CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sutton
He’s good at this.
He might not think he is, but he’s a natural at putting people at ease (when he wants to) and getting his point across.
I don’t blame him for finding the day-to-day boring or suffocating or whatever he called it the other night. But I do find it odd he feels this way. As I sit and watch him talk to the Ocean’s Edge employee representative, he looks like this is something he does every day.
My mind veers to the other night. Falling asleep in his arms. Waking up and studying him as he slept.
The lines relaxed on his face. The thick lashes fanned against his cheeks.
The dark stubble from a night of growth.
It took everything I had not to reach out and touch him.
To kiss him. To go back on everything I’ve stood for so far.
I forgot the ease of a getting-to-know-you conversation. The flutter in your belly when a man looks at you and how his gaze feels like fingers gliding over your skin. Of that quickening of your pulse as his rumbly laugh vibrates through you.
And that’s what the other night felt like. Getting to know each other.
We jumped right to sex, and now that I’m getting to know Callahan better, I truly do like him beyond the flirting and sexual tension that coils in every room we occupy.
The question is, what do I do about it, because at the end of the day, my dilemma remains the same.
He’s my boss. I’m in his employ. And if someone finds out we are anything more than that, my job, my credibility, my morality, is compromised.
I have worked far too hard and for far too long to let anything derail my professional trajectory.
I’m twenty-six years old with my mind set on starting my own company.
Does it really matter though when it feels like he’s been avoiding me since?
It’s only been a few days.
The man is busy.
Quit overthinking.
But it feels like more than that. Like something has shifted.
“That’s Sutton’s thought as well,” Callahan says, pulling my attention back to the conversation at hand. “After looking at the employment contracts of some of the other resorts, we added that back in.”
“This was your doing?” Solomon asks in his Caribbean accent with narrowed eyes in my direction. “Forgive me, but I find that most consultants are just overpaid delegators. No offense, of course.”
I nod. “None taken. While we’re a long way from making final decisions on the entirety of the employment package, this is where we currently stand. We’d like you to look at the contract and make notes for our consideration.”
Callahan all but winces at the last comment. We went round after round last night with Brady and a few other managers over how much weight we should allow Solomon on this. But if he’s speaking collectively for the majority of the employees, then we definitely need to take his input into account.
Or at least let him think we do.
“We do have a list of demands.” His smile is smug if not taunting, and I’m more than certain that Callahan’s hand under the desk is fisting.
“As I expected,” Callahan says smoothly. “But as I stated already, Sharpe International is a non-union entity. Therefore, we can take what you request into account, but that doesn’t mean we have to agree to the demands.”
“You’d be silly not to. There are a dozen resorts on this island offering jobs right now,” Solomon says as he leans back and folds his hand over the folder in front of him.
“Just as there always have been,” Callahan counters rather icily. “Like I said, Mr. Freeman, please take a look at our tentative working copy. We can meet again next week to discuss your opinions.”
Their stares hold and unspoken challenges are exchanged. I question if I should interject, add some niceties to the sudden tension, but decide against it.
“Well then.” Callahan scoots his chair back and stands, making sure he remains in control of the situation. “Until next time.”
“Until next time then.” Solomon stands slowly, deliberately, and nods in goodbye. “Gia told me to tell you hi.”
Callahan freezes. It’s slight and most likely would go unnoticed to anyone else, but the hitch is there.
“She said she looks forward to seeing you again while you’re here.” Solomon offers a smarmy expression, almost as if he knows something Callahan doesn’t. But before Callahan can say anything else, Solomon is out the door.
“Prick,” Callahan mutters under his breath.
“Gia, huh?” I cross my arms over my chest and lift a brow playfully. “See? I was right. You’re out having torrid love affairs all around the island with mystery women.”
“I have meetings, Sutton. Dinner meetings. Client meetings. All kinds of fucking meetings that are so damn boring they make my ears want to bleed.” He waves a hand at me as if I’m dismissed.
I sit there stunned. What the hell? And why does the mere mention of another woman’s name eat at me?
“There are women in some of the meetings. None in others. I don’t really think I have to explain myself to you. ”
“No one said you did,” I say, surprised by his demeanor. That, in and of itself, already has my mind running a million miles an hour to the point where “Gia” and Callahan are already riding away in the sunset and living happily ever after. “I was just—”
“Yeah. I know.” He stacks his papers up and shoves them under his arm. “I’ve got meetings,” he says without meeting my eyes and walks out without saying another word.
I stare at the door he just exited and sigh.
Okaaaay. Perhaps I haven’t been imagining his distance these last few days. Perhaps he regrets his openness from the other night. What had I expected? That we’d be . . . moving forward?
Is there really anything we would be moving toward?