Flirting with Paradise

by Chris Keniston

  "Any new word?"

  Hope shook her head. According to the grapevine the official change of hands had gone down a few days ago. Now they were all just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  "Knock, knock." Keith Collier, manager of the Paradise Shores Hotel, stood in the doorway of the matchbox-size office. "Got a minute?"

  "Sure."

  Nina pushed to her feet. "I'd better see if anyone needs help."

  Keith waited for Nina to leave as Hope held her breath. "A call came in early this morning from the new corporate office."

  Hope nodded.

  "Things are to continue as usual until further notice."

  "Thank God." For the first time since hearing about the impending sale of the hotel, Hope breathed easy. "No more hiring freeze?"

  Keith shook his head. "Not exactly."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Seems EastCo just did a round of hiring. We can have as many new employees as we want as soon as they're done with initial training. In the meantime, I'm getting an assistant right away."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah." Keith nodded.

  Hope knew he'd put in a good word for Sandy and had hoped, once the transition of ownership was complete, the new owner would let Sandy step into the position of assistant manager officially. Everyone knew she'd pretty much been doing the job since the previous one had hightailed it immediately after the sale announcement.

  "Does she know yet?"

  Keith nodded.

  A long silence hung in the air, and Hope braced herself, knowing what was coming next.

  "Listen, I know you're working really hard, and Jason keeps you pretty busy, but the invitation to grab a bite one night still holds and—"

  "Thanks, Keith. I appreciate it." She didn't know what else to say. Keith was a nice guy, but she just wasn't interested. Every time he asked her out, she had the same answer. He deserved a nice girl who liked him as much as he liked her, and she wasn't it.

  It took him a few seconds of nodding to straighten to his full height and turn away.

  Some days she wondered if she shouldn't just say yes and see what happened. There were worse things in life than dating and marrying a nice guy. Plus she did worry about Jason growing older without a strong male influence. But her son was only eight. She didn't have to have all the answers today. For now, even one new housekeeper and a supply attendant would make her day.

  ***

  Not for the first time since picking up the cheap rental car had Brad thought this might very well be the worst idea he—or John—had ever had. After only a few minutes in morning traffic, he already desperately missed the sleek convertible he’d had shipped to the islands after his last business trip. Blast John Maplewood. A single challenge and, the next thing Brad knew, he'd instructed his staff to arrange for him to work at the Paradise Shores Resort as a new management trainee. He wouldn't be getting his hands dirty the way Ava wanted, but at least none of the hotel employees would be aware to suck up to the CEO of EastCo.

  Nestled in a surprisingly long strip of beachfront real estate and well hidden behind a dense wall of palm trees and flora, his latest acquisition was in the perfect spot to install a luxury resort. Searching for an available employee parking space, Brad headed to the rear of the lot and parked against the wall. As CEO, he'd have an assigned space in front. As management trainee, he was going to get some exercise. Walking, he surveyed the property. The place was in better shape than he would have expected from the initial acquisition reports he'd received. Yeah, a few spots needed some attention—some cracks in the drive, some fresh paint here or there, but, overall, the grounds were well-maintained and the stuccoed Spanish architecture fit in surprisingly well with the Big Island beach scene.

  Inside the lobby was spacious, bright, and even the outdated palm-tree-upholstered furnishings somehow seemed to suit the idea of a beach retreat. He was impressed. The same furnishings in a much different surrounding could have been a total turnoff. The moment the woman at the front desk met his gaze, she smiled and held his attention. Good. Whoever she was, he'd make sure she was staying.

  "May I help you?" asked the blonde with the name tag that read Sandy.

  "I'm here to see Keith Collier. I'm the new trainee."

  For a brief flash her smile faltered before she regained her perfect posture. "Of course. One moment and I'll get him."

  The bustle of early morning checkout had begun. Luggage accumulated at the front door. Outside, in the circle drive, taxis and shuttles collected their cargo. Business was doing well. Better than what he'd expected.

  "Bradford Kane?" The hotel manager extended his hand.

  It was too risky to use his last name, but keeping his first name and using his mother’s maiden name would make completing this farce somewhat easier. "Yes. Please call me Brad." A firm but brief shake. He was beginning to like what he saw.

  "Keith Collier. Today's going to be a bit of a training challenge. We are sold out for the night. My regularly scheduled registration clerk called in sick, and we're short-staffed in housekeeping as well. I'm afraid this is one of those days when everyone chips in. I'll try not to throw you to the wolves, but we don't have a lot of time for showing you the ropes." Before Brad could respond, his new supervisor took off at a brisk pace. "We'll do a quick walking tour. I'll introduce you to everyone."

  "Sounds like a plan." From the lobby Brad followed the younger-than-expected manager around like a heeler hound, taking in every word. Keith seemed to know his staff by name and appeared to be well-respected—or at least liked. But then again, Brad knew from experience, appearances could be deceiving. So far he'd met the head of security and had a quick glance at the surveillance systems. The head of maintenance spoke in broken English, and Brad was surprised when Keith replied in passable Spanish. The groundskeepers took a second to nod and mumble "Okay" to Keith's instructions and quickly returned to work.

  "We have a good crew here. Most people have been with us for years. It was a bit of a shock to learn the hotel was being sold."

  Judging by the tic in Keith's jaw, a shock may have been putting it mildly. Back inside the labyrinth of oceanside rooms, they wound their way into a rear closet that turned out to be housekeeping's main office.

  "This is Hope Gibbons, our head housekeeper."

  From the doorway he could see a mop of dirty-blonde hair piled atop a head bowed over a desk covered in paperwork and cradling a telephone between her shoulder and one ear.

  "I see. Yes. Okay." The phone landed in the cradle, and the blonde mop lifted to expose a porcelain-like face with two bright-green button eyes peering up at him with exhaustion. Those striking eyes homed in on her boss. "That was Sandy. The Red Hat group called to say their flight plans changed. They’ll be arriving before check-in time and asked if we can possibly have their rooms ready by one."

  "How many rooms?" Keith asked.

  "Thirty."

  “The airlines accommodated that many people early?”

  “Charter flight.” Pinching the bridge of her nose for one second, Green Eyes blinked, then focused once again on her boss. "They requested to be in a single building on the same floor. I've got an update on the few rooms vacated and waiting to be cleaned. Two of the rooms on that floor are frequent-vacationer members and have extended their check-out time. Lani called in sick. Again. I'll do my best."

  Keith nodded. "Thanks. This is Brad Kane, the new management trainee."

  "Nice to meet you." Hope nodded but turned to grab a clipboard.

  An unexpected pang of regret over missing a chance to shake her hand caught him off guard. Nice, and pretty enough, Hope was not his usual fare. He leaned more toward long legs in high heels than the girl next door in flats. If anyone had wholesome written all over her, it was this lady. And those eyes… "Anything I can do to help?" he asked, forgetting it wasn't within his immediate power to do much.

  "Any good at making beds?" She chuckled, gripping the paperwork and pen close to her c
hest.

  "As a matter of fact—no." Even in college both his and his room mates’ parents had paid for weekly maid service. The rest of the time no one bothered to make beds. "But I'm a fast learner."

  Hope raised a brow at Keith, and Brad glanced over his shoulder in time to see the manager shrug in response. Hope smiled, pushed to her feet, and, turning to face him, stuck her arm straight out to shake. "Bedmaking 101 coming right up."

  Chapter Three

  Clipboard in hand, Hope marched out the door, gladly accepting any help she could get. Taking the corner at a quick clip, she came to a halt in a storage room. "Here's the plan," she instructed the new guy. "Sheets are on those shelves there. Towels to the left. Extra pillows, top shelf. This"—she pointed to the mobile stock cart—"needs to be filled with extra sheets, towels, and toiletries. I'll fill up the housekeeping cart. You stock this one." She waited for Brad to cast a quick look around the room before nodding.

  "Shall I assume heavier on the towels?" He already had a stack of sheets in hand and was shifting them to the cart.

  "Exactly. Maids run through towels faster than sheets when cleaning up. A room could have one guest, but he or she may be a towel hog."

  Mid-transfer Brad paused and lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Towel hog?"

  "You know, one towel for the waist, one for around the shoulders, maybe another for the hair, and still another on the floor or to shave or Lord-knows-what." She grabbed a basketful of travel-size shampoos and conditioners. "Don't forget toilet paper."

  Brad nodded and kept stacking.

  She hadn't expected him to step up so easily. Standing tall at over six foot, with a deep tan that screamed fun in the sun and chiseled features that most cover models would kill for, Hope's initial impression of the new trainee had been all good looks and no substance. So far he was proving her only half right.

  Both carts fully stocked, he straightened to an impressive height. "Now what?"

  "Follow me. We'll start on the floor with the Red Hat ladies."

  "That's a lot of trouble to go through when check-in time is clearly stated as three o'clock."

  There was the attitude she'd expected to find under the chiseled features and bedroom eyes. "The Greater Hawaiian Islands Red Hat Society has been staying at this hotel twice a year for as long as I've worked here. I see no reason to let them down at this late stage."

  "Then"—Brad nodded and a slow, easy smile slid across his face, making her stomach do a handspring—"we'd better get moving."

  For a guy who didn't know much about making beds, he followed directions well. At first, she'd only let him strip the beds and stuff the sheets in the dirty linen bag while she scrubbed the bathrooms. Afterward, they'd swapped places, and she'd tended to the beds while he stocked the toiletries. When the bag of used sheets was full, Brad was tasked with carrying it to the laundry closet and shoving them down the chute. By the time they'd knocked through half a dozen rooms, Brad was in charge of stripping and making the beds, while Hope took care of the bathrooms.

  The sound of the old-fashioned ring tone—that reminded Hope of her grandmother's rotary phone—had her pulling her cell from her apron pocket. "Hello?… Uh-huh. Okay." Her phone slid back in place, and she faced her new helper. "Mary is on the third floor and needs restocking. Take the supply cart to the service elevator I showed you. Restock her cart. Head back to the supply room, refill your cart, then catch up with me down the hall."

  "Yes, ma'am." Brad clicked his heels, saluted her, and performed a near-perfect military pivot. The urge to laugh at the unexpected response was tamped down by a surprising urge to cry. It made no sense. Those hands had never seen a hard day’s work. Despite the strong shoulders under the suit jacket, she couldn't picture Brad hacking military life. He was nothing like Dave, and yet that familiar ache she had thought was long-gone rose up in her chest and threatened to rob her of whatever breath was trapped in her lungs. There was a job to do and little time to do it in. She'd closed that door of her life a long time ago and couldn't let one man's gesture send her back in time.

  ***

  With an unexpected spring in his step, Brad nearly danced the cart down the hall. If anyone had told him a week ago that he'd have fun making beds, he would have committed them to a mental institution. But he was having a lot of fun. Not necessarily because of the beds but the company. At first Hope had felt the need to chatter while they worked. She'd asked Brad the basic getting-to-know-you questions, and he'd kept his answers short and simple to avoid giving away too much.

  When he had mentioned being a diehard college football fan, he'd been surprised to spend the next couple of rooms discussing the Aggie’s last season and the current too-big-for-his-britches quarterback. Brad and Hope had fallen into an easy working rhythm, and, for the first time, he understood what people meant when they said "companionable silence." Even if Hope wasn't exactly silent.

  Sometimes she whistled, sometimes she hummed, and a few times she'd actually sung a line or two of lyrics. The one time he recognized the tune he'd been tempted to sing along.

  His phone buzzed, and, unlike the earlier times when he'd ignored it, now that he was alone he answered, "Peyton."

  "How's it going?"

  There was no mistaking John Maplewood's voice. "Better than expected."

  "Really? What have you learned?"

  "To make beds." Not until the words were out of his mouth and John's rumbling laughter came through the phone did Brad realize what he'd just shared with one of his oldest friends.

  "You're kidding me?" No doubt his childhood friend was thinking back on all the times Brad had razzed him about grunt work in the military.

  "Your wife said to get my hands dirty."

  "Interesting policy. Assigning management trainees to bedmaking."

  "Not exactly. I volunteered."

  This time John laughed even louder. "What have you been smoking?"

  The service elevator dinged. "Is there a reason you called?"

  "Yeah, Ava wants to know if you're joining us for supper at her mom’s?"

  "Don't know yet. Can I give you a call later?"

  "Sure. Let me know when you graduate to scrubbing toilets."

  "Funny, Maplewood."

  "Just looking to the bright side. Looking to the bright side."

  "Later." Brad disconnected the call and had to laugh to himself. He couldn't get too angry with John. This was, after all, a strange way for Brad to be spending his day. And what was even stranger was how anxious he was to get back to bedmaking with Hope.

  By the time he'd completed the designated deliveries, restocked, and returned to Hope's floor, she'd knocked out three more rooms and was in the fourth, leaning across the tub, rinsing the shower walls. "How's it going?"

  Hope responded with a high-pitched squeal and, still holding a nearly full glass of water, spun around and doused him with what was left in the glass. "Oh, my. I'm so sorry." She tossed aside the plastic container and grabbed a nearby towel. "You scared me."

  Even though the only thing touching his wet clothing was a bulky terry-cloth towel, knowing Hope's hands directed the cleanup was wreaking havoc with his senses. Needing her to stop before he did or said something he shouldn’t, he snatched her wrist. Not his smartest move. Now he had the feel of skin on skin.

  Without thinking, his thumb slid against the underside of her wrist, and he sucked in a deep breath. Almonds. And vanilla. No matter how old he grew, he was convinced he would never forget that Hope Gibbons smelled of almonds and vanilla, and how her skin was softer than satin. Still holding her arm firmly in place, he didn't move. "I can handle this myself."

  Shifting from staring at the hand still manacled around her wrist, she lifted those thick dark lashes and leveled her gaze with his.

  Senses already on overload spiked. He was sure she could hear his heart slamming against his chest.

  "I… I'm sorry." Her gaze seemed locked with his.

  "You said that already." He need
ed fresh, icy air. "It's okay."

  "Do you have a change of clothes?" She hadn't moved.

  He wished he could read minds. Those bright green eyes staring at him were filled with emotions he couldn't even begin to unravel. He shook his head instead. "’Fraid not."

  "Blower."

  "Excuse me?" He knew he needed to let go of her hand, back up, cool down, but all his motor functions seemed to stop.

  "We could use a blow dryer to dry your shirt."

  "Oh. No." He forced his fingers to release her and take hold of the towel, careful not to touch her hand again. Taking a short step in retreat, he flashed a classic—and he hoped—nonchalant smile. "It will dry."

  Shaking her head, she broke the connection, turned toward the sink, and reached for the hair dryer. "It would only take a second."

  "I'm fine. It's drying already. Let's get back to work."

  Slowly, reluctantly, she bobbed her head, blew out a resigned breath, and, stepping around him, returned to the outer room. Brad sucked in what little air was left in the small bathroom. Suddenly working side by side with Hope didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. Note to self: do not stand close to Hope in confined spaces. Especially since he was absolutely sure of one thing about this boss-incognito gig—shagging the head of housekeeping was most definitely not in his job description.

  Chapter Four

  Wow. The one word flashed in Hope’s head like a neon sign. If her heart pounded any faster, it would break free of her chest and race out the building. All because of a man’s simple hold of her wrist and the most intoxicating gray eyes she'd ever had the pleasure of falling into.

  How long had it been since she'd felt anything even close to that kind of reaction from a man? Without turning, she felt Brad follow her from the bathroom. Felt him. Like the warm waves from a patio heater, she knew he'd walked past her to the other bed before glancing up to see him dumping the pillows from their cases. Maybe all these years without a man in her life was too long. Didn't what few friends she had tell her every chance they got that she was too young to be alone?