be bending the truth here a bit, but it’s for the greater good, so…
“Really? And just what exactly did you offer her to get her to agree to that?”
I give her a devil-may-care smile, but she doesn’t buy it. Sighing, I say, “She’s desperate to do the assessment. If she can’t, she’ll be fired. I said I’d agree to let her look around so she can go back with that much at least. There’s literally no risk involved for us.”
“Don’t be so sure. Once these companies get their talons in you, they don’t let go until they shake the life out of you and pick the meat off your bones. Then they leave the bones for the vultures to snack on while you rot.”
“Well, that was a disturbing metaphor,” I say. “You really don’t have to worry though, because I’m going to use her to get what we need and then say no.”
Raising one eyebrow, Rosy crosses her arms and does her signature stare-down, which, as children was guaranteed to make us confess to any crime, whether we did it or not.
I sigh and continue. “You said it yourself, Rosy. We’re in some serious trouble and we need to make some major changes. I’m hoping we can use Libby to figure out the right moves.”
“But, GlobalLux? Have you forgotten what they did to Mooncrest Hills? They bought them, and when they couldn’t make a profit after six months, they shut it down and sold off everything piece-by-piece.”
“Which is why I’d never sell to them.” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to keep this place.” Letting go of her, I give her an impish grin. “Even if I have to take one for the team and sleep with Ms. Dewitt out there.”
Rosy rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to the punch. “I know what I’m doing, Rosy. I promise I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect what’s mine. I am Superman, after all.”
***
“There's been a slight change of plans today.” I usher Libby out of the building just as she's walking in.
“I thought that might happen. She hates me, doesn't she?”
“More like she hates change, and you represent what could possibly be a massive change. So while we’re giving Rosy time to get used to the idea, I thought I would take you out for the day so you can examine Paradise Bay's most popular activity — the snorkelling and parasailing excursion.” I give her my weatherman smile, hoping my enthusiasm will detract from what just happened.
She chews on her bottom lip, adorably conflicted. “I really wanted to get started looking at the books today…”
“Tomorrow will be much better. Maybe Monday.”
“Doesn't Rosy work for you?” she asks, looking very confused.
“She works for the resort, yes, but she also pretty much raised me, so we have a bit of an unusual power dynamic.”
Her face softens and she nods. “All right. So, what do I need to bring for this boat trip?”
Letting out a sigh of relief, I say, “A bikini, some sunscreen, and definitely a giant hat to keep you from burning. The catamaran leaves in forty minutes.”
“Okay, but Harrison, you need to know I'm really not there to have fun. I'll be bringing my notebook so I can start my assessment. I’m also not parasailing or snorkelling.”
“But Ms. Dewitt, how are you supposed to properly advise your employer if you don't try all of our activities?”
“That's my problem to solve, not yours.”
***
I help Justin and Fidel finish stocking the boat with drinks and food for the day. Then we double check to make sure we have the right number of snorkel masks and flippers, but to be honest, my mind isn't really on the tasks at hand. Instead it keeps wandering to the all-important question of whether or not a certain someone will be wearing a certain bikini again today.
“What's that smile about?” Fidel asks with a knowing grin.
“Nothing. I was just thinking of a funny video I saw on Reddit last night.” I avoid eye contact with him and try to order my face to stop blushing.
“It's that woman from last night, isn't it?” Justin says as he tucks a box of crisps under the bar counter. “The one with the blue bikini.”
“Who?” I ask, trying to look completely confused. Then I feign boredom. “Oh, her. She's just doing some work for the resort for the next little bit.”
“I don’t know, man. I saw the way you looked at her.”
“Really?” Fidel asks, his face spreading into a big smile.
“No, not really,” I say. “Don't listen to him, Fidel. I seriously am not interested in Libby.”
“Oh, good,” Justin says. “If you're not interested in her, maybe I could see what she's up to later.”
“Nope. Bad idea,” I say with a much sharper tone than I intend.
Both guys start laughing and Fidel slaps me on the shoulder. “He likes her!”
“I do not like her. Not even a little bit. She’s irritating and…way too quirky. Besides, I think she has a fiancé, sort of, although he sounds like a total dickhead.” When I look up, both guys are looking far too amused for my liking. “That doesn’t mean I like her. I just feel sorry for her, okay?”
“Sure you do,” Fidel says. “And I bet you’d like to be the guy to help her feel better.” He and Justin high-five each other while I straighten up and cross my arms.
“There’s nothing going on between us. She’s here for work. End of story. Now, if you two boneheads could drop it, we have a boat to prepare.”
***
We're halfway through the morning, and so far, Libby has made good on her word to work while she's aboard. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m kind of disappointed she hasn't come up to the top deck while I navigate our way over to our destination, Playa Blanca Cay.
The tiny island has a beach that looks and feels like someone dumped a cargo plane full of icing sugar on it. My uncle bought it, along with a few other very small, uninhabited islands, back in the early nineties. We use this one for day excursions because there’s a nice wide reef surrounding the
entire island, which means the water is always calm and it’s perfect for snorkelling. We dock a speedboat there for parasailing and have bathrooms, showers, and an outdoor kitchen with a wooden plank floor, a bar, and a grass roof for some shade. We also have lounge chairs and umbrellas we bring out when we arrive. It’s an experience people never fail to mention when they post reviews on TripAdvisor.
Normally I’m completely confident that things will go off without a hitch, but somehow just knowing Libby's on board is causing my heart to race a little. I'm sure it's because she's evaluating me — well, not me, the resort. It’s definitely not because I find her attractive. I’ve met hundreds of attractive women, and they never cause my heart to race.
She’s wearing the cutest sundress today — a short yellow number with some flowers on it — and I can see she's wearing a bikini underneath, but this one has white straps. I’m itching to see what it looks like when it's wet, which tells me it's been way too long since I've been with a woman.
When we reach Playa Blanca, I dock the catamaran as close to the beach as possible, then turn off the motor and jump down the steep steps to the main deck where Fidel is giving the guests the itinerary.
“…have lunch and then whoever didn't have a chance to do the parasailing this morning will get to do it in the afternoon while the other people are enjoying their time snorkelling or relaxing on the beach. At around 3 o'clock, we'll start our trip back to Paradise Bay. So, don’t forget your sunscreen and to have the time of your life.”
The guests move in the direction of the ramp while I scan the small crowd, looking for Libby. I spot her sitting on a bench, shaded by the wall of the cabin. She's writing something in her notebook with one hand while she taps a few numbers into her calculator with the other.
The Honeymooner (A Paradise Bay Romantic Comedy Book 1) Page 11
