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By the time they had the hotel secure, Mike could barely stand up against the push of the wind. It seemed to come at him from every side, pushing rain into his face, and slapping him with palm fronds and forcing him to duck bits of flying junk.
Heading inside, Karen locked the door behind him. She also pushed the table in front of it.
“That bad?” he asked.
“I need to see to the guests. They’re going to want to be in the center of the hotel. We have a storm room there. Get the lamps and oil out will you?”
He followed her orders and fifteen minutes later she came back for lamps. She gestured to a door just off the kitchen. “We’ll stay in the pantry. If we’re lucky, this will blow over hard and fast.”
She left with two lamps.
Mike wondered if his brother was now about to launch a search party for him—he must have heard about the storms on the news. But Mike had been gone for weeks before this without being in touch with the main office. And he’d warned Zach that he’d be visiting some of the smaller islands, and would probably be out of contact.
Zach would be thinking that Mike had decided on a few days of playing around, due to the storms, and maybe that’s what he should be doing. Loafing on the beach after this storm blew over with a tall drink and Karen in a bikini sounded damn good. But Mike had to admit he was getting a kick out of getting stuff done at the hotel.
So much of his work ended up producing intangibles. Marketing campaigns that ran and disappeared. Image promotions that were good for thirty days. That was one of the reasons—once Zach changed the direction for the firm—that Mike had wanted a change as well. There was a lot more that could be done—particularly with Karen’s hotel.
He’d been studying the place as he’d worked on it. The core structure of the main hotel was good—fresh paint would help the place, but he’d like to see some of those narrow hallways knocked out. New furniture should be brought in—something that fit better with the island setting and which looked less like it had been pulled from a rummage sale. And those huts—he still wanted to burn every one of them to the ground and replace them with local built luxury huts.
A massage/spa hut in the middle, and expand the number of huts to about ten, placing them around the grounds for maximum privacy as well as beach and pool access. The place also needed a kitchen upgrade, a bar outside that also offered a grilled menu. Karen could double her profits by offering extra services—full meals, fine dining in the evening, lunch menus, and even some entertainment with local performers.
He had a hundred ideas, but he kept his mouth shut. He was sure Karen would only snap at him if he even suggested an idea. And while he wasn’t the boss around here, that didn’t mean he wasn’t getting attached to the place. It was different to put sweat and labor into a place—he could see why Karen was so caught up in trying to make it work. Not only did it connect her to her folks, but she’d put her own labor into the hotel.
She came back to the kitchen and waved for him to follow. Picking up the other two kerosene lanterns that he’d lit, he wound his way down a hall and into the pantry.
Inside the cramped room, he saw shelves of canned food, bags of rice, and a couch. He blinke
d. Karen picked up a radio and turned it on to an emergency station.
“Couch, food…hey is that a wine?” He picked up the dusty bottle. “Everything you need.”
“Yeah, dad wasn’t everything, but he was efficient. My mom told me the delivery men hated trying to get that sleeper sofa in here.” Putting down the radio, she rubbed her arms. “News is this is supposed to be a bad one.”
He glanced at her and saw the worry in her eyes. Putting down the wine, he picked up a deck of cards. “What do you say to some strip poker?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
A reluctant smile curved her lips. “I don’t think so, buddy. Do you play cribbage?”
They spent the next few hours on cribbage, gin, poker, and blackjack. Mike decided to invent a few new rules for no-peekie-baseball poker, and Karen came up with a version of blackjack that made most every card wild. Every now and then she’d jump when the wind shook the hotel, or banged something into the place. She left the pantry twice to check on Juilet and Ted.
“How are they holding up?” Mike asked when she came back the second time.
“I think Juilet missed her calling as a storm chaser. Poor Ted should have left with the Nessers.” Flopping down on the sofa, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and slumped. “Another storm like this and I’m out of business.”
“Oh, come on. You must have insurance.”
She shook her head. “Canceled after my folks died. They’d been cutting back on paying, too, so while I got some cash from it, it wasn’t nearly enough to cover repairs.”
“So you took out a loan?”
She glanced at him and sat up. “How did you know?”
“It’s what I’d do. You need capital to get a place like this up and running—it’s a serious money hog at times. But you’ve got a great location—don’t knock that.”
She cocked her head to one side. “So what would you do if this were your hotel?”
He grinned at her and started into his plans—the restaurant, replacing the huts, expansion. “You’ve got the ideal spot for eco-tourism—sustainable hotel, everything recycled and renewable. Solar and wind power—hell, just listen to that wind. You could power the whole island with the right setup. Buy local, use local craftsmen.”
She shook her head. “That sounds great—but it also sounds like serious money. I don’t have enough to—” She bit off the words and shook her head.
