Chapter 32 Ragtag, Motley Crew
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
RAGTAG, MOTLEY CREW
Devon
Summer is thriving at the manor.
The wedding of the year that never was is behind us. The magazine that bought official rights to the event probably made more money than they would have had the bride and groom run off into the sunset together.
Lucky for me, they did not.
What they did get is the rights to a story so full of angst, they announced it was their biggest issue in years and had to print two additional runs.
A jilted groom.
Murder for hire.
A kidnapped billionaire. An MI6 agent rising from the dead. A tech guru in jail for treason, and so much more, I can’t keep track.
And in all of it, The Manor at Winslet shone like the big, beautiful fucking gem that she is. A guest who has a huge following on social media actually called us the diamond of the west.
We’re booked solid for as far out as we’re accepting reservations and have a waiting list a mile long. I can’t hire a general manager soon enough. I have five interviews scheduled this afternoon.
It seems everyone wants to vacation here, but no one wants to move here. Good for the town of Winslet, I guess. They get to benefit from the additional revenue from the business I bring in, but the small-town population stays the same.
Plus one billionaire heiress.
Harlow closes on her grandmother’s house next week. She’s stuck with me for the time being since it’s uninhabitable. We haven’t even discussed it, but we just know. She’s here until she transforms the place. Her general contractor said it could take nine to twelve months.
That thought makes me happy.
I’ve never been with anyone where so much can go unsaid yet everything is fully understood.
It feels bloody good.
I carry the envelope that was delivered priority to the front desk in one hand and smack it with my other as I jog down the steps to the pool. Harlow is making up for lost time when she had to be locked away in my suite like a forsaken princess.
But not anymore.
She plays tennis every day, lounges by the pool, and if we don’t have dinner by the water, we’re in the Greenhouse.
But we never order too much food. The kitchen had a mix up once and gave her more sides than she ordered. I had to pretend I was still hungry and ate it all even though I fucking hate Brussels sprouts.
Which makes it official. I’ll do anything to make the woman happy.
She’s sitting on a lounge under a yellow and white striped umbrella reading a book. I barely come into view when her head pops up like she sensed me before she saw me.
Her smile shines brighter than the afternoon sun.
I hope it stays that way.
I park my arse next to her on the lounge. She pulls her shades off and peeks up at me from under her huge sun hat. “You actually left the confines of your office to see me. I feel special.”
I rip the hat off her head to lean in and kiss her. Her half-wet hair falls to her shoulders in a mess of waves. “Some of us have to work, baby.”
She hikes a brow. “Just so you know, I’m still on my honeymoon. I worked like hell so I could take some time off. I’ll be back at it next week.”
“I’m more than happy to be the one to keep you company on your honeymoon. But that’s not why I came out here.” I toss the large, overnighted envelope onto her lap. “This was just delivered. I knew you wouldn’t want to wait, so I walked it out myself.”
She picks up the heavy, oversized cardboard envelope. I’m not sure why she’s surprised. She was expecting it any time.
“This is it.” Her hand flies to her mouth and she looks up at me. “This is really it. I don’t know what to think or feel. What if Jett Cross turns out to be my brother, and he’s a jerk?”
I shrug. “Then you never have to see him again. Your dad will handle it.”
Her expression turns horrified. “But what if he’s not my brother? I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m coming around to the idea. In fact, I may be disappointed if he’s not.”
I pause trying to think of the right thing to say. “Sounds like he doesn’t have a family. Maybe you can talk your dad into adopting him.”
Her horrified expression turns into a glare. “That’s not helpful.”
“Weirder things have happened,” I mutter. “At least he’s not pretending to be dead.”
“True.” Her fingertips dance over her name in the address panel.
“Baby.”
She looks up.
“The only way you’ll find out is to open the damn thing.”
She nods and slowly turns it over in her lap. It feels like a fucking year, but she tears it open and pulls out a single piece of paper. Her eyes shift back and forth, over and over. I’m pretty sure they return to the top to start over for a second read.
She purses her lips and her eyes well. I have no idea what to think.
Damn. Even I can’t take the suspense.
“Harlow.”
She looks up at me and her tears spill down her cheeks.
“What does it say?” I demand.
The paper drops to her lap, and she swipes the tears that streak her sun-kissed skin. “Jett Parker Cross had better not be an asshole.”
My brows rise.
“Yes.” She nods quickly and turns the report around to show me the positive genetic test results. “I have a brother.”
I lean in and wipe her tears away as I cup her face. “Baby, no one will ever be an arse to you again. I’ll make sure of it. Congratulations on your new sibling. We have a meeting in our near future.”
“We do.” She puts her hand over mine on her cheek and nods. “I need to call Chrissie. And then I need to call my dad. That’s going to be an awkward conversation. At least he’s stronger and at home again. He can handle this.”
“I have no doubt he can. Children are a good thing. Even if they come to you at the age of thirty-six.”
“Children are a good thing?” She looks up at me through hesitant dark eyes. “You like them ... want them?”
“I’ve got a niece and nephew. They’re the shit. But I’ve never met anyone I wanted them with.”
“I see.”
“Yet,” I amend. “You don’t want kids?”
“No, I do.” She rattles off quickly. “I really do.”
I bite back my smirk. “You think I’m too old?”
She rolls her eyes. “Hardly.”
I plant my hands on either side of her hips and lean to kiss the tip of her nose.
“For what it’s worth, you’re the first woman I’ve remotely thought about sharing a life with.
Shit’s been a little busy to think past that, but it’s definitely a conversation that needs to happen.
I figure we have time. But at least we know we both don’t hate kids. ”
Her smile swells. “When I first met you, I would have guessed that there was a decent chance you hated kids. You were grumpy and broody. I’m glad that’s not true.”
“When I met you, I thought you’d be a high maintenance, drama princess. That actually ended up being true.”
She swats my arm playfully. “Stop it.”
I shrug. “It’s a good thing I get off on action and crime, right?”
She stuffs her hat back on her head and slides on her shades. “I’m going to forget you said that and call Chrissie. There’s still the unsolved mystery of Janie. I thought for sure she’d show up by now demanding access to money or a plane or at least a vacation house. I have no clue where she is.”
“She’ll surface eventually. I don’t know who would help her after your dad made a public statement about the divorce. The public might not know what she actually did to him, but he made sure to point out this won’t be an amicable split.”
“Right? Oh my gosh, I forgot to tell you. Dad called this morning. He and Chrissie found some other things Allen was hiding from Dad. I’m so glad he’s gone.”
“That’s good. Now you just need to tell your dad he has a son.
He woke up from a coma to a whole new world.
” I give the side of her thigh a squeeze before leaning in for one more kiss.
“I’ve got to go. I have interviews lined up all afternoon for a general manager.
I need someone to run things so I can keep up with your shit. ”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you at dinner if you’re lucky.”
“Oh, I plan on getting lucky, baby. Just you wait.”
She nudges me with her bare foot. “I don’t know whether you’re playful or cocky.”
I stand and slide my shades back on. “Since I’m already planning on what I’m going to do to you tonight, you should definitely go with cocky.”
She waves me off, but she does it biting her lip.
Yeah, she’s looking forward to it as much as I am.
Devon
Istare at the CV that belongs to the woman sitting across the table in the conference room. She’s poised and articulate, but I catch her nervous tic. Most people wouldn’t notice, but I was trained by SIS. Reading body language was a huge part of my job. I can’t turn that off.
She won’t stop tapping the tip of her pinky to her thumb. It’s been going on since she sat down across from me.
The pool of applicants to choose from is complete and utter shit.
Blake’s grandma even applied, and she’s not the least qualified of the bunch. She led with her strongest skills, and that was organizing the family Christmas dinner every year and trying to figure out where the out-of-town cousins would sleep in her house.
And since Blake is a talker, I know this is a legit skill because he’s got a big-ass family.
Does it make Grandma qualified to manage my resort on a daily basis?
Fuck no.
But I still granted her an interview. Blake asked me to do it as a personal favor. He said she’d never been interviewed before, and it was on her bucket list. And since I aim to please the good people of Winslet, I interviewed Grandma.
She did not lack energy. She told me she walks two miles a day so she can drink wine with dinner and have dessert every third day.
She then told me that working here would help her get her steps in since the place is so big, and if she got her steps in, she’d live longer. She said it was true because the internet said so.
I couldn’t argue.
But that doesn’t mean I was about to put Grandma in charge of my business that required managing a multi-million-dollar budget and five-star resort. Though, she did bring me cookies, which I ate because she insisted.
Of the other three candidates, two were only slightly more qualified than Blake’s grandma, and Grandma put the other one to shame.
Literal-fucking-shame.
So now I’m down to the last one.
Lennon Shaw.
I ran her background, which came up blank. Aside from some odd jobs here and there, it was nothing but a slew of parking tickets.
I can’t legally ask her age, but I know from looking her up, she’s barely twenty-five.
The brunette has eyes so dark, her irises blend in with their pupils.
Her hair is slicked back into a perfect knot at the base of her neck.
Not one hair is out of place. And she’s wearing a black fitted dress that’s tight but still professional.
It’s a stark contradiction to her fair skin and pale pink cheeks.
I wonder if she trained in beauty pageants, because she had no problem waltzing into my conference room on four-inch spiked heels.
But that nervous tic just won’t stop.
“Tell me a little bit about your degree and most recent experience.”
She clears her throat and folds her hands on the table in front of her to stop the tapping.
“I graduated with honors from the University of Florida with a degree in hotel management. I interned for the big, famous mouse one semester, and my last job was on a cruise ship. I was in charge of housekeeping.”
I motion to her CV. “I see that. What cruise line?”
She gives her head a quick shake. “You wouldn’t be familiar. It was a small fleet closed to the public. A private company maintained it for its clients.”
Well, if that doesn’t scream brothel or human trafficking ring, nothing does. “Interesting.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she agrees.
I clear my throat, come to the realization that I may be running the day-to-day operations of this place until I trip into my grave. I stand and start to move around the table to show her out. “I need to go over the applicants again. I’ll get back with—”
“Mr. Donnelly,” she interrupts and pushes to her feet. “I would like the chance to prove myself. I know I can run this place better than anyone else. I can manage a budget, be firm but kind with employees, and above all else, the customer is king.”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “Like I said, I’ll think it over.”
“Please,” she insists, and this time with desperation laced in her tone. “I’ll work on a probationary basis. If you’re not happy, I’ll gladly leave. You won’t even have to fire me.”
I pull in a deep breath. I guess it’s not like the rest of my staff knew what they were doing before they started. Hell, I didn’t have one fucking clue what I was doing when I bought this place.
“Please,” she repeats on a whisper this time. “I need ... please give me a chance. I will not let you down. I promise.”
I cross my arms and think about the ragtag, motley crew that have not let me down so far. That is, aside from Rob, the tennis pro, losing his cool during the shooting.
But it was a shooting, so he gets a pass.
What I do know is I don’t want to live and breathe this place for the rest of time, but especially now that I have Harlow.
I exhale and jut my hand out. “You talked me into it. Let’s start with ninety days, and we’ll reassess. How does that sound?”
Her eyes widen, and I’m afraid she’s going to jump across the table at me instead of shake my hand.
She does neither.
She clasps her hands at her waist. “Thank you. You won’t regret this. I’ll be the best general manager you’ve ever had.”
I hold my hand out to the door for her to exit. “Since I’ve never had a general manager, I’ll have nothing to compare you to.”
She picks up her bag and leather binder. “There is one thing...”
Fuck. Here we go.
She continues talking. “I don’t have a place to live. Do you know anyone in town who’s renting a room or small house? With the trial period, it may be hard to find.”
“I’ll check around. I’m sure we can find you something.”
“Thank you.” She glances around the conference room like she’s just taking in the place for the first time. “When can I start?”
I think about my calendar. “How soon can you be here?”
She pulls her lip between her teeth and hesitates. “I’m here, so the sooner the better. I’m staying ... nearby. I’ll have to find something more permanent—or ninety-days-permanent.”
“The sooner the better is good with me. I’ll have someone go over your paperwork and explain your benefits before you leave.”
She’s gone from anxious to relieved. “Thank you. I can’t believe I’m going to work here. I mean, it’s The Manor at Winslet. This is incredible.”
“It’s something, all right,” I mutter and wonder if she doesn’t watch the news. Maybe gunshots don’t faze her.
I have no idea where she’s staying, but now I need to check around town for a rental.
Maybe she’ll work out. I need this place to run like a well-oiled machine so I can cash in on my investment, sign checks, and focus on Harlow.