Ric had given the old woman time to relax after her flight. Now it was time for her to know her grandson. He stil would want to meet her even if he didn’t need her to invest in his new business. And, truth be told, he admitted to himself as he gripped and released the steering wheel and realized he was already in town and hadn’t even turned on the stereo, he would have been a hel of a lot more nervous meeting her if it weren’t for his business plans. The banana plantation kept him focused, helped his mind stay where it belonged—on sensible, levelheaded matters.
Otherwise, he’d be stepping into unfamiliar territory, which was not something he liked doing.
Although somewhere around eighty years old, Samantha Winston stil had an active hand in the huge line of restaurants and hotels her family owned around the world. She was owner and CEO of Winston Corporation. Shortly after arriving on the island and meeting his grandparents and uncles, Ric had learned enough about his mother’s side of the family to start researching. It hadn’t been hard tracking down Samantha Winston. She owned several homes, and he learned from reading tabloids and People magazine, which did an extensive piece on her almost five years ago, that she lived in Minneapolis during the summer, Houston during the winter, New York during the spring, and Los Angeles in the fal . None of that appealed to him as much as studying her business portfolio. In her earlier years, Samantha Winston had taken her father’s business and quadrupled its value.
A woman after his own heart.
Ric knew the moment he explained his plans to her, she would be more than wil ing to invest in him. He didn’t need to play the long-lost relative. There was no point. He would speak as a shrewd businessman spoke to another shrewd businessperson.
Ric wasn’t an idiot. The bed-and-breakfast would make it. Samantha understood business, and she’d see what Ric saw—the perfect business in the ideal location.
The Four Seasons, which was one of two hotels on the island, was designed for the very wealthy. He’d grown used to the flashiness of the rich and famous, as wel as the recluses, who were probably even wealthier and who came to Lanai to escape the paparazzi and other invasions of their privacy. He pul ed into the hotel parking lot as a Rol s-Royce pul ed out.
Ric waved at Joe Seal, who stood in his black hotel uniform in the parking lot, talking to a kid Ric didn’t know. Ric parked his truck off to the side of the parking lot, opened the glove box, and took out the massive rawhide bone he’d purchased the day before after Colby had finished off her last one.
“Try and make this one last at least until I get back,” he said, handing the bone over to Colby.
She accepted her bribe not to eat the truck’s interior and looked at him with her jowls sticking out over the bone. Colby winked at him. Good enough answer, he hoped.
“Be good,” he ordered, lowering both windows a few inches to give Colby fresh air, then hopped out of his truck, locked it, and headed across the parking lot toward Joe.
“Slow morning?” he asked, extending his hand and shaking Joe’s.
“It’s been off and on. The morning tourists are already out and about the island. It won’t pick up again until this afternoon.” Joe gave Ric an appraising look and rocked back on his heels. “So you’re here to meet the old lady?” Joe asked, fal ing in alongside Ric as they started toward the entrance. “Your grandmother, huh?”
“It’s time for her to get to know her charming grandson.” Ric wasn’t ready to announce his intentions of trying to get her to finance converting the old banana plantation into a bed-and-breakfast.
“Wel , she hasn’t left the hotel today. I haven’t seen her, but hope to. She’s a good tipper.” Joe grinned and scratched his short dark brown hair. He was a big guy, stocky but not heavy, and shorter than Ric. He was tan from working with his father-in-law and was, according to his wife, Susie, quite the stud. Ric didn’t see it but wouldn’t argue with Susie. “Fil me in on al the details later. If I don’t go home with some kind of tidbit for my wife, she’l drown me with questions until she makes me cal and ask for a total recap.”
Ric snorted, knowing Joe wasn’t exaggerating. The couple times Ric had been over to Joe’s house, Susie had spent the entire time on the phone talking to someone about how she was not a gossip. “I’m sure I’l see you when I leave. You’l have to bring the kids out to the place when you get some time off.”
“Whenever that might be,” Joe grumbled, although he didn’t look put out and rocked back on his heels again. Work was hard to find. Joe wouldn’t complain about too many hours. “Let me know when you’re ready to reroof that old house. I can’t believe you’re living out there the way it is now.”
“I manage, and wil do. Hopeful y soon.” He’d heard enough comments about his choice to live in the dilapidated plantation house. He was saving money by not paying a second mortgage or rent. Not to mention by living there he had discovered other things that needed fixing that he might not have noticed until after he’d opened his doors for business.
Ric waved at Joe over his shoulder as he strol ed into the lobby. He had only been in the hotel a couple times, the last time to help lay carpet with a job he got with Joe several months ago. Just as the last time, Ric entered a different world as he walked across the lobby. He didn’t want to be impressed, but breathtaking was the best way to describe the hotel. Although most of Lanai was breathtaking. After living in the inner city of Los Angeles al his life, he’d seen enough ugliness. Beauty, whether it be skin deep or to the bone, surrounding him every day sure made life seem a lot easier. It was a good thing Ric understood that anything that appeared easy was usual y a hel of a lot harder than something that appeared complicated.
Melinda Sadey worked the front desk and had her eyes on Ric the moment he had arrived on the island. Although he’d flirted with her on a few occasions when he’d been to the bars, she wasn’t his type. Melinda was somewhere between forty-five and fifty-five years old and preferred her men a bit on the younger side. Ric had no intention of ever touching the woman but didn’t mind casual y flirting until she gave him the room numbers of the three rooms booked under Samantha Winston.
Room 201 was a large suite and reserved with very specific instructions. The other two rooms, 211 and 213, were smal er suites alongside each other down the hal from Samantha’s room. Ric didn’t care to speak with her entourage. He got out of the elevator on the second floor and walked to the end of the hal way to the large suite, then rapped firmly on the door.
After knocking a second t
ime, Ric reluctantly approached the two other doors. He didn’t want to speak to hired help, but possibly Samantha was in one of the rooms. He stepped to the nearest of the two and again knocked.
A thin, short-haired man, who was probably in his forties, answered the door at room 213. He didn’t say anything but simply stared at Ric, as if it wasn’t his job to speak and therefore he had no intention of doing so.
“Are you Marc Waters?” Ric asked, and knew by the wary look the man gave him that he was. “I’m here to see Samantha Winston,” he added before Marc could say anything.
“That’s not possible.” Marc cocked his head and made it look like he was trying to look down at Ric. His tone was rather nasal y, stuck-up sounding. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I just told you what I want,” Ric said, keeping his own tone civil in spite of the urge to push past the man and see if Samantha was in the room. “And I’m Ricardo Karaka, her grandson.”
Marc made a snorting noise and began shutting the door. “Nice try, but Ms. Winston doesn’t have a grandson. If she did, I would know.”
“I am her grandson.” Ric didn’t like doors being shut in his face. He held his hand out, stopping the door. “Her daughter was my mother.”
“Ms. Winston’s daughter is dead.”