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Chapter Nineteen
Two weeks after the renovations finished, Karen stood in the new lobby. It still had the homey feel she’d wanted, but with a slick polish the reminded her of Mike. She also had bookings for the next two months, and more were coming in. She’d hired cooks, waiters, maids, a night manager, and an accountant. At this rate, she was going to be employing just about everyone on the island. But she hadn’t heard from Mike—and she wasn’t sure how to reach out to him.
Email? Too impersonal. Phone? Her voice would dry up and crack. Letter? Maybe? She’d been toying with a grand opening event next week to kick off everything, and a few VIP invitations seemed in order. But what if he didn’t come? What if he’d forgotten about her? She kept trying to hang onto Seneed’s encouraging words, but words were words—and she hadn’t had any from Mike since he’d left.
She heard a van outside and headed to the front porch. She wasn’t expecting any new deliveries. And her first guests weren’t booked to arrive till next week. The gray van didn’t have any markings on it, but a dark-haired man in dark blue workman’s overalls got out and came around, a backpack in his hand. Karen’s mouth fell open.
“Mike?”
The workman glanced up. Sure enough—Mike. She’d know those blue eyes and that easy grin anywhere. Her stomach knotted, her pulse kicked up, and heat flushed her skin. She propped a fist on her hip. “I don’t remember inviting you—you’re in violation of our contract!”
His grin didn’t budge. “Nope. You did invite me.” He pulled a slip of paper from his front pocket, unfolded it and held it out. “Work order. I’m here to make sure the storm shutters from Storm Proof were correctly installed.”
“Shutters?” Coming down the steps she snatched the paper from him. She glanced at it and back to Mike. “I bought the shutters from this company.” She slapped the paper. ?
?Not from you!”
“Yeah, and do you have any idea how hard it was to get hired on with them? Jeeze, you’d have thought I was asking if I could join the Secret Service. Finally had to buy the damn company.” He folded up the work order and pocketed it again.
Karen blinked. “You bought…? Just how rich are you?”
Mike glanced up at the hotel. “A lot less since I met you. But I can’t complain. The place looks amazing—better than I thought it could. Now are you going to let me check those shutters? I’ve heard a bad storm’s coming.”
Frowning, she glanced at the cloudless blue sky and back to Mike. “There’s no storm on the forecast. For weeks.”
He dropped the grin and nodded, serious now and certain. “Oh, yeah, there is. Could leave us stranded for a week. Hey, did you ever get the generator fixed?”
“Well, actually—that’s on my next year list. I wanted the budget to go into everything for the guests, and next year—”
“Budget? Did I put you on a budget?”
Karen crossed her arms. “This place needs to make a profit—meaning I spent what was needed, but not so much that we’re going to be bleeding red ink for the next decade. With the bookings I’ve made so far, we’ll show a profit by—”
“Whoa. Stop right there. What part of Collins Institute investment didn’t you understand? Institute—as in non-profit, as in we don’t need to show that we’ve made a dime. We’re all about saving open land spaces, and this place is going to expand us into foreign territories. It’s going to be our showcase to wine and dine rich donors and convince them to give up cash so they can see what can be done to keep local economies in small—oh, please tell me you’re hiring local. You’ve got to be hiring local or we’re going to look like idiots.”
“There you go!” Letting her arms fly wide, Karen faced him. “Trying to take over. Now you know why I didn’t want you here, breathing down my back and telling me how to run this place.”
Mike waved one arm at the main building. His backpack rustled and bumped his thigh. “Hey, I’m just the guy here to look at the shutters.”
“So go look!” Turning, Karen stomped back into the hotel.
She headed to the kitchen—the new one—to make iced tea. She needed something that would cool her down. She could hear Mike messing with the shutters, closing them it sounded it. She drummed her fingers on the counter. Why did that guy get under her skin like this? Two minutes back and she was already getting into a yelling match with him.
Coming in the back door, Mike stopped at the entrance. “Mind if I…?” He let the words trail but he waved a hand at her.
“I’m paying you, it seems. So how are the shutters, as if I didn’t know? And by the way, yeah, we do hire local. For just about everything.”
“Ah, good. Then it seems like you’re all set to ride out this next storm coming.”
She poured him an ice tea. “There’s no storm, Mike.”
Coming over to her, he put his backpack on the floor and leaned a hand on the counter. “Oh, there is. It’s going to leave me stuck here for a week. Two, or maybe more.” Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, he pulled the battery out. “Look, no way to communicate now with the outside world. Hey, did you see that note on the website—that guests have to turn in their cell phones and electronic devices when they check in? Brilliant isn’t it. Zach’s idea. He thinks they’ll detox in forty-eight hours and hate to get the damn things back.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She fought it down and shook her head. “You are so not charming your way out of this. You broke our contract.”
“More like bent. That work order is my invite. Now can I have one of those, or do you leave all your workers thirsty?” He gestured to the picture of iced tea.
She poured him a glass. Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him, and that spark flared again, sizzling over her skin and diving low into her belly. She pulled her hand back. “What are you doing here, Mike?”
