Last Resort: S.I.N. Series Page 8

  “Retention,” I state.

  “Coming back for more,” Callahan rephrases my words, and I swear he’s doing this to goad me. And if his words weren’t enough, the look in his eyes confirms it.

  Two can play at this game.

  “What about a follow-up call after they leave? Some communication. A means to let them know that even though the vacation is now over, that it and them were in fact valued while they experienced it?” I ask.

  “What about those people who made it clear from the get-go—you know, the ones who didn’t check the box that said they agreed to being added to the mailing list or some bullshit like that? They don’t want added communication after they leave,” Callahan says with a shrug. “They just want to remember the experience for what it’s worth instead of messing up the memory by rehashing it.”

  “I hardly think a phone call asking if they enjoyed their stay is messing up the memory,” I state, feathers more than ruffled.

  “I agree with you on this, Sutton,” Brady says and then grimaces as he looks from Callahan to me and then back to Callahan as he tries to weigh how Callahan will react since he is in fact, his boss. “But I mean . . .”

  “The bonus factor to making the phone call is the caller could ask the guest if there was anything we could have done to make their experience better,” I say.

  “Make their experience better?” Callahan repeats absently.

  I nod, fighting my smirk. That one got his attention. “Yes. Even the best experiences could use some improvement. It’s arrogant of the host to think they’re . . . flawless.”

  “I like that idea,” Brady says. “The operator could go down a check sheet with questions . . .”

  But I don’t hear the rest of what he says because when I turn my attention from Brady to Callahan, he is looking right at me with a crooked smirk on that gorgeous face of his. The only person at this table still talking about Ocean’s Edge is Brady because it’s clear neither Callahan nor I are.

  “I’m not in disagreement,” Callahan finally acquiesces even though I know it pains him to. And I feel the slightest victory because of it. “But I’m also of the mind that we make their experience so incredible the first time around that a phone call isn’t needed to remind them of the memory.”

  “But a phone call still would be nice,” I say with a saccharine-sweet smile. “To let them know they were valued regardless of whether we ever see them again or not. Common courtesy and all that.”

  “Common courtesy and all that,” Callahan murmurs before taking a sip of his drink, his eyes meeting mine just above its rim.

  “I think that’s a good start,” Brady says with a resolute nod. “We at least have a general roadmap to start with. From there we can dig down to the nitty-gritty details as we go.”

  “Agreed,” I say, more than confused about what Callahan was trying to say to me with all the comments.

  But I think I gave as good as I got.

  At least I hope I did.

  “Callahan? Is there anything further on your agenda you’d like to discuss tonight?”

  That smirk is back. This time it’s followed by a soft chuckle. “Not at this time. I think we have many nights to discuss the intricacies of how we make our guests come back for seconds.”

  “Very true. Of course, the ultimate goal would be a carryover to other properties you own,” Brady suggests, clearly trying to make up for his agreement with me. “We just need to ask ourselves the question: how do we entice them to want to use Sharpe International resorts exclusively?”

  I give a nod to Brady. “I’m fairly certain that if they should stumble across a sibling property, their first taste here will encourage them to try the others out.” I look directly at Callahan and shrug, my expression stoic. “I mean, why limit yourself to just one Sharpe resort when there are others you could experience? Who knows, you might be better suited for a different one. While they all might have the same look, each one has differing attributes. Everyone loves to have options.”

  Callahan’s grip on his glass is so tight his knuckles are white.

  Good.

  Serves him right.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Callahan

  She taunted me.

  Sat there and fucking taunted me with her bullshit comments about how one should experience other Sharpes and see which one fits the best. Then she excused herself from the table with a smirk and said she had to review a few more things before she went to bed.

  What the hell was that all about?

  But I’m the one who slipped, fucking showed my cards, when I hadn’t planned on it. I was so damn preoccupied with not being affected by her, or rather not letting her know I was affected by her, that I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  Then I spent the rest of our bizarre battle of wills grasping for straws as I tried to put her off me. Piss her off and think that I didn’t want anything more with her than the night in the suite to make it easier for me to push her away. To not act on the desire that thrummed in my veins each and every time our eyes met.

  The irony? I didn’t want more than that night with her. The sex was incredible but like always, when I shut that door and walked away, for all intents and purposes, I was over it. Over her.

  Wasn’t that the whole point? A rebound. Sex without strings. No regrets.

  But clearly I wasn’t over her.

  Not when I ordered her Starbucks. Certainly not when she walked her fine ass out of the conference room to leave me picking my jaw up off the floor and adjust the hard-on in my pants. And definitely not now that we’re stuck working together over the next few months. It’s going to be one long, miserable stretch to want someone and not be able to act on it.

  You promised that you wouldn’t, Callahan.

  The woman has moxie, that’s for sure.

  And why is it such a turn-on?

  Fuck me and my promises.

  I stand with my hands on my hips staring into the moonlit night. I don’t see the flames of the tiki torches or white clapboard fronts of the buildings. I don’t hear the steel drums or smell the scent of the ocean. I don’t even know that I’m in paradise because right now I’m sitting in my own personal hell.

  All I can think about is that little tug of war we just had in front of Brady. All I can focus on is the sound of her soft laugh and the defiance and challenge in her eyes.

  Needs improvement, my ass.

  The woman is definitely something else. Doing something that most can’t—push my buttons.

  My phone rings. Ledger. Just what I fucking need.

  We’ve yet to discuss the other day but in classic Sharpe form, we won’t. We’ll brush everything under the goddamn rug and pretend like it never happened.

  So that means he’s only calling for one thing.

  I roll my shoulders and am grateful this time around I’ve had a drink before I talk to him.

  “Ledger.” No niceties. He doesn’t deserve it.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” He laughs the question out.

  “What am I missing here?” I move a few feet outside of the walkway to have some privacy.

  “You’ve been there one day and you’ve already cancelled your first meeting? Christ, Callahan. Couldn’t you at least try?”

  Every part of me tenses—my jaw, my fists, my shoulders—and yet when I speak, my voice holds that aloofness that I know for certain pisses him off. “Ah, and I thought you weren’t keeping tabs on me.”

  “Earn the right for me not to, and I won’t.”

  Has he been drinking? It’s not like him to tie one on in the middle of the week. “What do you want, Ledge?”

  “Same thing I’ve always wanted. For you to man the fuck up and do your part. Par for the course, you’re not.” He emits a sarcastic chuckle. “How were we ever from the same father?”

  His words hit me like a battering ram. We have our differences, our father’s differing treatment of each of us being the main thing, but he’s still my brother. Still my best friend. Or . . . was. Every part of me riots against the words he just said.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that, brother,” I say between gritted teeth. “And then we’re going to start this conversation over before you really piss me off and I block you from my phone so that you can’t call and treat me like a child yet again.” I draw in a deep breath. “So, what is it that I can do for you?”

  “Stop playing these bullshit games. You’re there to work, to set an example for the staff of what’s expected, not fuck around like a rich playboy.”

  “Back the fuck off, Ledge,” I warn.

  “Why? You’re going to keep doing what you do, and I’ll keep doing what I do.”

  “So that’s how it’s going to go?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Then maybe you should check Silas’s flight log,” I say, referring to the pilot of the company’s private jet. “It’ll tell you that I was stuck on the tarmac during the scheduled meeting because of lightning from a sudden thunderstorm that passed over the island. Sixty-six minutes sitting on the tarmac to be exact. And so I rescheduled the meeting that took place about two hours ago and just finished, not that I have to explain myself to you or anything.” Fucking hell. I walk from one side of the clearing to the other. “I love you, Ledger, but I don’t exactly like you right now.”

  “Now you know how I’ve felt on and off over the past fifteen years since Mom died.”

  The dig is there. Not even subtle. Not even anything. Just there out in the open.

  I have nothing more to say to him so I end the call without another word.

  The darkened ocean stretches out before me, its waves lapping against the shore, but I clench my jaw so tightly that my teeth hurt.

 
Fuck. I’m so damn sick of this shit.

  A light turns on in a villa near me and the silhouette of a woman passes in front of the curtained window. I stare absently at her as my frustrated desire comes back riding shotgun next to my fury at my brother.

  My feet move without thought. There is only one thing I want right now. One person who can give that to me.

  I kept the promise for twenty-four hours. That’s longer than most attempts. At least I’m making progress.

  Hell, if I’m going to be accused of being the black sheep, I might as well earn the title.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sutton

  “Distance is good,” I mutter to myself as I pull on my camisole. “Space is good.” Then slip on my flimsy sleep shorts. “Not looking at him or studying his hands or smelling his cologne is even better.”

  Because that was hard enough tonight.

  I glance up to see my reflection in the floor-length mirror opposite my bed. My dark brown hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun and my face is newly scrubbed of my makeup. “You sound crazy, Sutt.” Batshit crazy to be exact.

  But the arrogant, sexy man is under my skin, and it doesn’t appear he’ll be leaving any time soon.

  The solution? Some more wine—definitely—and getting lost in a million more reports until my brain is so tired, I have no option other than to fall asleep without a thought of one Callahan Sharpe. Hopefully.

  I open my bedroom door and head out to do just that, my thoughts on how I need to book a mani-pedi at the resort’s spa on my next free time to check out the facilities, when I look up. “Fuck.”

  And that one, startled word is met with the quirk of a lone eyebrow of one Callahan Sharpe. He is sitting in a chair that’s facing my bedroom door in the common area of the villa, legs spread casually, elbow on one of its arms with a glass of what I can presume is whiskey in his hand. He still has his dark slacks on from earlier and his dress shirt is now open another button at the neck.

  But it’s the look on his face that owns my attention. Intense. A little dangerous. Focused.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Callahan—”

  “I own the resort.” He holds the key card up in his other hand, stare unwavering. “I have access to any room I want.”

  I should be unnerved by the comment . . . but dare I say I’m a little turned on by it? Or maybe it’s just him in general that turns me on. Regardless, he’s here in my villa, dominating the decent-sized space with his presence when I’m trying desperately not to be affected by him.

  “And you chose to use that all-access power to come to my room.”

  His shrug reeks of arrogance. “I wanted to see you again.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes flicker down to my breasts beneath my tank top, take in my nipples pressed against the white, flimsy fabric, and then come back up to meet mine. “Because I’m a masochist.”

  “Clearly,” I say nonchalantly and move toward my glass of wine on the counter. A drink is in order, for certain. “But you’ve already made your case with all of the things you did and didn’t say tonight.”

  He takes a sip himself, his gaze moving to the glass in his hand. “And what exactly did I say?” Amber eyes meet mine and challenge.

  “You know what? Never mind.” I take a step back and give a soft chuckle knowing this is dangerous territory. Apparently, everything is when it comes to him. “Let’s ignore the meeting tonight. What happened between us the other night. Just everything. I think we’ll be better off for it if we do.”

  “You’re a hard one to ignore, Collins.” His eyes all but fuck me.

  “It’s Sutton.”

  “Whatever you say, Collins.” He gives a ghost of a crooked smile. “Just one question though. How many times have you replayed that night in your mind? Did you slide your hand between your thighs when you did? Did you pretend it was me?” He shifts in his chair to adjust the hardening bulge between his thighs.

  A glance is all I’ll give him, even though the simple thought has my own body reacting.

  “You didn’t want me to know you were Johnnie. Him. That says enough for me to know how and what you thought of me.”

  “How and what I thought of you?” He gives a subtle nod. “We met at a club. We had rather incredible sex afterwards. Sex we both wanted. I wasn’t aware there were whispered promises for more that I wasn’t fulfilling.”

  I open my mouth to speak and then hesitate because everything he’s saying is true. That doesn’t mean he didn’t have to be courteous. And honestly? I’m edging for a fight, for something, for anything to abate the sexual tension vibrating around us.

  “You could have called so that we walked into this partnership on solid footing. You holding all the cards like I was some game to you was a dick move.”

  “The fact that you couldn’t remember who you slept with isn’t my problem.”

  “Excuse me?” I stumble over the words in disbelief.

  “For the record, I’m better than my brothers.”

  Jesus. The fact that I didn’t know it was him is eating at him. Good. At least something about this whole situation bugs him.

  “Calling would have been a mistake,” he continues when I don’t speak.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because you would have ended up beneath me—or on top, I’m not picky—and I believe that would have been worse than me not calling.”

  I swear to God my nipples harden at his words. Words I don’t want to be a slave to but that my body is nonetheless. “I’m not a plaything, Callahan. Especially not yours.”

  He emits a soft chuckle. “Oh, I’m aware.”

  “You weren’t going to tell me you were Johnnie, were you?” He angles his head and stares, surprising me when he gives the subtlest of nods in response. “That says everything I need to know.”

  “Maybe I was trying to do the right thing,” he murmurs.

  “I have a feeling you don’t think much about right or wrong most times, so why start now?” My words are out of my mouth before I even realize my thoughts have been voiced. They’re a taunt to him. A challenge.

  And I just opened the door for him to take it. For him to prove that right or wrong, if he wants me, he’ll pursue me.

  Isn’t him sitting here in my villa proof of that?

  I told myself I couldn’t do this. That if Callahan was Johnnie, I’d have to keep my libido and desire on lockdown.

  But now that I’m standing here in the lion’s den, every bone in my body wants what I’ve told myself I can’t have.

  “There you go making assumptions again,” he says.

  I take a step closer. “I know you like to play with power. That’s not an assumption.”

  “No?”

  “Like I said, you had three days to pick up your phone and call me. To have us start out on a professional footing. You didn’t. That says you wanted me on edge, not knowing. You wanted a toy you could bat around when you felt the need to play.”

  He moves for the first time, setting down his drink and rising from his chair. “I was going to forget you.” He undoes one cuff on his shirt and folds the sleeve up his forearm. “I was going to let this play out so that you’d never know.” And then the other cuff, my eyes transfixed on his fingers. “I thought I’d be able to resist you.” He looks up and takes a step toward me. “But fucking hell, Sutton, I realized that would be an impossible feat when I saw you sitting at that table at dinner tonight.”

  He takes another step so that he’s within a foot of me. Our eyes hold for a beat as he leans in and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

  Every part of my body vibrates with a need I don’t understand. I whisper, “I can’t do this, Callahan.”

  His lips quirk. “I like hearing my name on your lips.”

  “Good. Great.” I stumble over those two seemingly easy words and force myself to focus on the matter at hand, standing my ground, instead of remembering the way his lips tasted. “You’ll hear it a lot. When we work together.”

  I take a step back, my ass hitting the table behind me, and I grip the edge of the table to prevent me from touching him. He takes one step forward and reaches out to play with a piece of loose hair that has fallen out of my bun. I steel myself for the whisper of touch but it still makes my breath hitch.