CHAPTER TEN
Sutton
“Johnnie Walker Blue, please. My usual,” Callahan says, never once breaking his hold on my gaze.
What. The. Hell. Callahan is Johnnie? And he’s known all this time.
The shock that was painted on his face moments ago after his slip-up has now been replaced with a smirk that I can’t figure out if it’s a taunt or an invitation.
But make no mistake, there was shock etched in the lines of his face.
And if I’m reading his fingers suddenly tugging on the top button of his collar correctly, he definitely had no intention of letting me know.
And yet, there is no shame in his expression, but rather a smugness that is as irritating as it is sexy.
“I find I’m not one to change my ways regardless of the situation. ”
I purse my lips and give a subtle snort, more than aware from our conversation so far tonight that Brady is quite observant.
“Good to know,” I murmur, trying to decipher what exactly Callahan means by his comment.
That he’s not apologizing for what happened and will do it again with the next willing woman on the rebound?
Or did he like what happened and wants it to happen again? But is that want there only because he got caught? Only because of his slip of the tongue?
There definitely were no complaints about his tongue.
Seriously? That’s where my thoughts go as my crossed legs squeeze a little tighter.
All this talk about I won’t be sleeping with him because he’s my boss and at the first affirmation that Callahan is in fact him, my mind immediately goes to his many . . . um, skills.
I fist my hands in anger. At me for thinking this way. At him for thinking he can just let a bomb drop like that—a bomb he was clearly holding on to until he felt it served his purpose or benefit—and that I’d be utterly okay with it.
Well, I’m not.
And what pisses me off more is I’m not sure why. I knew going into that night what it was, so what changed along the way? It shouldn’t matter if I have to work with him or not, because it wasn’t like I was ever going to see him again anyway.
So, is it the fact that he dropped that bomb and then gave me a cocky smirk as if he were so good that I’d bat my lashes and drop my panties at the mere acknowledgment that he’s Johnnie?
Not on his life.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself as the ache within me smolders to life when he runs his fingertip absently around the rim of his glass.
Those fingers.
Those hands.
That mouth.
Stop thinking about it. About him. You can’t. Simply put.
You. Can’t.
He’s your boss.
He. Is. Your. Boss.
And not only is he your boss, but he’s currently throwing you off center when you need to be at the top of your game to pull this resort transformation off.
I draw in a deep breath to reset.
“So,” Brady says, looking back and forth between the two of us, no doubt trying to figure out why there is so much tension all of a sudden. “Shall we continue then?”
“Yes. Of course.” I smile and quirk a brow. “What are your thoughts on everything, Callahan? You’ve been rather quiet. This is a Sharpe property, after all. Certainly you must have some thoughts or ideas on how to improve the experience for our guests.”
“Are we talking about retention here or the overall experience?” he asks.
“I think both are rather important,” Brady says.
“Agreed,” I add. “Then let’s focus on the experience portion first.”
“What about it?” Callahan asks. “For some of our guests, this is an experience they’ve never had before. For others, heading to a tropical resort is something they do often.”
“So it’s nothing special to them then? Just another trip among many other trips?” I ask without thinking.
“You’d hope for the experience to be special for both sets of people, but nothing is ever guaranteed,” Callahan says, angling his head to the side when his eyes meet mine.
“Clearly,” I murmur.
“Besides the obvious,” Brady says glancing at the notes he’d taken, “like better amenities and excursions, new menu items and upgrading the overall décor so it’s not so dated, how do we know if they’ll come back or not?”
“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.