Last Resort: S.I.N. Series Page 12

  She slips her hand out of mine and heads toward the front door, giving me a more than perfect view of how exactly small that itty-bitty bikini is.

  Oh. Shit.

  She was serious about going out like that. In that.

  “Wait. Where are you going again?” I call after her.

  “Look at you. Damn.”

  Brady. Jesus Christ. It’s the whole fucking family in one place. Great. I groan and lean against the counter as I down the rest of my beer, needing to hide my softening hard-on.

  Wait. She’s going with Brady in that bikini? Over my dead fucking body.

  “Mr. Sharpe.” I look up to see Brady standing there. The man is smart, and I’m sure he is more than assessing the situation and reading into it.

  “Brady. Long time no see,” I joke as he eyes me. My first thought is to address the hunch I see fleeting through his eyes but if I do, it’ll just confirm it. Plus, he’s in my employ so I don’t owe him any fucking explanations. In a situation like this, nothing is better than something. “Have plans with Sutton?”

  “We do. Yes.” He looks around the villa, which I’m more than certain probably looks a lot like the one he lives in as lodging is part of his compensation package. “You know that we have much better accommodations for you than the staff quarters, right? The A/C parts are on the way for the villa you were booked in, but we can definitely put you in one of the guest suites or—”

  “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. That was the plan, but I’m settled here now. Besides, it’s important to be in the same shoes as the staff so I can better understand how to improve their accommodations if need be.”

  Sutton rolls her eyes over his shoulders but thankfully chimes in to try and settle the definite curiosity that Brady has. “It’s fine,” she says with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not like I’m particularly thrilled with the idea either.”

  “Jesus,” Brady barks out through a cough, his eyes wide with surprise that she just spoke of her boss that way. With me present.

  Sutton looks over to me with an impish grin and a crinkle of her nose in a non-apology before looking back at Brady. “Hate to break it to you, Sharpe, but no one is supposed to like their boss.”

  I struggle with a witty comeback because the things I want to say can’t exactly be stated in front of Brady without proving her point—that I can’t be discreet. My mouth is open, the words are fumbling around in my head, when she steps in and takes the reins.

  “The plus side? We’re rarely here together and when we are, Callahan’s a morning person and I’m a night owl. So it works out just fine. Besides, it’s a good thing he didn’t take the Luxe Suite since it just booked last night for a five-week extended stay.”

  “I heard,” Brady says, the topic and awkwardness suddenly gone. “No complaints here. I’ll have to introduce you to the guest when he arrives. He’s a regular who has business on the islands. A Wall Street money man who definitely treats us well when he stays with us.”

  “Good. Great. I’d like that,” Sutton says. “Let me grab my stuff, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  “Yes. Okay.” Brady shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. Clearly, he’s intimidated by me. Good. Let’s keep it that way. “I’ll just wait outside then.”

  “Great.” I nod and wait for the door to shut before walking into Sutton’s room unannounced.

  She startles. “Can I help you?”

  “You’re not wearing that.” I point at her bikini.

  “Thanks for your opinion, but I am.” She glances in the mirror. “I like how it makes my ass look, don’t you?”

  Now she’s just being a tease.

  And it’s working.

  She takes her time wrapping a see-through sarong around her waist that does little to hide anything. “Better?”

  “Hardly,” I grunt, my buzz now completely gone. “Where are you going?”

  “To item number nine on my list. Dinner at Crystal Beach. It’s supposed to be a hot spot. I want to check it out and see how we can adapt something we have here to compete with it.”

  I don’t care about dinner or beaches or anything. I care that other men are going to see her in that and want her like I do. I care about Brady getting the wrong idea and making a move on her because then I’d have to kill him. That would only serve to make matters worse considering his untimely death would leave me without a competent manager.

  “And you think it’s appropriate for your manager to see you in that?”

  “It’s covering where it needs to cover. Besides, I assure you that Brady and his husband don’t care one bit about staring at my ass or my tits, but that’s not your concern,” she says as she walks past me toward the door.

  “Brady’s husband?”

  “Yes. Husband.” She turns around and looks at me over her shoulder. “Maybe if you stopped being an aloof asshole when you walk into the office and actually talked to your staff, you’d get a better feel for who you’re working with.”

  “I don’t fraternize with employees. It makes them think of you differently and lose respect for you. Number one rule in business.”

  “What a pity. You’re missing out on a lot of great people.” She purses her lips for a beat. “I guess that means you shouldn’t fraternize with me either, then.”

  And with that, she sashays out of the villa, her hips swinging. I swear to God I can picture the smile on those pretty lips of hers. She knows she won this round.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sutton

  I let the shower’s warm water sluice over my body and wake me up.

  We had fun last night at the beach. It was nothing spectacular if I’m looking at it from a business perspective. But bonfires, locals playing classic favorites on guitars, and different food and cocktail stations gave it a kicked-back, fun atmosphere. Definitely low-key but with a high-class feel.

  And then there were questions from Brady. His way of feeling out the situation between Callahan and me without asking point-blank. I think I evaded well enough, but will definitely have to make a point of being out of the villa as much as possible so I can avoid any further speculation. It was stupid of me not to think about it. Here I am worrying about the consequences of us sleeping together while not considering that people might assume it anyway since we’re sharing the same villa.

  That just goes to show how much Callahan clouds my thoughts and judgment. What if Roz hears we’re sharing the same villa and assumes I’m sleeping with Callahan though? I have a feeling she’ll be a lot harder to convince otherwise.

  Why does this feel like déjà vu? A man controlling the narrative—my narrative—again, when I told myself, never again.

  Hence, the question. What’s in it for me? Those five words have given me back as much control as I can have in this situation without jeopardizing this opportunity. It’s also made Callahan realize the uninhibited woman I was that first night is just a small part of the woman he has to work side by side with now.

  And since I can’t move villas, as I was told there is no other staff villa available for the moment, the only solution I’ve come up with is that I be here as little as possible when Callahan is. Maybe that will cut down on the possibility of rumors.

  With a groan, I turn the shower off and force myself to think about options for Ocean’s Edge and not Callahan. Do I suggest a rotating schedule of events that repeat every other week? That’s typically long enough in between for the guests to turnover so they don’t see a repeat night.

  It’s definitely an option.

  More structure for the staff so they know what to expect. More options for the guests to enhance their stay.

  Callahan will say that’s what resorts that cater to the middle class do. I’ll have to have facts and figures ready to suggest otherwise.

  Callahan.

  I grab the towel as thoughts of him fill my head. His drunken cuteness last night. How appalled he was at my bikini. The sputtering. The commands. The wide eyes.

  Before he walked in, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain I was going to keep the bikini on. I am here for work after all and was going out with Brady and his husband, so I figured it might not be appropriate. But the minute Callahan saw me and had objections to me wearing it, it cemented that I would most definitely be keeping it on.

  He doesn’t know that the moment I walked out the door, I pulled a sundress out of my bag and slipped it over the bikini. It was fun to bait him, though. To watch him lose control when he’s a control freak.

  But the man sure knows how to make his kiss leave a lasting impression on a woman.

  It’s hard to stick to your guns when you want him just as badly. It’s even harder to not give in when he presses you against countertops and kisses you until your knees give out.

  I check the clock to see how much time I have before my first meeting and then start pulling my clothes out to get dressed. It’s when I get to my underwear drawer that I find it completely empty.

  “What the hell?” I mutter and turn to look around my room as if my pairs of panties miraculously grew legs and walked out of the drawer. I immediately start going through the rest of my dresser only to find my bathing suit bottoms are gone too.

  My first thought is that some creep robbed us. I know it sounds weird, but I’ve been in a lot of hotels with my job and have heard a lot of stories.

  With my towel wrapped around me, I throw open my door and stumble over a large box wrapped with a huge red bow at my feet.

  What is going on here?

  First my panties and now this?

  I pick it up and set it on my bed, curious and confused when I see a card that has my name on it.

  These should fix the problem.

  —Johnnie

  What?

  Whe
n I lift the tissue-wrapped contents out of the box and open them, all I can do is laugh. There on my bed are the biggest, ugliest, granny panties in every boring color imaginable. We’re talking full coverage fabric from below your ass cheeks to above your belly button granny panties. And at the very bottom of the pile are the most basic, black bathing suit bottoms that are much the same style.

  My smile is wide as I shake my head at the contents in disbelief.

  He really just did that.

  I clutch my towel around me and grab my phone off the nightstand. He answers on the first ring.

  “Sharpe,” he says nonchalantly when he knows damn well who is calling him.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “About?” I can hear the smile in his tone.

  “Granny panties? Seriously?”

  I hear a door close, and I can assume he’s shutting the door to his office for privacy from the rest of the staff. “Well, since I’m holding the rest of your panties and bikini bottoms hostage, I think you’ll be happy with the many choices I provided you with.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Probably.” He laughs, and I love that little sound of disbelief over the fact that he actually did this. Because that’s exactly how I feel about the whole situation between the two of us.

  “You went through my drawers?” I know I should be freaked by this. I’m not.

  “You left your door and your drawer open when you walked out to leave me while playing with the staff. Curiosity got the best of me. I mean . . . I was a desperate man. How could I not be when all of your underwear is completely sexy and more than a man in my dire situation needs to see or imagine.” He coughs over a laugh.

  “But you can imagine me wearing these?”

  “It’s so much easier on certain parts of my anatomy to imagine you in those, yes. So I took matters into my own hands.”

  “Clearly.” I laugh. How can I not? “And now you’re holding mine hostage?”

  “I figured a certain ransom could be paid in order to hand them over, yes.”

  He’s clever. I have to admit that. He’s definitely clever.

  “Tell me something. We’re on an island in the middle of nowhere,” I say.

  “Yes, I’m aware.”

  “And you were able to get all of these at the drop of a dime?”

  He chuckles. “It’s amazing the things you can get when you have money.”

  “You’re arrogant.”

  “I know. You love it.”

  I pick up a beige pair and hold them up. They’re massive and like something my great grandma used to wear over her Depends when I was a kid.

  “Full coverage,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

  “What?”

  “That’s what’s in it for you. Having your ass covered should someone find out about us.”

  My jaw falls lax and then I laugh. That was witty and clever and fitting.

  I hate that I kind of love it.

  “Noted.”

  “But that’s not the answer, is it?” he asks.

  “Nope, but it was a pretty damn good take on it.”

  “I should get some kind of brownie points for that, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps?” he asks. “About that ransom, then . . .”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “What do you mean you’re good?”

  “Exactly like it sounds.” I laugh. “I’m good.”

  “What happened to good, old-fashioned negotiations, huh?”

  “Sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands. You’d know all about that with those long, cold showers you seem to be taking. Goodbye, Callahan.”

  And then I hang up the phone without saying another word, needing to leave him hanging while I quietly swoon inside.

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, my smile so wide my cheeks hurt. A flirting, creative Callahan is drop-your-panties hot.

  Then again, I guess he already proved that in his own, unique way.

  Game on, Sharpe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sutton

  “We’re not a cruise ship, Sutton,” Callahan says from where he’s leaning back in his chair, elbows on the arms, fingers steepled.

  “I’m more than aware of that, but in my professional opinion, many of these amenities and experiences provide an added value to Ocean’s Edge as a whole. While they may not appear to be ‘high-end,’ they do provide something your guests are seeking and will continue to seek regardless of their income.”

  “Continue.” He holds his hands up as if he’s expecting more from me.

  “Brady and I have begun working on a comprehensive plan detailing each idea we’d like to begin implementing with the kind of minute details that I’m more than certain will make your eyes roll back in your head.”

  “Is that so?” He gives a ghost of a lopsided smirk, and I’m sure the suggestive look in his eyes implies my words—eyes roll back in your head—are making him think of other activities that can cause that.

  “Yes. That is so.” I clear my throat and don’t back down from his stare, trying to remain professional in this space when people are milling about in the office just beyond, trying to waste away the remaining minutes of their workday. “Benchmarking reports against comparable resorts on the island. Looking at book patterns, the costs to implement these new options and ideas, their costs versus the return we’d receive and—”

  “Yes. You’re right. I’m already bored.” His sigh is heavy. “Give me an example of one of these ideas.”

  “Ecotourism.”

  “Ecotourism?” His tone tells me he’s already dismissed it.

  “Yes. It’s all the rage. Since the elite love to champion their causes—or at least look like they are while posting pics on social media and hashtagging up a storm—it’s a necessary addition to keep the property in tune with one of the fastest growing travel trends.”

  “I assure you, I’ve never hashtagged up a storm for the sake of image.”

  I stare at Callahan and believe him. He’s not the type to try and be something he isn’t . . . and yet, that doesn’t mean I’m not right on this. “Saving the environment is popular, Sharpe, so what’s the harm in implementing visual signage around the property with subtle nods to what Ocean’s Edge Resort is doing to further the cause?”

  “We’re supposed to be making more profit, not taking away from it.”

  “The resort already practices sustainability in various ways so let’s point it out to our guests and add it to our marketing. In addition, Brady and I have been contacting local tour companies to find one that can customize a tour exclusively for our guests that will take them around the island to places and points that are of similar mind.”

  “Like?”

  “Like the turtle sanctuary where they are breeding and reintroducing them back into the wild,” I respond without hesitancy, knowing a man like Callahan needs to see utter confidence. “The nature reserve on the far side of the island. The—”

  “No need to continue.” He twists his lips as silence falls around us. “There’s no perceived value there. There’s no—”

  “Signage is cheap. Custom tours add to our exclusivity. A fifteen percent kickback from the tour company adds to our profit.”

  “I still don’t think it’s appealing.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You always beg to differ. Personally, I just think you like to argue with me.”

  He’s dismissing the idea. I can already see it, can already sense he’s over this conversation, and both irritate the hell out of me. “No, I like to argue points, Callahan. Facts. And my experience, my job, tells me that this is a must across the board these days. Simple and boring but true.”

  “I don’t see it. We own many resorts and—”

  “And all of Sharpe International’s properties have implemented ecotourism in one way or another in the past few months. Did you not know this?” His guarded stare should give me a warning. I don’t heed it. I keep pushing. He wants to question me, then I’ll damn well question him. “When was the last time you actually stayed at one of your properties like you’re doing now? When was the last time you stepped out of your Manhattan tower and dirtied your hands so to speak?”