Compromising Her Position (Compromise Me 1)

“Right now you need some distance. I get it. Moving to Maui ought to give you plenty.”

Chelsea picked up a dishtowel and twisted it in her hands. “Hopefully. That’s the plan.”

“Tradewinds…the name sounds familiar. Isn’t it one of those resorts where people go to hook up while on vacation?”

“Maui’s most spectacular singles destination. Flirt, mingle, and make your fantasies come true during your dream vacation. Perfect job for a woman embracing her naughty side, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. But still. Maui.”

“I know.” A lump threatened to form in her throat at the thought of leaving her family, friends—everything she loved. She swallowed it down. “Anyway, I should get going. Thanks for the shoulder to cry on.”

“My sofa has a vacancy.”

Though tempted, Chelsea shook her head. Her apartment was a short walk along well-lit sidewalks she knew like the back of her hand. She’d leaned on Laurie enough for one night.

“I have some stuff I need to see to at home.”

Polish her résumé.

Change her Facebook status to “Jilted.”

Donate an absurdly expensive watch to charity.

Escaping to Maui sounded better by the second.

Chapter Five

“Let me understand the situation. As soon as you pulled the trigger on the deal, the assistant manager resigned because her paramour, the general manager, announced his engagement to the head of human resources—who also happens to be carrying his child—and you saw none of this coming?”

Rafe winced at his father’s tone, but resisted the urge to quicken his pace as he ran along the foggy shoreline behind the compound he shared with Arden. No amount of speed would enable him to outrun this call. Still, the inevitability of the conversation didn’t stop him from resenting his father’s timing. Once his day began, he rarely got a moment to himself. He disliked forfeiting the solitude of his morning run along this private stretch of beach so he could defend himself to Luc. But he would, nonetheless, defend himself. “It’s not the kind of information that comes to light during due diligence.”

“I beg to differ. Due diligence means more than showing up after the deal is signed, playing Santa Claus.”

A gull screeched overhead and a bead of sweat trickled down the center of his back. Was he being baited? His father frequently demonstrated extraordinary access to information, but, as far as he knew, the man wasn’t psychic. He couldn’t possibly have discovered what had happened in a supply closet while he’d “played” Santa. “I had a legitimate business reason for dressing up as Santa.”

“This, I realize. A small gesture to inspire employee goodwill. Very smart. But delegating the job of scrutinizing a deal to lawyers and accountants? Not smart. You will never find the real problems in the books. You find them by spending time at the property, talking to people, listening, digging deeper—”

“If I spend too much time at a hotel we don’t own, it tips people off that we’re looking to buy it, and then I have a bunch of competing offers to fend off.”

“Be creative. Devise a cover story, and work with someone trustworthy on the inside to get a detailed look at the operation. Any owner serious about selling, and confident in the value of the property, will agree to facilitate this request. Had you followed this protocol with Las Ventanas—”

“I don’t need a Monday morning quarterback on this deal, Luc. Relax.” A breeze cooled his face. He inhaled the salty air and tried to take his own advice. “Everything is under control. We have an employee communication ready to go first thing this morning concerning the assistant manager’s departure. Our corporate recruiter has already started a quiet search for a new assistant manager.”

“And a new general manager,” his father added. “Ultimately a new human resources person, too, because a triangle collapses when one corner falls away.”

“Yes,” Rafe conceded.

“Is there anybody left, or shall we make Las Ventanas our first self-service resort?”

There it was, the patented Luc St. Sebastian sarcasm. Heat having nothing to do with the weather or his run climbed up his neck. “I told you I’m handling it.”

“Priority to the general manager. He or she can fix the rest. I don’t want this Barrington hiring anyone. I don’t like his character.”

Rafe slowed as his house came into view, and headed to the water’s edge to cool down, adjusting the sweat-drenched waist of his workout shorts as he went. The thin, winter marine layer was already burning off. Sunshine warmed his bare shoulders. He flexed them, working tension out of the muscles. “Are you the pot or the kettle now?” Fidelity rated low on the list of St. Sebastian family core values, and his parents’ personal lives reflected as much.

“Neither. I don’t care who he fucks, but I do care about him putting his pleasure ahead of the business. This man has not acted strategically. His behavior weakened his organization, now my organization, which makes him a liability. A liability you purchased using the St. Sebastian checkbook.”

Right. Had he expected a verbal pat on the back for closing the deal on time and within budget? Or maybe a word of appreciation for adding two hundred and fifty new rooms in a coveted location to the company’s portfolio? Not from Luc. His father specialized in pointing out where Rafe fucked up. He squinted at the horizon, and found himself wondering what Chelsea was doing this morning. Thinking of her all bed-warmed and drowsy had him making other adjustments to his shorts. “I’m handling the liability.”