“He’s the forbidden fruit, the executive no one else has managed to procure. I can certainly understand how that must hold some sort of allure,” she offered.
Bianca put down her fork with a frown, a small indentation forming between her brows. Lillian envied the girl’s smooth features, still unlined and fresh. How young she seemed. Young and perhaps a touch naive. She should have left these decisions to her board of directors and spent her days shopping and her evenings in clubs...or however she had been misspending her youth before her uncle’s death and the transfer of the family business to her name.
“No, that’s not it.” Her client’s words were firm, but Lillian suppressed a sigh. The girl had illusions about Dane Montgomery—that bringing him back to New York would redefine her as a serious businesswoman. Lillian felt hard-pressed to keep from pointing out that Bianca’s own reputation had preceded her to the boardrooms of Towers International. The young woman had been known for extravagant indulgences and celebrity bad-boy relationships. Her belief that Montgomery could somehow repair her image aggravated Lillian. The girl’s tenacious insistence on bringing him back threatened serious repercussions for Lillian’s own business.
“Bianca, there are plenty of other talented executives in this field—”
“No.”
Lillian plastered a false smile on her face and then focused on her own salad for a full ten seconds, allowing her annoyance to fester and flame as she stabbed a bit of lettuce, cut it three times and then brought a tiny leaf to her lips. By the time she swallowed, she had regained control of her irritation.
“And if he refuses to come out of retirement for you? Will you consider someone else then?”
“I told you,” Bianca insisted, “it has to be him. If not, I’m pulling our account.”
Lillian gritted her teeth as she tried to remain calm. “I’m not sure that would help your situation. Such rash action might be deemed flighty or uninformed—exactly the sort of perceptions you’re trying to shed.”
Bianca’s jaw clenched, and Lillian knew she had gone too far.
“Listen, Lillian, I like you because the way you built your business, all on your own, is something I admire. But I’m not as inexperienced as you and my board seem to think. I studied my family’s company for years, and I learned a lot from my father growing up before he died and the business passed to my uncle. And it was my uncle who kept me out of the Towers offices so that he could run things the way he wanted. I rebelled at that, tried to tarnish our family’s name out of hurt and anger. It was selfish and stupid. But it’s my turn now, and I’m tired of being treated like a child.”
She ripped her napkin off her lap and began balling it up.
“I want Dane Montgomery. I’ve read all about him—my father always spoke of him as brilliantly talented. He’s the one to help me re-establish my image and the identity of my family’s company. If I can’t have him...then you can’t have the Towers account.”
And with that, the girl stood and strode away from the table, leaving Lillian fuming and hoping that Ophelia was doing everything she could to convince Dane Montgomery to return.
* * *
THEY ALL HOVERED around Keahi the morning after his accident—Pele kept scooping extra helpings of eggs onto his breakfast plate, Leilani refilled his coffee cup half a dozen times and even Ophelia continually asked if there was anything she could get him. Dane watched the entire scene with a mixture of amusement and shame, silently chastising himself every time he saw Keahi move his bandaged arm and flinch with discomfort.
Following breakfast, Keahi insisted on joining Dane outside so they could ascertain the damage to the pulper after yesterday’s accident. Dane was relieved when they determined the repairs would be minimal, and Keahi suggested they call Sam, who had a gift for fixing machinery, to take a look at it free of charge.
After putting in a call to Sam, who said he could be by later that morning, Dane hung around, reluctant to leave his friend again after what had occurred. The two returned to the office where Dane insisted on moving everything within easy reach for Keahi, from the stapler to the rolling file drawer. At last, his friend held up his uninjured arm.
“Boss, you do realize my arm was just cut, not amputated, don’t you?”
Dane felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I’m just trying to help you out.”
Keahi grunted. “I get it, brah, you feel bad. But I can’t do my job if you’re playing nursemaid.”
Dane frowned. “I wasn’t—”
“Shouldn’t you be busy showing our pretty guest around the island?”
Dane found he had to suppress a cringe at this. As much as he’d enjoyed his time with Ophelia Reid the day before, it didn’t make up for the fact that he hadn’t been here when he was needed. It was another reminder that he belonged on his plantation and not back in New York.
“I’m not leaving, Keahi. I don’t see the point in indulging a recruiter’s whims when my plan is to stay right here.”
Keahi rolled his eyes. “Brah, if she’s paying you $10,000 for the week, I don’t care if you sail to the moon with her. Just fulfill your end of the bargain.”
Dane clicked his tongue. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Keahi met his gaze. “Yes. I need to get some work done, and if I wanted to be fussed over, I’d have invited my mother to visit.”
Dane couldn’t help grinning. “Actually, your father suggested I take Ophelia to Holualoa so they could meet her.”
Keahi threw his one good arm up in the air in a gesture of relief. “Perfect plan! Take her. Go.”
“But shouldn’t I—”
“Go.”
* * *
DANE FOUND OPHELIA on the lanai, curled up on one of the chairs and looking out over the garden. Her expression was troubled, her lovely features marred by sadness. He felt a fleeting regret for leaving her to her own devices all morning.
“Hi,” he greeted as he stepped onto the lanai.
She stirred, unfolding her long legs from where they were curled beneath her.
“Hey,” she replied. “How’s Keahi faring?”
Dane made a face. “He called me a nursemaid.”
“He’s lucky to have such a good friend.”
Dane didn’t respond to this statement, changing the subject, instead. “Are you ready for a bit more touring?”
She visibly perked up at this suggestion. “But I thought...with Keahi...”
“He insists he’s fine, and that we carry on with our arrangement.”
“Oh. Well. Dane, I understand if you have to temporarily suspend our agreement, due to unforeseen plantation business.”
Dane held up a hand to stop her. “A deal’s a deal. Let’s go.”
* * *
ON THE DRIVE to Holualoa, Dane gave Ophelia an overview of the village community.
“The town is situated on the incline of a dormant volcano—Hualalai, which is a perfect setting for the nearby coffee farms growing Kona beans. The village itself is filled with coffee shops and artists’ studios.”
“It sounds exactly like the sort of place I’d love to photograph,” Ophelia said in a wistful tone.
Dane went on to describe several of the cafés and art galleries before he realized the Jeep’s fuel gauge was resting near the E. Flicking on his turn signal, he pulled into a station to fill up the tank.
While Ophelia waited in the vehicle, Dane headed inside the convenience store and moved toward a display of tourist-inspired impulse buys that included overpriced sunglasses, high-SPF sunblock and—just what he had been looking for—several disposable cameras.
He ripped one off the rack and headed to the counter, laying down bills for the fuel as well as his purchase. He hurried back out of the store, offering a rushed “Mahalo” by way of thanks.
He tried to remain casual but he knew he grinned like a little boy as he approached the vehicle and saw Ophelia in the passenger seat, eyes closed and humming snatches of some song he couldn’t name beneath her breath. Her eyes flew open as he touched his door’s handle, and she looked at him with a happy grin. The sun from the previous day’s swim had bronzed her pale skin to a faint golden brown, setting off her green eyes and the honey tints in her hair. The look suited her, he decided with just the faintest of ripples stirring in his stomach.
He climbed inside the Jeep and handed her his purchase. “Here. This is for you.”
She frowned, first at the camera, and then at him. “What is this for?” she asked.
“I know you’ve been wishing you had a camera to take photos while you’re here. I figured a cheap disposable is better than nothing.”
She stared at him for so long that he began to wonder if his impromptu gift had offended her somehow.
“Never mind.” He reached to take it back, slightly embarrassed. “You’re probably used to high-end equipment. You can get better photos off a smartphone than with these.”
As his hand wrapped around the camera, his fingers brushed hers, and she jumped. But she didn’t let go.
“No, wait.”
He froze, their hands still touching.
“Thank you. It’s...” She drew a breath and looked away. “It was very nice of you.”
Her mumbled response left him uneasy. “I just thought—”
“Really.” She looked at him, and he could see her pleasure was genuine. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before. It’s a lovely gesture.”
Her eyes met his, and he felt his heart jerk involuntarily in response.
“Thank you,” she repeated.
He turned his attention to starting the Jeep in order to keep from falling into her soft, green gaze.
* * *
AS THEY REACHED the Holualoa village, Ophelia sat up straighter to drink in the sight of the artistic enclave, her interest piqued by the quaint, beautiful shops and galleries. She glanced at Dane as he explained that Keahi’s parents had invited them to stop by for a visit.
“They manage the Ho’okipa Café,” he said. “I try to make it a point to stop in every time I’m in the area.”
“Oh, that’s kind of you,” she remarked.
He gave a little shrug as he navigated the Jeep off the main street. “It’s partly guilt, I think. It’s only due to the family’s misfortune that Keahi ended up working for me.”
Ophelia frowned. “What happened?”
“Keahi was raised on a coffee farm that his family had owned for generations. His father got sick several years ago with a rare form of cancer. Keahi’s mother learned about a new treatment on the mainland, but because it was still in the trial stages, insurance wouldn’t pay for it.” Dane turned his face toward the driver’s-side window for an instant and then looked back at Ophelia. “They sold the coffee farm and all their holdings to pay for the trip and treatments.”
Ophelia swallowed. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s love.”
Dane glanced at her for a few seconds longer before turning his eyes back to the street. “The good news is that the treatments worked wonders. The cancer is in remission, and now Mr. and Mrs. Inoa manage the café here for a businessman based out of Waikiki. Keahi says selling the farm was worth every penny.”
This story left a knot in Ophelia’s throat. She considered her own pressures regarding the family business and how her mother had pressed upon her the need to right their precarious situation. What would Lillian Reid have done in a similar predicament? Ophelia had a feeling her mother would have chosen to go down with the ship rather than sell it off for salvation.
She shuddered and put away these gloomy thoughts.
“And Keahi doesn’t mind working for a plantation that’s not his own?”
Dane hesitated. “I’ve talked about eventually bringing him on as a partner. But considering the state of things...” He trailed off, and Ophelia felt bad for the reminder of Dane’s shaky financial condition, especially considering yesterday’s unfortunate accident.
The conversation halted awkwardly after that, and Dane parked the Jeep in silence. They exited the vehicle, and Ophelia carefully stowed her disposable camera in her bag before Dane came around and opened the door for her. She stepped outside and followed his lead to a modestly-sized café featuring a charming exterior with vintage signage and weathered antique tables on display. Inside, the café felt pleasantly cool with a breeze flowing freely from the many open windows and rotating ceiling fans. A plaque on the wall explained that Ho’okipa was Hawaiian for hospitality, and that this was the aim of the Ho’okipa Café toward their patrons. The floors were a worn hardwood, and each table displayed mosaic images of island flowers: hibiscus, plumeria, red ginger. Smooth koa boards with tribal designs etched along the front made up the base of the coffee bar while its surface was a sturdy, shining marble. Several customers were scattered through the small shop, their soft conversations blending with the relaxing strains of island music coming from the speakers. The scent of freshly pressed coffee and baked goods made Ophelia’s mouth water.
Dane directed her to the bar where handwritten chalkboard displays announced the day’s offerings: Kona coffee by the cup along with several choices of iced teas and other beverages, paninis with distinctive island flavors such as pulled pork and gruyère with a mango-pineapple salsa and teriyaki chicken with sweet Maui onion, and desserts that ranged from banana pudding with freshly whipped cream to coconut cheesecake.
She had just turned to Dane to comment on the cozy elegance of the place when a voice greeted them.
“Dane, aloha!”
An older gentleman approached with outstretched arms. His frame was broad and solid, but he looked too thin for a man of such wide proportions. Ophelia noted he had Keahi’s features, but his own were weathered with time and age.
“Aloha, Mr. Inoa,” Dane returned the salutation.
“We just spoke with Keahi. He says he’s feeling fine this morning, that his arm hardly bothers him.”
Dane sighed. “I hope that’s true. It seemed to pain him a bit this morning when he would move it.”
“That’s to be expected,” Mr. Inoa said and then cast a glance toward Ophelia.
Dane cleared his throat and gestured toward her. “This is Ophelia Reid, a guest of the inn. Ophelia, this is Keahi’s father, Makana Inoa.”
Mr. Inoa swept her hand into his, pumping it with a firm grip that belied the lack of weight on his large frame.
“Keahi told us all about it. A recruiter, aren’t you, Miss Reid?”
Ophelia wondered if Keahi had been generous or critical in his explanation of her to his parents. He’d been extremely congenial to her in their encounters at the inn, but perhaps his hospitality skills exceeded his boss’s on the matter of recruiters.
“Please, call me Ophelia,” she insisted. “And yes, I’ve come from New York to negotiate Dane’s possible return.”
“Miss Reid is overly optimistic in her thinking,” Dane stated as she felt him tense beside her and shift slightly away.
She tried to stifle her disappointment in the subtle gesture and focused her attention back on Mr. Inoa. “This is a lovely café, Mr. Inoa. Dane tells me you and your wife are the managers?”
Mr. Inoa nodded. “There is a wealthy businessman in Waikiki—he does not have the time to be in Holualoa every day, so Nani and I run the café in his absence.”
“You must have a lot of knowledge about coffee after your years of farming.”
Mr. Inoa smiled, and Ophelia thought it was a touch wistful. “It was a hard life but a good one. To defeat the cancer, though, that is better. I could not have done it and continued to farm.”
His words moved Ophelia. “Your family must love you very much to have helped you with such a struggle.”
“I am blessed,” Mr. Inoa agreed.
“Dane, there you are. I just hung up the phone with Keahi.”
Ophelia turned to see an older woman with Polynesian features and graying hair approaching them.
She drew Dane into her arms, and Ophelia caught his pleased smile.
“Keahi had to practically shoo me out the door today. He called me a nursemaid, if you can believe it.”
Ophelia frowned, feeling a twinge of contrition for tearing Dane away from his friend so soon after the accident.
“Then you must be Miss Reid.” Mrs. Inoa turned to her.
“Please, call me Ophelia. And you must be Mrs. Inoa.”
To Ophelia’s surprise, the other woman drew her into a hug, as well. She allowed herself to be embraced, breathing in the faint fragrance of matcha as Mrs. Inoa enveloped her.
“Keahi told us you were staying at the Okina Inn. Welcome to Hawai’i.”
Much as Leilani had pronounced it, the name of her native state rolled off Mrs. Inoa’s tongue in the traditional cadence with a hard v sound placed where the w was typically written.
“Thank you.” For whatever reason, Ophelia found herself near tears as Mrs. Inoa released her. It took her a minute to realize it was because she could not remember the last time she had been hugged so genuinely. Certainly not by her mother. Lillian Reid abhorred overt demonstrations of affection. Even Cole was often uncomfortable with public displays of emotion.
“Come, you must sit.”
Mrs. Inoa ushered the two of them to a table while Mr. Inoa turned to address another couple who had entered the café. Ophelia and Dane each took a seat.
“What can I get for you? A cup of Kona? Or perhaps something cooler, such as an iced tea? We have several varieties of Ceylon tea blended with either passion fruit, pineapple or coconut.”
Gentle Persuasion Page 10
