by Stacy Hoff
When he was done building this hotel lobby, he would have more than enough time to “celebrate” with a female companion. He’d make no promises to whomever she was. No excuses would be required. For now though, the singular thing that mattered was creating a resort worthy of his father’s respect. And doing it right.
~ ~ ~
Mel tied her hair in a tight bun and donned a flattering yet conservative dark-blue dress. The scooped-necked collar kept “the girls” safely hidden away. Although she and Mr. Serrano would be having dinner, it was in no way a date. Looking prim and proper was the best way to ensure things stayed strictly business, despite her inexplicably strong attraction to him. The dress’s seams hugged her body, helping offset the old-fashioned design. Enough to show that she had curves while not outright calling attention to them. Best of all, the hemline extended one inch past the knee. The length was modest and managed to fully cover her bold, brightly colored tattoo.
She reached into a silk jewelry bag and took out a pair of earrings for her second piercings. At first glance, the gold studs had a bean-shaped, freeform style. A more careful scrutiny would reveal them to be miniature palettes. Might as well wear them since he won’t even notice. Besides, they’ll blend right in with my round gold studs. A moment later, she dropped the second pair back into the bag. For as long as she was here, she would play the “Ms. Professional” role, as promised. Well, maybe promise was too strong a word. In any case, a tiny gold-wire hoop for the upper ear flap was also out of the question.
A glance at the room’s clock told her she was running late. It had taken her longer to get ready than she had estimated. She’d have to hurry to get to the restaurant on time.
Her hand reached the door handle when her cell phone rang, emitting the standard ringtone. Her words rushed out as soon as she clicked on the call. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?”
“Given your casual greeting,” her father replied in a clipped tone, “I hope you’re not in an equally cavalier mood. The Condado Beach Resort project is very important.”
Mel bit down on her lower lip. Keeping the peace always meant stifling herself. “I’m heading off to a meeting with the client right now. I don’t want to be late. Is there something you need?”
“Not anymore. I wanted to check whether you’ve made any headway since you arrived.”
Her lip stung from the sharp pain. A frequent, physical manifestation from dealing with parents who believed the term “family business” meant more about business than it did family. I wish they would stop barking at me this way. Can’t they ever assume I can manage on my own? “Dad, you don’t need to worry about what I’m doing. I already gave Denny an update.”
“Good. Now that I know you’re on top of things, I’ll let you get on with your work.”
“Okay, I will. Tell Mom I said hello. Take care. Bye.” Hanging up the phone felt as luxurious as a warm bubble bath. She’d try to keep the Zen state throughout her meeting.
She strode off to the elevator. I should have told Dad the resort owner is a complete turn-on. That really would have made him explode in anger. His second-string daughter screwing up his business deal over sex. The elevator arrived with a ding. Mel stepped in and let the doors close on her negative thoughts.
Moments later, she was outside the hotel and down the street, walking to the café that Luis’s secretary, Olivia, had written down. Seeing his staff’s apprehension reinforced the questionable image Mel already had of him. She had tried to break the ice with Olivia. Although Olivia appeared to be a few years younger, she was close enough in age they could be friends. No such luck. Olivia wouldn’t do anything more than scrawl the name of the restaurant and mention it was close enough to walk. “Camine usted al restaurante,” she’d said. Olivia made walking motions with her fingers so Mel would catch her meaning. Mel, armed with the address and a general direction as to where to go, given Olivia’s finger pointing, was left to find the place alone.
Fortunately, a short evening-time walk was just what Mel needed. A stunning streak of pink kissed the sky. A meandering stripe of light purple brightened the darkening canvas. The temperature had dropped since she had stepped out of the airport. A Caribbean breeze balanced out the humidity. Mel embraced the night, breathing in deeply. I wish my time here would always be this wonderful. Imagine if I was here on vacation. Free from any of the tasks I have to do. If I had my portable easel, my oils, and a palate, I would paint Condado Beach at night. I would sit on the sand during the day, piña coloda in hand.
She blocked out her daydreams and turned her attention back to navigating. Condado’s streets were noisy. Cars, taxis, and buses whizzed uncomfortably close to each other on narrow roads. Hordes of people strolled along while they window-shopped, laughed, talked, and simply enjoyed the night.
Interestingly, not all the sidewalk sounds came from people. Storefronts were alive with the sounds of crickets and birds hiding in mini-forests created by decorative plantings built into the sidewalks. They were tiny landscapes full of flowers, trees, and palm foliage. A faint chirping sound managed to penetrate the noise of the street. The tiniest frog caught her eye when it leapt onto a rock in one planting. She paused to get a better look. The teeny frog’s coloring blended in with the rock. The animal paused long enough to let out another chirpy, coqui sound, and was gone.
Like the frog, Mel hurried on to her destination. A block further was the restaurant. The building was set back from the street and decorated with twinkle lights hanging from its wooden frame. The hut-like roof extended over a large patio. Dozens of tables allowed patrons to enjoy dining al fresco. Mel glanced around to see whether Mr. Serrano was already sitting here.
After a few second’s scan, she realized he was not. No doubt he wanted a more private setting to bark orders at her. She braced herself as she made her way to the restaurant’s door and grabbed the handle.
As soon as she touched the curved, cool metal she stopped. In a moment, her warm skin would be subjected to air conditioning, probably overly cold. Breathing in a last breath of the comfortably warm air, she braced herself. She was positive her emotional temperature would plummet further than her body temperature. Dealing with Luis Serrano would no doubt leave her frozen. Stop worrying. You can do this, Mel. This will work out. Everything will work out.
The maître d’, an older man in a dark suit, stood next to a podium. After taking less than a second to observe her, he addressed her in English. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m here to meet someone—”
The maître d’ stopped her mid-sentence. “Mr. Serrano, correct?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away, gesturing for her to follow. “Right this way, please.”
The path they followed led to a long, narrow hallway. Quite a few steps later, the host opened a door. A private patio appeared before her. Despite the relatively large patio space, Luis was the sole patron. He was bent over his phone, texting away, without noticing the intrusion.
Luis’s harried expression did not mar his exquisite looks. His black suit and crisp white shirt enhanced his fine appearance. The garments were no doubt designer labels. Why had he bothered to change out of the business outfit he’d worn earlier? It was almost as if he were trying to prove something. Which made no sense. It was her who needed to dress to impress, not him. Though she had to admit, she was damned impressed.
While she and the maître d’ waited to be acknowledged, her eyes flitted toward Luis’s tie. The flawless silk accessory was bright plum. The colorful and cheerful shade was almost shocking in comparison to Luis’s dark expression. Crap. Dealing with him while he was in a foul mood was not what she was hoping for. Her heart sank like an anvil.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one intimidated by his expression. For a split-second, the maître d’ looked like he was going to say something to Luis before re-thinking his move. The ho
st’s jaw snapped shut faster than an alligator snatching its meal.
Standing there, waiting for the client to notice her, made her feel small and stupid. Yet Luis genuinely seemed not to notice either of them as he banged away on his smart phone. Whatever it was he was typing was clearly a message she hoped she would never get. Whoever was on the receiving end was not going to be happy. Was she destined for a bad night as well?
The maître d’ looked at her and shrugged. If she was supposed to offer him guidance as to how to handle the situation, good luck. Mel simply shrugged back, and resumed standing there.
At least some solace was to be gained by the surroundings. The private patio was breathtaking. Twinkle lights lit up this smaller area like they did the large patio in front. Here, the owners had decorated several palm trees with lights as well. The overhead fan’s blades mimicked palm fronds and created a gentle breeze. The floor was made from bamboo. All the tables and chairs were made of wicker. White tablecloths, decorated with lace, bore a small vase filled with brightly colored flowers. Luis’s table, the only one with place settings, displayed delicate crystal and china. A set-up like this was no doubt the harbinger of a gourmet meal. What a pity. Her stomach was so tight she wouldn’t be able to eat a thing.
Chapter 6
Mel was relieved when Luis rose to greet her. If she had stood there any longer she’d have turned to stone. “Forgive me, Ms. Merritt, I didn’t see you. I was tied up with some work issues. Please, sit down and join me.”
Color rushed back to the face of the maître d’. The man pulled Mel’s chair out for her and left, practically running for the door.
Mel sat down, unfolded the napkin shaped like a swan, and dropped it on her lap. “Thank you. We . . . I . . . wasn’t sure whether to interrupt. You seemed busy.”
Luis barked out a laugh that didn’t sound humorous. “You could say that. I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Especially since this is business, too.”
“No problem. My firm and I are here to work around your schedule. You’ve been more than accommodating by taking me to dinner. This is a beautiful place. It’s a treat to work outside an office.” She watched his lips release their tight, thin line. My God, is the man smiling?
“I’m glad you think this meeting is a treat,” he responded.
His sudden, intensive gaze was impossible to categorize. For a fleeting moment she felt like a mouse, and he, a hungry cat. “Sure,” she squeaked.
“Tell me, what do you find enjoyable about being a designer?” he inquired in a cool voice.
He has no idea what I find enjoyable. “I like a challenge,” she answered, smiling through the cageyness.
“Go on,” he prompted.
She bit her lip in thought, wondering how much candor she should offer. “I find it very satisfying to create something out of nothing,” she eventually answered. “I love turning barren space into beauty.” At least that much is true.
“Spoken like a true designer.”
Close enough. She forced another smile.
“Tell me,” he continued, “if you have such love for design work, why is it that your sister was supposed to come down instead of you?”
Heat rose to her cheeks.
It was a great relief when a waiter came through the door, interrupting them. The middle-aged man’s hesitant steps revealed his nervousness. The maître d’ must have given the waiter a heads-up.
“May I take your drink orders? ¿Por favor?” the waiter asked in a timid tone.
“What do you suggest?” Mel asked the waiter.
The man managed to utter no more than a syllable before Luis cut him off. “Give the lady a banana daiquiri.” Then Luis addressed Mel. “This restaurant is known for them,” he explained. “They make the best ones for miles around.” He glanced at the waiter. “Bacardi for me.”
The waiter nodded and practically ran to fetch the drinks.
Mel wasn’t sure what to make of Luis ordering for her. Or of his ordering the waiter around. On the one hand, Luis wanted her to have the best, which was sweet. Luis interrupting the waiter and not asking her opinion, however, was off-putting. Was the man going to be this dictatorial about the lobby design? If so, not only was she screwed, her family’s firm was screwed, too. I hope to God he likes the design concept we came up with.
“Let’s talk about the plans you have for my lobby,” he suggested, as if reading her thoughts.
She nodded and cleared her throat with a tight cough. But before she could answer, the waiter returned with their drinks. “Great. Thank you,” she and Luis answered in unison when the glasses were set before them. Luis’s eyes met hers at the unexpected harmony.
The waiter nodded. “The chef has already started preparing your entrees. In the meantime, I will bring your appetizers out.”
“Started?” Mel asked, confused. “We haven’t ordered yet.”
“Sí, señorita. The gentleman placed your orders hours ago.”
Mel frowned as the waiter left.
“Something the matter?” Luis asked. Judging from the crinkle in his eyes, he looked amused. “Is it the fact I ordered for you?”
“Well . . .”
“I see my guess is right. Do not worry. You’ll love what I picked. Everything is local Puerto Rican cuisine. I figured I’d give you a flavor of the island to inspire your designs.”
“Oh. Of course.” Maybe she was being too harsh on the guy. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” Mel wondered how it was possible for him to be sweet and intimidating at the same time. Who was the real Luis Serrano? Although if she were smart, she’d focus on her own personality instead, acting professional and charming, like a member of Merritt Designs, Inc., should.
Besides, the customer was always right. Even when ordering dinner for her. If the client chose squid hearts, she’d eat them while forcing a smile.
The waiter returned with a platter full of fried yellow food. “Tostones for two,” he announced, a bead of sweat dripping off his head. “Enjoy.”
The plate looked and smelled delicious. She hesitated anyway. She wouldn’t necessarily categorize herself as a picky eater. “Culinary cautious” was a better term. Thankfully the challenge in front of her seemed easier than what she’d seen on Travel Channel’s Bizarre Foods. Her hand reached out to the platter before stopping mid-air.
“Try one,” Luis coaxed. “Fried plantains are a real treat. I make sure I eat loads of them every time I’m in PR.”
Her eyes darted from the concoction to his face. “You don’t live here all the time?”
A crease between his eyebrows formed. Immediately she regretted asking the question, although she didn’t understand what she had said wrong. Perhaps she was being too personal? What right did she have asking him anything at all? He was client, not a Tinder hook-up. The “getting to know you” phase was one that didn’t need to happen.
“I live wherever my projects take me. Europe. The mainland. I recently finished a major project in Miami. I’ve got another project I’m considering with a colleague in the San Francisco Bay area.”
“Impressive. All that work and travel. Your colleague must be pretty remarkable, too.” She commented to be courteous and agreeable, although it didn’t negate the sincerity she felt.
Luis’s mouth spread into a large grin. “I’d say he’s remarkable. Ty Orland. Ever hear of him?”
Mel almost choked on her daiquiri in surprise. “Hear of him? The mogul with the mini-hotels? I doubt anyone doesn’t know his name.”
“I gather that’s a yes?” Luis asked dryly.
She laughed. “Guess so. You hang out with the best.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mel swallowed hard. Instead of flattering the guy, she was making an ass out of herself. Worse, maybe she was insulting him. She didn’t want to imply Lu
is was second fiddle, which was the farthest thing from the truth anyway.
He let out a laugh. “Thanks. I try.”
Mel knew she should start talking about the project. Unfortunately, real life tabloid fodder was too hard to resist. “What’s he like?” Mel persisted, despite her better judgment.
“He’s a real shark. A good man though. He’s managed to soften up a bit since he got married. I think he’ll get even softer. He and his wife have a baby on the way.” Luis paused to give her a playful smile. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
Heat once again rushed to her cheeks. “I’m sorry to ask you all these questions. I should mind my own business. In my defense, it’s a bit unusual for me to deal directly with people on your level.”
Luis arched an eyebrow. “What level is that?”
The pink in her cheeks no doubt matched the twilight sky. “The level where Paparazzi take your picture. My sister showed me one photo you were in. You were on the beach.” Shirtless. Looking hotter than the Caribbean sun.
“Pictures of me make their way into mainstream media occasionally. When it’s a slow news day.” His lips curled into an enigmatic smile. “Go on and try the food,” he coaxed. “It’s meant to be eaten, not stared at.”
He was being merciful by changing the topic. Maybe her berry-red face had been too hard for him to take. Whatever the reason, she was relieved to focus on the food. “It’s great to try new things,” she said, trying to believe her words. When her hands didn’t move any closer to the dish, she gathered up the courage to ask the crucial question. “Um, what exactly are plantains?”
“You’re not the type to take a chance, are you? Let’s look carefully at this dish. Does it look like a heap of roasted eyeballs? No? Then what are you worried about?” he quipped. His smile was broad; he was clearly reveling in her discomfort.
