Yes. Work. I detach myself from the steadying influence of his hands on my waist and clear my throat. “Speaking of social media, I’d better get some pictures.” Roman brought the camera, and we put it on the edge of the mat. I can feel his eyes on me as I go to get it, but by the time I’ve turned back to the class, he’s in mountain pose, eyes straight ahead.
I snap a few shots of the sunrise, then grab a few back up and down the beach to get some anonymous shots of the class. By the time I’ve finished, Azalea is giving us the old namaste and setting us free.
The rest of the couples scatter, and after a minute, Roman’s the only one left. He’s gathered up both of our mats and bags, and I get the sense he’s watching me very carefully.
“So,” he says, as we make our way back toward the office. “What did you think?”
“It was good.” I keep it neutral.
We continue walking, accompanied only by our weighted silence, to the hotel and through the lobby.
“I hope you’re not embarrassed about the tumbleweed,” he says, as we pass by my office.
“I hope you’re not embarrassed about the pool,” I shoot back, then wink and blow him a kiss before closing the door in his face.
8
Roman
Jenny shuts herself in her office for the rest of the morning, and I’m left to wonder how Genevieve Starlight grew into a woman with that killer instinct.
I swear I had her during that yoga class. Her cheeks were on fire and she bit at her lip in such a pretty fashion that I knew I was getting under her skin. Turnabout is fair play. She got under mine, I got under hers, and then....
I hope you’re not embarrassed about the pool.
That could only mean one thing. She must have been paying careful attention to the fit of my suit when I climbed out of the pool.
I’m sure as hell not embarrassed about that. I’m hardly the only man who would react to that bathing suit—and that dive—the way I did.
A knock at the door of my office saves me from a repeat performance of my reaction to the red bikini.
“Word on the street is that the new social media manager dresses exclusively in beachwear,” Beau proclaims from the door, grinning. He’s brought Charlie with him. They’re identical twins, but they couldn’t be more opposite in personality. What they do share is the same dark hair as our mother, only they have our father’s green eyes. Both are identically dashing. I’m not sure why they’ve come here together.
I wave them both into the office and stand up from my chair to stretch. “Did you come here just to gawk? I’m sorry to disappoint you, but our new hire is busy working at this time. And her attire is of no concern to you.”
Beau raises his eyebrows. “I shall never inquire again, your highness.”
I give him a look. “If that’s all you came to see me for—”
“That might be all he came here for.” Charlie sounds exasperated, as usual. “But I came to discuss financials.”
“God, Charles. Could you be any more boring?” Beau mouths the word right? and rolls his eyes dramatically.
Charlie doesn’t react to his twin’s reaction, but instead opens the folder he’s carrying and flips through the pages stacked neatly inside. “Aren’t you late for your standing appointment?”
“What standing appointment?” Beau picks up the stapler from my desk and playfully chomps it at Charlie until he takes a half step backwards.
“The one at the bar,” Charlie says, and his delivery is so deadpan that it’s actually funny.
For an instant, a dark expression flashes across Beau’s face that makes me think the flippant joke stings, but it disappears so fast that I’m tricked into thinking it was a product of my imagination. “I don’t have an event planned, no,” Beau shoots back in an icy tone but accompanied with his classic grin. “And, if you must know, I did come here looking for Jenny.” He leans back against the wall next to the door. “She’s not in her office.”
I shrug as if I couldn’t care less, but a quick stab of disappointment flares in my gut. “She’s probably getting more photos of the resort.”
“You don’t know?” Beau says with a little gasp. “What kind of manager doesn’t keep tabs on the whereabouts of—?”
“What did you want with her?” I try to keep my tone light, but the truth is that I do want to know where she went. The desire isn’t entirely work-appropriate.
“Whoa, boy.” Beau raises both hands in the air. “It’s not for any nefarious purposes, I can assure you of that.”
I settle back down into my chair, trying to appear completely casual. He’s right. I’ve never once pretended to be so possessive over one of my employees. “Something to do with an event?’
His expression settles, his forehead wrinkling. “Actually, yeah. I know she’s only been here a couple of days, but I think we should coordinate.”
“Coordinate?’
“For my events. It makes sense to have someone with photography experience in attendance. We could hire someone from the outside, but that would mean—”
“That would mean it’s a hard no,” Charlie pipes in.
Both of us stop to look at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps peering down at the pages he’s sorting through in his folder. “What do you mean, Charlie?”
He glances up at me. “Only that I came here to recommend that we start tightening our belts.”
That phrase causes a tightening in my chest. “When it comes to photography, or...?”
“When it comes to the resort.” Charlie meets my eyes for the first time. “Our father was many things, but one of his talents was running this property on a razor-thin margin. In my opinion, it’s entirely too thin. We don’t have enough wiggle room to continue spending on frivolous expenses.”
“It’s not a frivolous expense to promote my events,” Beau says, sounding not the least bit bewildered by Charlie’s comment. “They’re the social centerpiece of—”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Charlie has no qualms about interrupting his twin brother. “If we don’t rein in spending, there won’t be a resort to have a social centerpiece.”
“Why didn’t you say anything about this sooner?” This is the part that’s pissing me off. “I wouldn’t have hired extra hands this season.”
Charlie shakes his head. “I didn’t realize the full extent of it until this morning. Since Dad died, records have been a seat-of-the-pants kind of affair, which doesn’t exactly lend itself to cogent analysis. Now that I have a capable pair of accountants trained to work with me on this, it’s all becoming clear.”
This is not the meeting I thought I’d be having when I left Jenny to work her social media magic. Now the stakes seem even higher. “Is that a report for me?”
“Yeah.” Charlie tosses the folder onto my desk. “Have a look for yourself.”
I open the folder and look through it, but the columns of numbers are inscrutable. I don’t have a talent for interpreting them the way Charlie does. He knows by now how to make the reports readable for me, but still, the numbers swim in front of my eyes. I’m going to have to go over this again when my brain hasn’t been scrambled by a discussion about Jenny London. I flip the folder shut and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s the bottom line?”