Chapter One
Cain Adams
From the balcony of my suite on the top floor of my resort, I look out at the ocean and breathe in the salty air. It’s early, about six-fifty, but the sun has already risen. I’ve been up since five and already worked out for the day. This is the first time I’ve been able to get down here all year. I’ve been stuck in our corporate office in New York. The Adams Hotel Group has hotels worldwide, but our first one, this one, is my favorite. My great-grandfather opened it in 1928, and we’ve only grown since then. Rumor has it that Ernest Hemingway stayed in this very suite when he frequented the Keys in the thirties. I don’t really believe that, but people do say it.
My brother, Abel, and I are spending the week training two new managers for this location. Usually, this wouldn't be a part of our job description, but both of the southeast training managers are on maternity leave, so I jumped at the chance to spend a week in the Florida sun and sand instead of the concrete jungle of Manhattan. We arrived late last night and came straight to the hotel. I took my room key and crashed hard, but my internal clock had me up and ready to go at five. I went down to the gym, not surprised to find it empty so early in the morning.
A quick shower and a light breakfast later, I am behind the concierge desk training Brindy, a twenty-something who worked her way up from housekeeping in a very short amount of time. She listens intently as I explain SuperNova, our state-of-the-art internal network, to her. From SuperNova, we can make or cancel reservations in any of AHG’s one hundred and thirty-five locations across the globe. I designed it myself, and I am immensely proud of it.
“So, we can enter reservations into the system for Hotel Morocco should we need to?”
“You can, but I doubt you will ever need to do that unless you are setting up a guest’s next stay at their next destination.”
“Okay, so Island Oasis is the tab where I’ll spend most, if not all, of my time?”
“Correct,” I answer. She’s getting the hang of this faster than I thought she would.
“Awesome,” she says, writing down some notes in the notebook she came prepared with.
Moving on, we cover the rest of day one’s lessons. At noon, I look up from the computer when the brass bell that sits on the counter dings and suck in my breath.
Georgia Stockridge is standing in front of me. The Vixen of New York, socialite Georiga Stockridge. Beautiful, unattainable Georgia Stockbridge. I’ve never been this close to her before. The fact that we’ve never met before surprises me since we are in the same social circle and frequent the same events and parties. The only reason I can think of is that I am nearly twelve years older than her—thirty-four to her twenty-two. However, the number one rule of working in hotels is never fuck the guests. I am about to throw that rule out the window.
“Hello. Are you checking in?” I ask. The receptionist stepped away to answer a personal phone call, so it’s just me. The woman standing in front of me slides a piece of paper over to me. Opening it, it’s a printed reservation confirmation from the website.
“Yes. Have we met before?” she asks, lowering her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose.
“We haven’t, but I do believe our mothers belong to the same Women’s Guild. Cain Adams,” I tell her, extending my hand out to her. “Welcome to the Island Oasis.”
“I’m Georgia,” she whispers.
“I know who you are. I have your reservation, Ms. Monroe,” I say, winking at her. “How many keys do you need?” She blushes. Surely to God, this woman has been flirted with before. I busy myself with programing her room key.
“Just one for this room. My assistant is checking in the others.”
“Others?”
“I believe we reserved three rooms, but I am not sure.”
“Not a problem. We’ll get you squared away.”
“They aren’t coming until tomorrow. I needed an entire day to myself. I am so overwhelmed, and I don’t know why I am telling you this. You don’t care about me or my reasons for needing a vacation.”
“You’d be surprised what I care about, Georgia,” I practically growl.
“I really don’t understand why they are so interested in me. I don’t do anything.”
“I am sure they have their reasons.” She looks fed up with life, and I’d do anything
“Don’t you own this hotel?” she asks suddenly.
“My family does.”
“And you work here?”
“No. I work in New York normally. Just doing some training.”
“I see. How long are you here for?” she asks, running her fingers from her right hand over the ones on her left one.