Keeping Gemma (Holiday Cove 2)

Before I even heard the water turn on, I was out.

5

Talia, the dark haired beauty that I’d gone two rounds with the night before, was still on my mind when lunchtime rolled around the following day. Whenever that happened, I knew I needed another taste.

I’d left the hotel in LA at six, and made the drive back to Holiday Cove, and went straight to work to catch up from playing hooky the day before. Weekends were always busy, and I had a back to back flight tours to keep up with to make the weekend visitors happy.

When my assistant, Lana, finally nagged me enough to convince me to stop and eat something, I took my lunch into my office, propped my feet up on the corner of my desk, and dialed the number Talia had slipped me before leaving.

It was on the third ring, when someone knocked on my office door, and I was forced to hang up.

“It’s open!” I shouted, right before shoving a bite of sandwich into my mouth.

Mmm, Lana got the good stuff.

I was fully aware of Lana’s feelings toward me. She’d had a crush on me since the minute she’d walked in for the interview, nearly six months earlier. She cooked for me, baked me treats that almost rivaled Carly’s down at the coffee shop, and continually stayed late to make sure I was okay and didn’t need help with anything.

She came into the office, clipboard in hand—she was kinda old school like that—and a flustered look on her face.

“This is good shit,” I said, pointing at the sandwich in my hands, before stuffing another bite into my mouth.

She blushed slightly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you like it.”

I knew I should feel bad, that I shouldn’t let her go on thinking she had a shot when the reality was that I didn’t have the slightest interest in her. She was a kick-ass assistant and I appreciated her, but there was zero chemistry between us. Mostly just a lot of nervous energy—on her side, anyway.

I washed down the bite with a sip from my can of energy drink that was bordering on too warm to be drinkable. I’d cracked it open earlier in the morning before going out to work on an old soviet plane I’d picked up cheap. I tended to get lost in my work and forget about everything else. “What’s up?” I asked Lana.

“The tour group is here.”

I flicked a glance at the metal clock on the wall and cursed under my breath. I set the rest of the sandwich aside and brushed my hands on my dirty jeans. “Tell them I’ll be right out.”

Lana nodded but stayed in place.

“Is there something else?”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Do you know who booked the tour?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “That’s your department.”

“It was booked under his assistant’s name.” Lana paused to lick her lips. “But the tour is actually for Henry O’Keefe.”

The name flickered in the back of my mind as I searched my memory, trying to remember where I’d heard it before. Like lightning it hit me and my face dropped. “Oh fuck!”

“Yeah,” Lana nodded, as though she understood my outburst.

“Wait, how do you know who that is?” I asked, bewildered over her recognition. I hadn’t told anyone about my altercation with Mr. Douche in the Second Row at the auction. Yet, Lana was acting like she knew this was about to get nasty.

“Um, everyone knows who that is,” she fired back, her tone biting with an edge of annoyance.

“They do?” I held up my hands. “Okay, wait, wait. Who is he?”

“He’s the CEO of the land development company that built the resort up in Stallion Bay. Now, he’s in talks to come here, to Holiday Cove, and do the same thing. There’s a big legal battle and it’s been all over the news. He’s the big shot, the billionaire behind the whole thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was taking the tour to scope out the town.”

I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Mr. Rosen,” Lana said.

I peeked out from behind my hands and looked into her innocent, wide eyes, and debated whether or not I should tell her about the part where I’d been two seconds away from kicking the shit out of him in the parking lot of a high end charity auction.

I decided against it.

“All right,” I said, standing from my chair. “I’ll be out in five. Give them a tour. Keep them busy.”

As soon as Lana had scurried away, I sighed, forcing every ounce of air from my lungs. He obviously wasn’t here to serve me with a lawsuit—he would have sent one of his cronies. Men like him always had cronies. Was it really about land development?