by Lauren Smith
“What happened?” Kayley whispered.
“It’s a long, awful story, but my dad made a mistake, one that cost him a lot.” Blair didn’t want to talk about that. Her father hadn’t died like Denver’s, but he had suffered greatly for the mistake he had made by accusing Denver’s father of those crimes.
“So . . . Why are you looking at him?” Kayley asked. “I sense this isn’t some rosy walk down memory lane.”
Blair closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Randall offered me an account executive position and fifty percent of the company if I can get Ramsey to sign a binding five-year ad contract with us.”
“Oh my God,” Kayley gasped. “Are you going to do it?”
“It’s impossible. There’s no way he’d even agree to meet with me.” Blair opened her eyes and stared at the screen again, at the almost savage beauty of Denver Ramsey and the sea beyond him. He stood on the path to her dream, to owning half the agency her father had built. If she could get fifty percent under her control, she’d only have to wait for her uncle to retire and then she would achieve her dream of running her own agency.
“Blair, you have what it takes. You’re an amazing art director. You have an incredible vision for campaigns. Prepare one and then wow him. He would have to be insane not to want to work with you after you show him how capable you are at your job, family issues aside. It’s worth a shot. If you don’t try, you’ll never know what might’ve happened, right?”
As always, her friend was right.
“Okay, but I’ll need your help. I want to get down there in a week with a decent pitch.”
“Wait, are you going to go to the Bahamas?” Kayley sighed. “I hate you.” Then she hugged Blair. “Seriously, we’ll lock this in, and you’ll get the promotion and your share of the company.”
“I do not deserve a friend like you.” Blair hugged her back.
“Just remember that when you’re on some beach basking in the glory of the signed contract.”
“I will,” Blair promised with a chuckle.
She opened her email account and sent a message to her uncle: I’ll do it.
Denver Ramsey arched his body, dove through the cresting wave, and plunged into a world of brilliant blue water. The midday sun hit the frothing surface and scattered its beams into ripples of light that illuminated the coral reef just past the break line of the waves. He moved his arms in gentle strokes, pushing his way farther from shore as he studied the aquatic world beneath him.
A peacock flounder coasted along the ocean floor, blending in almost seamlessly with the surrounding sand. A small octopus sprang off a nearby rock and drifted past him. He reached out and brushed his fingers over the trailing tentacles, and the octopus curled around his wrist, playfully exploring him with its small suckers before letting go and coasting back to the seafloor. A pair of bright yellow-and-green queen angelfish floated gracefully past him, completely undisturbed by human intrusion into their world.
The ocean gave him such a sense of peace, one that he desperately needed. Even after all these years, Denver fought to keep the pain of the past and his responding anger under control. The sea had become his haven. Even though it was seemingly ever-changing, there was still a beautiful permanence to it that grounded him.
He swam for another half hour over the reefs before riding the waves back to shore. The strip of beach where he surfaced was part of the Seven Seas Beach Club’s private property. Small grass huts dotted the beach a ways back from the waves, where they stayed clear of the tides. The guests of his resort lounged on beach chairs and on waterproof canopy beds shielded from the sun by adjustable sunshades. The resort restricted occupancy levels so the beaches weren’t crowded.
Denver collected his cell phone and towel from one of the chairs and dried off his body before he checked his phone. His operations manager, Simon Wells, had left him a few text messages with polite but urgent requests to call him back.
He dialed Simon’s number and tossed his towel on the beach chair while he combed his fingers through his wet hair to get it out of his eyes.
“Simon,” he said the second his operations manager answered.
“We just heard from the Fawkes Group. The owners, Jack and Anne Hudson, are coming next week to see you about your Bali resort proposal.”
A thrill of triumph surged through Denver. He’d had his eye on this deal for more than a year, but he needed a good investment group interested in exclusive resorts to back him. He wanted to re-create the magic of the Seven Seas Beach Club with his new idea. Atlantis Rising would be built on the coast of Bali by next year if he stayed on track.
“That’s great news. You’ll make all the arrangements?”
“Yes, but we have a slight hitch.” Simon cleared his throat.
“Hitch?”
“Yes. Jack Hudson wants you to call him. I’ve texted you his private cell number. He said he had a few questions he wanted to ask you.”
“Questions?” Denver repeated in a flat tone. “What kind of questions?”
“I have no idea,” Simon rushed to answer.
“I’ll handle it. Thanks, Simon.” Denver hung up, and a moment later Hudson’s cell number came through in a text. Denver dialed the number and waited. After two rings, Hudson answered.
“This is Jack.”
“Jack, this is Denver Ramsey. Simon Wells, my operations manager, said you had a few questions for me?” He eased down onto the beach chair and watched the light play on the surface of the ocean while he waited for Hudson to speak.
“Denver, glad we got connected. I guess Wells told you we plan to come out and visit next week?”
“He did.”
“Well, you know that my company is built on family relationships. My wife is my business partner. I’ve asked around about you, and everyone has the best things to say . . . but, well, the rumor is you can be ruthless in business. I used to be ruthless before I found Anne, but being in love, marrying her, it made me a better man and an even better businessman. I suppose what I’m asking is rather personal, but there’s no nice way to say it. Are you planning on settling down? My wife and I would feel more comfortable knowing we are evenly paired in this deal for the Bali resort with a man who understands teamwork and relationships.”
Denver’s grip tightened on his phone as he sensed the danger of losing out on the investment. It was ridiculous. Being a damn bachelor should’ve been an advantage, not a liability.
“I keep my personal life rather private,” he hedged as he ran through a dozen scenarios of what to say. His gaze settled on a pair of women who passed by him, both shooting coy smiles his way. An idea leapt into his mind.
“I do have a serious girlfriend, Jack. But I have kept it quiet. In fact, I was planning to propose to her this week.”
“Oh? We hadn’t heard—” Hudson began.
“Like I said, I keep my life private. After what happened to my father, you can’t blame me.”
“That’s true. I’m sorry I asked. It’s important to us, that’s all. I really need to know you’re a team player, in for the long haul. A good relationship can show that.”
“Yeah.” Denver couldn’t believe it. He had to find a woman he could talk into posing as his girlfriend, pull off a quick proposal, and then keep up the pretense until contracts were signed. After that, he and his “fiancée” could have a change of heart.
“Well, it’s settled, then. We’ll be on Paradise Island next week. I’ll have my assistant send you our travel information once we have it.”
“Wonderful,” Denver replied, putting all the false cheer that he could muster into the word. Thankfully, Hudson didn’t seem to notice. The moment the call ended, Denver threw his phone onto his towel and stifled a groan.
He needed to find a fake fiancée, and fast.
2
Five days later
Blair stepped off the small shuttle bus once it parked in front of the main lodge at the Seven Seas Beach Club, and her eyes widened. Th
e resort was even more spectacular than the pictures on the website. She’d studied Seven Seas extensively as part of her research for her campaign before she’d left Chicago. The entire complex had a loose but logical layout, with the main lodge in the center, which housed a massive dining hall, reception room, lobby, and corporate offices as a central hub. The apartments and suites were arranged in separate buildings expanding outward like the arms of a starfish. It left her with the relaxed feeling of being able to walk everywhere but not being too far away from anything.
“Welcome to the Seven Seas!” The young man left the valet station and met her by the shuttle.
“Thank you.” She stepped aside to allow the other guests to exit the vehicle.
“What’s the name on your reservation?” The man pulled out a slender tablet and opened up the active reservation list.
“Blair Ashworth.”
“Oh, yes, the Siren bungalow in the Nautilus complex. Let’s get you all signed in, and then we’ll have someone sit with you and explain the resort’s layout and amenities before taking you to your lodgings.”
She followed the man into the lobby. It was a grand circular room with white marble floors. Blue tile mosaics enhanced with brilliant gold and silver accented the lobby walls, and the domed ceiling was painted with detailed marine life. Sunlight poured through the atrium, making everything glow softly. After she checked in, she was given a silver wristband containing a waterproof chip.
“You just hold up your wristband to the black pad on your door, and it will open up. It will activate the safe in your closet as well.”
Blair studied the fancy wristband. It had to be expensive, but it was genius. Keycards got lost too easily.
“You can also upload funds into your account and use your wristband to pay for anything at the resort. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll get you a map and an escort to the Nautilus complex.” The man handed her a glossy foldable map and had a golf cart brought around. She and her luggage were loaded up, and the young woman in khaki shorts and a pale-blue polo shirt grinned at her from the driver’s seat.
“Nautilus?” the woman asked.
“Yep.” Blair sat in the passenger seat of the golf cart, and then it shot forward. They cruised down a gravel path beneath the palm trees.
“I’m Erica. Is this your first time here?” the driver asked.
“Yes, both at the resort and in the Bahamas. It’s so beautiful here.”
Erica chuckled. “Island living either draws a person in completely or it doesn’t attract them whatsoever. You love it or you hate it. I came here for spring break at age twenty and fell in love. I went back to college and switched my major to hospitality and hotel management. Then I graduated, got a job here, and haven’t left since except to go home to see my family on holidays.”
“Really? What about island life attracts you?” Blair asked. Erica was the perfect person to talk to for inspiration for Blair’s pitch to Denver Ramsey.
“I guess it’s that I feel closer to nature. There is a peace here that is hard to explain. Even though there are wild storms sometimes, you still feel restful here. The pace of life is slower, your stress lower. And the beauty—all the blues, golds, yellows, and whites,” Erica added thoughtfully. “Cheery but peaceful colors.”
“I noticed the hotel has a color scheme that’s limited, carefully thought out, well designed and consistent.”
Erica nodded as she took a turn in the cart, driving down another pathway. “The hotel owner had an active hand in the design. He didn’t leave a single detail out when he created this place. Every apartment has its own theme, and the overall resort was built with an intense dedication to the ocean, so the fantasy of the sea is unparalleled.”
“Could you give me an example of that?”
Erica checked her watch as she stopped in front of a series of close-set bungalows. A large sign with a nautilus shell indicated they had reached the right place.
“Be sure to schedule a dinner reservation near the aquarium at seven tonight and you’ll see. It’s worth it.”
Blair made a mental note.
“You’re in Siren, so that’s the first one here. You remember the way we came?” Erica lifted her suitcase from the golf cart.
“Yeah,” Blair assured her.
“Excellent. Well, if you need anything, call the front desk or dial zero.” With a wave, Erica headed back up the path in the golf cart, and Blair turned toward the bungalow. It was a three-room suite with a master bath and a cozy porch that faced the sea. The view was worth every penny. The privately owned beach restricted access to it, which meant only a handful of grass huts and chairs dotted the white sandy shore a quarter of a mile from her bungalow.
Blair lifted her suitcase up the three steps to the porch and activated her door lock with her wristband. Then she rolled her suitcase deeper inside and left it by the bedroom so she could admire the suite.
Sea-blue walls with white trim and classy mermaid-accented decoration pieces made Blair feel like she was fully immersed in a seascape. The white wooden bookshelves and dining room table were covered with various shells, from large conch shells to flat silver dollars. She picked up one of the larger shells, her fingertips coasting along the soft-pink inner surface of the shell’s opening. Then she placed the shell back down and explored the rest of the rooms before she came back for her suitcase. Before she started on work, she wanted to take an hour to soak up some rays on the beach.
She changed into a modest two-piece swimsuit. The bright red color looked good with her long brown hair, which she tied back to keep it from getting hopelessly windblown. Then she grabbed her sunglasses, hat, sandals, and a towel.
The walk to the beach was pleasant, and by the time she got to the white sand and slipped off her sandals, that sense of peace Erica had talked about had settled over Blair. She wriggled her toes in the pale, warm grains and let out a relaxed sigh. A light breeze cooled her skin and rippled through the fronds of the nearby palm trees. As much as she was enjoying herself, she was also making mental notes about the atmosphere of the resort property, as well as the influence of nature. Later this week, she would take some photos to add to her pitch, assuming Denver didn’t feed her to the sharks before then. The thought of Denver and his inevitable anger encroached on the peace of the beach.
The sun had sunk lower in the sky by the time she collected her towel and slipped her sandals back on. She made her way across the beach and paused to take one last look at the view of sunlight on the water before she turned back toward the resort. She drew in a calm, deep breath that seemed to fill her lungs with tranquility itself. Erica was right; now that she was here, she never wanted to leave.
As she spun around, she collided with a wall of hard muscle and stumbled back. She barely stopped herself from falling as strong hands curled around her upper arms and lifted her up to stare into Denver Ramsey’s gorgeous hazel eyes.
“My apologies.” His voice rumbled low and deliciously deep. It sent her straight into dark, delicious fantasies of him in bed and all the things he could say with that voice that would melt her into a puddle.
He didn’t know her, so he didn’t recognize her—and for that she was grateful. They had never met before, though she had always been aware of him since the day she’d seen photos of him at his father’s funeral. But unless he had stalked her online, he wouldn’t, couldn’t know her face. He would soon, and when he did, the charming smile now on his lips would twist into a hateful sneer. She couldn’t judge him for it; he had every right to hate her. Still, she had to try to win his account, for herself and her father.
“No, it was my fault. I’m so sorry,” she replied.
“The view this time of day is beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked as he released her.
“It’s stunning.” She glanced back at the water before looking at him again.
She had a moment to observe him without his notice. He wore dark-blue swim trunks and held a mask and a snorkel in his hand. His ch
est was bare, and his skin was golden from the sun. The masculine perfection of his physique, which had been only hinted at in the Vanity Fair pictures, was on full display now.
He wasn’t simply handsome. He was a sea god who drowned helpless women in the waves of their desperate desire for him. Blair had never imagined any man could live up to fantasies, but Denver put those fantasies to shame. And in a matter of hours, he was likely going to kill her.
“Will you be staying here at the resort long?” Denver asked her.
“What? Oh, yes, about a week. I hope.” She deliberately neglected to introduce herself. “And you?” She already knew the answer, of course, but it was better to pretend she didn’t.
“Yes,” he lied smoothly, perhaps even better than she did. For a second, she was angry with him, but logically she understood. If he went around telling everyone he was the owner of the resort, then he would be swarmed by people wanting both him and his money.
“Can I escort you somewhere?” he offered.
It was tempting—too tempting—to let herself imagine him doing just that, escorting her back to her little bungalow and what could happen if she let him get her anywhere near a bed.
A blush warmed her face, and desire flushed her body with wave after wave of heat.
“I, uh . . . no, I’ll be fine. You look like you’re headed for a swim. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.” Her skin pebbled slightly at the feel of his possessive gaze drinking her in. Her nipples hardened into points, and she knew he could see that.
Clearing his throat, he glanced down at his snorkel mask. “Oh . . . right, swimming.” Then he flashed her a dazzling smile that just about erased all rational thoughts for a good couple of seconds. “Perhaps I’ll see you later?” He raised a brow in a teasing challenge.