Chapter Eight #2
His stare was intense; eyes laser focused on her, mouth a hard line. After a moment, it relaxed again. “Rock and a hard place.”
“Exactly.”
“So what did you do to make them stop? Or did they?”
For the first time since Charity boarded the plane, she smiled.
“I did exactly what my parents enrolled me to do. I learned. I worked three times harder than any of them, advanced quicker and before them, and showed them up time and again when we sparred or performed routines. When I took down a boy who was a foot taller, sixty pounds heavier and six years older than I was, they finally backed off. While I doubt they ever respected me because I was, after all, still a girl and unworthy of it, they did come to realize that I wasn’t going to run home to mama with my tail between my legs and cry like a starving baby.
I could best them when it counted and showed them up whenever I could. That was the best revenge for me.”
And it had been. She’d been proud of herself for her stick-to-it-ive-ness, and thankful her parents had faith in her. She’d also learned some valuable life lessons she used to this day.
Silent again, Kolby sat, his gaze assessing her with an intensity she couldn’t define.
In that moment, she recognized she wasn’t nervous anymore about their in-flight status.
Her breathing had returned to normal, her heart didn’t feel as if it was going to burst out of her chest any longer.
Talking to him had distracted her from the fact they were thirty thousand feet up in the air in a flying piece of metal that defied all logic.
For a hot second she wondered if that had been his intent all along.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “You’re not a conundrum at all.”
“Good to know.” She wasn’t going to ask him what he thought she was, though. After a moment, that thought went out the airplane window, as her natural curiosity bested her resolve. “What am I, then?”
The devastating smile that made her insides quake took its time crossing his mouth, lifting the corners of his eyes, and showing off his perfect teeth.
“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for now.” He stretched a hand down to the backpack he’d stowed under the seat in front of him and pulled out a book.
Frustrated by the lack of response, she glanced down, surprise now drifting in her when she read the title.
“I didn’t take you for a classics guy.” Which was the absolute truth. She imagined if he read at all it would be contemporary suspense or thrillers. Something that involved a manly-man spy with barely clad women relegated to sidekicks and walk-ons, not a certifiable classic like Treasure Island.
“Favorite book as a kid,” he said, settling back in his seat. “Still stands to this day.”
Now who’s a conundrum?
And just why is that so darn appealing?
***
“What do you mean there’s only one room? I specifically reserved two and have the confirmation number to prove it.”
Charity’s voice had risen to one step below a shriek, her tone filled with murder. He’d been on the receiving end of that tone more than once and knew a storm was about to break the likes of which the little paradise island of Aruba hadn’t seen in a century.
They’d arrived on the island safely, something he teased her about as they de-planed and walked to the luggage carriers.
“We’re not shark food this trip,” he’d said.
She’d ignored him.
The driver she’d ordered to take them to the resort was waiting at the luggage carousel, a sign with her last name emblazoned across it in his hands. Everything from luggage retrieval to finding their driver had gone smoothly.
Until they'd stopped at the registration desk to get their room keys.
“Please accept my apologies,” the desk clerk said, his brown face folding with embarrassment. “A computer glitch erased several room reservations. We thought we had reassigned them all to the correct parties, but it appears your second room was assigned to another guest.”
“Well, unassign it, then. We reserved and require two rooms. Two, not one.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Quinn, but the hotel is full. There is a wedding here this weekend.”
“I know. It’s mine.”
His anxious gaze ran to Kolby and then back to her. “Oh, well, congratulations."
“Not my personal wedding.” She heaved a loud sigh. “One I’m in charge of.”
Confusion eased the anxiety from his face.
“I’m the wedding planner for the Carruthers/Webster wedding and Mr. O’Brian is their photographer.”
Kolby nodded at the man, thankful he wasn’t on the biting end of Charity’s irritation.
“Oh, I see. You are colleagues. Well, one room should be fine for the two of you.”
“There’s no definition of the word fine that statement applies to, Sir.”
A tiny speck of her southern roots pushed its way into her voice and exasperation.
“We require two rooms,” she repeated, the steel in her voice echoing.
Jeez. Was it really so horrible having to share a room with him? He didn’t smell like rotten onions, didn’t leave his clothes strewn about in heaps, and even figured he’d take the inevitable lumpy pull-out sofa bed. But Charity, obviously, didn’t want to share with him.
“I want to see the manager, please,” she said brusquely. “Right now.”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Let me ring him.” He picked up the desk phone and pressed a button. “He should be in his office. Yes? Yes. Could you come to the front desk, please?”
He nodded and replaced the receiver. “He will be right here. And again, I apologize for this inconvenience.”
Charity was pressing her lips together so tightly they went white.
Kolby wanted to intervene, to try and soothe her ire by telling her to calm down and not show how upset she was, but he cherished his testicles and knew she’d cut them off–metaphorically, at least–if he tried to take control of the situation.
Problems, he reasoned, and her handling of them, were what she got paid for and she was a dynamo at her job.
Seconds later, a dapper three-piece, sky blue suited man rounded the corner of the desk, a polished smile gracing his unlined cocoa brown face. Kolby put him anywhere from forty to fifty.
“Good afternoon. I am Mr. Brialy, the manager. How may I assist you?”
Charity made their introductions, then opened her ever present filo folder and retrieved the reservation email from it as she explained the situation.
“Yes, I see that,” Brialy said, his smile morphing to a sympathetic one. “A big storm disrupted our internet service a few days ago and wreaked havoc on our reservation system. We’ve been working assiduously to fix the issues, and I thought we had everything back to normal.”
“No,” Charity said. “You don’t. I requested two rooms, and one of them has been given to another guest. I want it back.”
“I am afraid I can not evict a guest, Miss Quinlan, even because of a mistake. That just won’t do.”
Charity ruminated on that for a moment. He knew she was seething.
He could read it all over her tense face and the shoulders that had drifted up to her ears.
Then, like a wall switch was flipped from on to off, her entire demeanor changed.
Her shoulders drifted back down to their normal space and he could feel the air she dragged in during a full breath all the way from where he stood.
She smiled.
Kolby’s heart stopped. Not because he was captivated by her smile, but because he was terrified, and once again thankful he wasn’t on the receiving end of her fury.
Because that smile? It wasn’t warm and friendly.
Nope. It was more akin to something a serial killer might bestow on his latest victim.
“Since we specifically reserved this entire hotel for the wedding guests to stay in and for the hotel to host the entire weekend, I’m sure you understand the necessity that everything run smoothly from every vantage point, Mr. Brialy.
Especially since our business has a full plate of society weddings we are attempting to book over the next three years, several of the brides wanting destination weddings to warmer climates.
" She paused, then pointedly added, “Like this one. The owner of our business specifically chose your hotel under the recommendation of her husband. You may know him. Slade Harrington?”
Kolby watched the man’s affable smile drop two degrees.
“Y-yes. The Harrington family have been valued guests of our hotel for decades.”
Nodding, Charity’s smile broadened.
“Well, then you wouldn’t want me to report back to Mrs. Harrington that our accommodations weren’t up to the specifications the Harrington’s are used to, would you?”
The smile erased now, the deep brown of his face blanched.
“Not at all. Not at all. No need to concern Mr. or Mrs. Harrington with this glitch. I am sure I can fix the issue. Let me see what I can do.”
He slipped behind the counter and shoved the desk clerk, who’d been watching, open-mouthed, during the entire encounter, aside as he commandeered the computer keyboard.
Charity stood, rock still, her gaze glued to the man’s fingers as he typed with a speed Kolby found impressive.
Also impressive? How she’d just put the fear of God, or in this case, Slade Harrington, into the man. From a tactical standpoint, her move was a brilliant one. Name dropping a valued and extremely rich client was going to get her what she wanted more than complaining ever would.
Forget conundrum, or the other word he’d ascribed to her on the plane – fascinating. Charity Quinlan was, simply, one helluva woman.
Brialy looked up from the computer. “We have no extra rooms in the hotel, but one of the private cottages on the island has just been cleaned as it was vacated this morning. I can offer you that for your entire stay. It has two separate bedrooms, both king beds, a full kitchen and bar, and a private pool. It is a short distance from the hotel, but I can provide a motorized cart to help facilitate your transport to and from the main building,”
Charity made a show of considering the offer. “What’s the price differential from a room in the hotel?”
“Oh, there will be no charge, Miss Quinlan. Your accommodations will be courtesy of the hotel management to compensate for the inconvenience of the room mix up.”
Charity’s smile lifted her face, shoulders, and the rest of her body. “Well, then.” She glanced over at Kolby, eyes shining, “That’ll do just fine.”