Chapter Twenty-Two
Rowan stepped through the lobby of the Purity Waikiki and forgot how to breathe.
Light poured through the glass like honey and the scent of plumeria mixed with the ocean salt. The space was open and airy, with a gorgeous sculptural front desk, wood floors, and a living floral wall as the main draw. “Ms. Delaney?”
The woman behind the front desk smiled with practiced warmth. Her badge read Nia—Guest Relations. “Mr. Hale said to let you know he’s on the mezzanine. Elevators to your right.”
“Thanks.”
Rowan smoothed her white sundress. The elevator whispered her up to the next floor.
When the doors opened, Everett was standing near the glass railing, phone in one hand, designer suit buttoned up and perfect.
Today, it was a sharp navy-blue pinstripe with a red tie.
Quiet authority radiated from him like a heat signature.
He smelled of cedar and smoke. He reminded her of money, arrogance, and pure sex.
Holy crap, she was so turned on.
He spotted her and something shifted. Those broad shoulders eased; that hard mouth softened. “You found it.”
“Hard to miss. It’s a small country.”
He grinned, pocketing his phone. “Welcome to Purity Waikiki. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”
She followed him through a maze of open spaces and glass. Every inch of the hotel was designed to feel effortless—hidden wealth disguised as simplicity. The kind of world where nothing ever looked out of place, and people like Everett made sure it stayed that way.
“This is the main terrace,” he said, pushing open a set of double doors.
A salt breeze rolled through, carrying the crash of distant surf.
“We’ll host our first soft opening event here next month.
Sunset cocktails. Live music. No one remembers what went wrong if you give them champagne with an ocean view. ”
“You’re a cynic.”
“A realist. But my job is to make sure nothing goes wrong.”
He led her past a shimmering infinity pool, a rooftop bar, and into a corridor lined with sleek offices. The staff greeted him like gravity—they orbited him, asking questions, handing over folders, waiting for the nod that said approved.
His assistant, a petite woman with sharp eyes and a digital tablet clutched like a weapon, intercepted them.
“Mr. Hale, the vendor contracts are in your inbox and marketing wants your final approval on the launch campaign. Oh, and New York wants a video call at four. The team requested a dinner meeting to go over some holes.”
One brow shot up. His gaze narrowed. “What holes?”
His assistant blinked. “I’ll find out and pencil them in at five? Mr. Cole is insistent on being part of the meeting.”
She caught the frustration on Everett’s face before it smoothed out. “Find out but hold off on the meeting until I get all details. I’ll talk to Matthew later. Jessica, this is Rowan. Jessica keeps me sane and organized.”
Jessica smiled and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Rowan.”
“You, too.” She noticed his assistant’s curiosity, but the woman was an extreme professional and quickly schooled her features into pleasant neutrality.
“I’ll get right on that, sir.” She marched away, already speaking into her earbuds.
Wow. This was next-level business straight out of Succession. Everett Hale was running a small empire.
She paused at a framed photo on the wall to get a closer look.
In it, a line of volunteers in wetsuits held bags of reef debris, faces sunburned and proud.
“The Hōkū Foundation. Five percent of our quarterly profits go there. We partner with them for reef cleanups and shoreline restoration. Staff volunteer days every month. The locals needed to see we were serious about trying to give back. We all know what hotels and more tourists take from the island.” He gave a half shrug.
“I mapped out a five-year plan to increase not-for-profit donations on an aggressive scale.”
Rowan nodded. Warmth spread in her chest. “I’m glad. That’s the biggest backlash right now with the community and environment.”
“I know it can’t solve the problem here, but we’re all hoping Purity can eventually make a home for itself that revitalizes rather than strips resources.”
His dark eyes dove into hers and she saw the truth there. This was more than throwing some money at foundations to ease a guilty conscience and buy loyalty. Rowan sensed Everett was passionate about the mission.
They reached his office, a wide-windowed corner space overlooking the city and the ocean. The teak desk gleamed with high polish. Several monitors stretched across its length; papers were aligned with military precision. His name was etched in silver on a plaque: Everett Hale, Regional Director.
She walked to the window, palms against the cool glass. The view was beautiful at this height. Rowan imagined feeling as if paradise belonged only to you from the top floor. “You built this.”
He joined her, close enough that his reflection hovered over her shoulder. “I built a version of it. The real credit goes to a few hundred exhausted people who make sure every light bulb works.”
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “Precise. Like everything you touch.”
His smile was faint. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
“No. It’s simply you.” Rowan knew that now. He was so much more than a title or suit. He was a father trying to figure things out and a man who kissed with hungry passion she’d never experienced. He was a person who tried to give when he took.
He was a man she was slowly falling in love with.
Everett didn’t answer or notice the shocking realization she’d just come to. His gaze followed the line of the ocean beyond the glass. “When I was a kid, my father used to time me for everything. Homework, chores, even breakfast. Said efficiency built character. He loathed chaos and failure.”
Rowan leaned against the window. “Did he instill the same expectations in you?”
“I learned to manage them. Numbers, schedules, people—they’re predictable. If you build things right, they stay standing.”
“And if they don’t?”
She turned to face him. His gaze met hers, sharp and soft all at once. “Then you build something else.”
The air between them thickened. She studied his strong, clean jawline. The glossy neatness of his hair. The firm set of his mouth when he was dug deep in thought or analysis. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.
“You really love this,” she said softly.
“I do. But I didn’t at first. I started because it made sense, because perfection meant safety. Somewhere along the way, I started to like giving people a place where things worked. A place that felt like calm.”
Rowan smiled. “You’re basically building therapy with better lighting.”
His laugh rumbled low. “Don’t tell my investors.”
“Your secret’s safe.” She drifted around the office, touching the edge of the leather chairs, the smooth wood of the conference table. “Do you ever get tired of being the one everyone depends on?”
“Constantly.”
The honesty in his tone made her chest pull tight. He sat on the edge of his desk, watching her. “You look like you belong here,” he said quietly.
“I’d sink this place in a week,” she said. “Too many rules. I’d start rearranging the art and hiding the remotes.”
“I meant with me.”
Their eyes met, and something electric hummed between them. His confession broke all the rules, but he didn’t look like he had any regrets.
A wave of need surged inside, a hunger so deep her body shook with it. He stilled, nostrils flaring as he sensed the shift. Her gaze took in the perfectly pressed suit and knotted tie. The gleaming leather shoes and crease in his pants. Slowly, she walked past him toward the door.
And locked it.
The hiss of breath cut through the pulsing silence. She walked back, allowing her hips to sway, arching her back with the innate feminine move women learned to master when wanting a man’s attention. Rowan stopped a few inches away from him. “How long do you have before your next appointment?”
His jaw tightened. His pupils dilated. His hand shot out to hit a button. “Jessica, hold all my calls. No one comes in.”
“Yes, sir.”
They gazed at each other in a sensual challenge that lit up every cell in her body.
Already, she was wet and aching for him, but Rowan luxuriated in the slow, sensual ride they were about to embark upon.
“You look so put together,” she purred, closing the distance.
Her hand stroked over his suit jacket, down his broad chest, his muscled biceps, his thigh.
He didn’t move, allowing her to lead, but she saw his erection bulging against his thigh.
Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear. “Wanna know my fantasy, Suit?”
He shuddered. She licked his earlobe and his fingers grasped her hips, digging deep. “Yes.”
“I want to wreck you. Mess you up so well you’ll never be able to put a suit on without thinking of me taking it off.”
He dragged her close with a warning growl, taking her mouth in a deep, heated kiss. She allowed him, savoring his taste and scent, the stroke of his tongue and sting of his teeth. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, hanging on tight as she gave him what he needed, drowning in the kiss.
When she pulled back, those dark eyes glinted with masculine possession, a primitive urge to claim and mark that lay beyond his proper suit. Rowan wanted to unmask it all right here—for her.
She eased the jacket off his shoulders and laid it neatly over the chair.
Moving his hands to the desk, she pressed his palms to the smooth wood.
Silver cuff links marked his wrists. The chunky Rolex winked in the light.
He was beautiful and perfect, an image she wanted to memorize before she took it all away.