Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
"You know," Max said as the four of them wandered through the resort after dinner. "That apartment story makes it look like you're living up to the cliché of being a cheap Scot."
Oh, he so had a death wish. "Scottish people aren't cheap. They're amongst some of the most generous people on the planet. They're just…canny with their money."
"Canny as in: 'I canny spend any so please pay for me'?" He grinned, proving once and for all that he had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.
"No, as in smart and thoughtful about it."
"Right, so smart they'd rather squat than get their own apartment."
"I don't squat." That was just rude. "Noah and Annabelle turned the top floor into one large apartment, and I turned the ground floor into a smaller one. People do it with old buildings all the time. We repurposed for accommodation instead of warehousing crap."
He smiled wide. Not quite a dimple smile, but nearly. She held her breath, waiting to see if they would appear, but they didn't. Pity. It would have made him seem less irritating.
"Warehousing crap," he mused. "That isn't a technical term I'm familiar with."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So I don't have your skill with words." She smiled back. It was her shark smile. The one that usually came before pain. She was gratified when he took a step back. "But I communicate in different ways," she said, lacing the words with a threat.
"You know," he said. "Not everything can be resolved with violence."
"Name one thing," she challenged.
"Uh…" Max looked perplexed.
"See?" Violet nodded. "Whatever the problem, violence is the answer."
"No," he said. "You can't solve a medical crisis with violence." He looked triumphant.
"I beg to differ. I have, on occasion, received faster and better medical treatment after I've threatened a doctor or two. I also had the experience, quite early on, of a male doctor who wasn't sympathetic to period pain. I found he was more understanding after I'd administered a well-placed kick."
His eyebrows shot up his head. "That's not true, you're messing with me again."
"You'll never know," Violet said smugly.
"You have the weirdest sense of humor I've ever come across," he said, although he sounded impressed.
"I don't think we've established that I'm joking, have we?"
"Violet," Katrina said from behind them, where she was walking with Rodrigo. "What did we say about toying with the client. Have some pity on him, he's just a poor, naive Canadian." She grinned mischievously.
"Oh," Max said, feigning offense. "We're going that route now? We're attacking nationality?"
"It's only fair," Violet said. "You called me a cheap Scot."
Max threw up his hands in despair. "I'm beginning to think that all of you like toying with your clients."
Nobody denied it.
They'd reached the retail area of the resort, because Violet had insisted on shopping for pants.
She'd been disgusted earlier when she'd opened her suitcase to find it full of dresses and only one pair of shorts.
There had been no trousers. No jeans. Just a onesie thing that cut her in two and a pair of beige shorts. She had not been impressed.
The retail area comprised of six nauseatingly cute cottages that housed everything the discerning traveler might need during their stay.
There was a tiny pharmacy, an upscale boutique with a bridal section, a convenience store for snacks and drinks, a souvenir shop, a mini florist that also sold handcrafted chocolates, and a bookshop with some electronic items, like headphones and chargers, that people might have forgotten to pack.
"There's really no need to leave Wedding Island, is there?" Katrina said as they approached the row of small white buildings. "I feel sorry for St. Patrice. The resort is doing all it can to ensure tourist dollars stay on the island."
"Speaking of St. Patrice," Violet said, as she subtly checked their surroundings.
After discovering there were two crime lords in the resort, she felt especially cautious.
Fortunately, no threats jumped out at her.
Unless you counted the very tipsy couple trying to drive a golf buggy back to their bungalow.
"Have Evan and Abasi settled into the house we rented for them? "
"I spoke to them before we came down for dinner," Rodrigo said.
"Evan was busy setting up his command center and said he'd try to hack the resort once he was sorted.
Who knows, he might get us some decent info, but I don't think so.
From what Max says, our guy is too cautious to leave his data unprotected. "
"Yeah,” Max said. “I wouldn't hold my breath."
"As for Abasi," Rodrigo said. "He went to tap into the network of brothers, his words, not mine. He's going to see if he can get himself hired on as staff."
"Good idea," Violet said. "We could use some back of house access."
"Fingers crossed," Rodrigo said as they entered the boutique.
The shop was quite spacious, which surprised Violet.
The building looked much smaller from the outside.
Most of the floor space was taken up by women's resort wear, in an assortment of bright shades and summery patterns.
One corner of the store was stuffed full of white dresses and veils.
The other with men's formalwear, quite a bit of that was in white too.
Violet cocked her head, considering it. At last, there was something about getting married in the Caribbean she could get enthusiastic about.
She'd long thought that if the woman had to wear white so should the guy.
"Right," she said searching the room for a sales assistant.
She didn't have to look far. One came running at them, dollar signs in her eyes.
Violet held up a hand to cut off any sales spiel that might be coming.
"I need pants," she said. "Trousers, jeans, whatever.
As long as they're full length, not shorts, and don't ride up, we're good. "
Max nudged her with his hip. "You sure you don't want cargo pants?" He grinned.
Violet didn't think he was funny. She thought it was a great idea.
"Got any cargo pants?" she asked the woman, before remembering she was supposed to be on the island for her wedding. "Fancy ones," she amended. "For a special occasion."
Violet didn't get her cargo pants, but she did get a couple of pairs of plain linen trousers that seemed to appease her.
Although one pair was in a very faint shade of pink that Katrina had talked her into buying by saying they were actually blush.
It was clear Violet wasn't convinced, but in the end, she'd wanted pants too much to care about color.
Max grinned at the memory as they crossed the vast lobby to the reception desk.
Violet wanted to pick up another couple of keycards for their bungalow, so Katrina and Rodrigo could come and go as they pleased.
As he watched her hips sway in the cute little dress she wore, he couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't gone for more dresses. She looked sexy as hell in them.
"Better keep your eyes up, buddy," Rodrigo muttered beside him. "If Violet catches you checking out her ass, she'll remove your eyeballs."
"Hey," Max objected. "A man has a right to ogle his fiancée."
"It's your funeral," Rodrigo said with a shake of his head.
"Maximillian Durant!" a voice called, making Max turn.
And just like that, the world tilted.
Because striding toward him, was the man he'd been hunting for years.
The Benson Security team closed in around him as Damien Poole approached.
He bore down on them, drawing attention from curious tourists, and instant deference from staff.
At his back, two large men, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses—at night, indoors—kept a close eye on their boss.
Unlike his henchmen, Damien wore a beige suit with a crisp white shirt, an expensive watch, and handmade Italian shoes.
As usual, his golden hair was styled to perfection.
Max hated everything about the man.
As he stepped in front of Max, he slid his hands into the pockets of his pants, making it clear there would be no hand offered, even out of politeness. A crocodile smile curved his lips and one eyebrow cocked in a mocking gesture.
"Maximillian," he said again. "I thought that was you. Have to say, I didn't expect to find you in one of my hotels." His tone held a hint of mockery.
Max felt his jaw tighten. "I didn't realize this was your resort," he lied.
Damien's smile was disbelieving. "Really? An ace reporter, such as yourself, didn't look into who owned the hotel? Oh wait, as I recall, this isn't the first time your research has let you down where I'm concerned, is it?"
Smug bastard. Max's hands curled into fists and to his shock, he felt Violet force her hand into his. The move seemed to ground him.
"Your hotel?" Violet said. "Are you the manager?"
It was a tiny little dig, but Max appreciated the effort.
"No," Damien's eyes tightened at the corners when he glanced her way. "I'm the owner and an old friend of Maximillian here." His gaze strayed back to Max, challenge glinting in his eyes.
"Really?" Violet said, her tone pure ice. "He's never mentioned you. But seeing as you're the owner, do you think you could do something about the quality of the toilet paper in our room. It's really on the cheap side, considering what we're paying. Would you look into that for us?"
If Max hadn't been so thrown by Damien's sudden appearance, and the fact the man had remembered him, he'd have laughed.
Damien, meanwhile, was staring at Violet as though she was suddenly worth his notice.
Max didn't like that look one bit, but he reminded himself that Violet could take care of herself.
"I'll ask my staff to look into the situation for you," he said with a flat smile.
"After all, I wouldn't want Max here writing an exposé on the resort, telling the world all about our substandard toilet tissue.
" He chuckled. "Is that why you're here, Maximillian?
To write another story. The great toilet paper investigation, perhaps?
Sorry, I mean try to write another story. My mistake."
Max desperately wanted to punch the smug smile off the bastard's face. As though reading his mind, Violet held his arm tighter. If he hadn't been so thrown dealing with Damien, he would have been in shock that she was touching him.
"We're here to get married," Max said flatly. Hating to share anything with the man, but it wasn't like Damien couldn't get the information in an instant when they were done talking.
Damien feigned astonishment. "In my hotel? I'm flattered."
"Max didn't choose the hotel," Violet said. "I did. I'm afraid I didn't realize he was friends with the owner when I did it, otherwise I would have asked for a discount."
Again, Damien's attention turned to Violet, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Let me guess, another reporter?"
"Former cop," Violet said. "Turned florist. I went into the family business when dealing with the scum-sucking criminal underbelly became too much to stomach."
It was clear from Damien's expression he had no idea what to do with Violet. Honestly, Max wasn't sure either.
"Well then, welcome to my resort," Damien said at last. "I hope you have a wonderful wedding and a long happy life together." He turned toward the reception area. "And, seeing as we're such good friends, I'll make sure management knows to comp your meals while you're here."
"That's okay," Max said hurriedly. "No need." The thought of taking anything from Damien made him feel ill.
"It's my pleasure." Damien oozed fake sincerity.
"Make sure to mention the hotel if you write about your wedding.
I'm sure your publisher will be keen to hear what you think of the place.
He was here only last month. We caught up on the golf course.
Good times." He nodded at Violet. "Enjoy your stay. "
Then he strode away without a backward glance.
Max watched him go until he felt Violet's nails digging into his arm.
"Hey!" he rubbed the small injury.
She was furious. "You didn't tell us that Damien knew you."
"I didn't think he'd remember me," he said, sounding lame.
"Well, he did." She fumed. "And it makes going undercover harder when people already know who you are."
"We're not getting into this here." Rodrigo shifted into Max's view. "Back to the bungalow. Now. We need to have a team meeting." It was an order.