by Terri Osburn
She stopped abruptly, bracing her hands on the front of his desk. “This can’t be done.”
Sam held his temper. Regardless of their past, she was still his employee, and he’d hired her to do a job. A job she now claimed was impossible.
Granted, the timeline was being altered, but nothing was impossible.
“Are you finished?” he asked. “Perhaps you could sit back down and continue this conversation rationally.” Sam used a tone that communicated this was an order, not a suggestion.
“Fine.” Callie regained her seat. “I apologize, but surely you understand that what you’re asking is too much. We’ll have to let the wedding coordinator know that the Sunset Harbor Inn simply is not an option for this Christmas.”
“Last I checked, Ms. Henderson”—Sam reverted to formality to make a point—“I am the owner of the establishment in question. And I say it will be ready by Christmas. If you’re not the person to make that happen, I’m sure I can find someone who will.”
Nothing like letting arrogance and ego bite him in the ass. Sam had no other qualified candidates and doubted anyone else would accept this challenge. If Callie walked, he was screwed.
But she didn’t know that.
Callie gritted her teeth, holding his gaze as if determining whether he was serious. Exactly how desperate was she? Not that he wanted to use that desperation against her, but he would if necessary.
“This is going to cost you,” she said. “Everything will have to be a rush order. Overtime labor. My own overtime.” She lifted her chin. “And I won’t have time to wait for your approval on every decision. I’ll need a high level of autonomy to get things done.”
The idea of giving up any level of control went against Sam’s nature. But this was his fault for having given up so much already where the struggling inn was concerned. He’d delegated and let the hotel wither, if Callie’s summation of the place was any indication. If he expected her to pull off the renovation in the time he was asking, then Sam had to compromise.
“Done.”
He took the glimpse of surprise on her face as a small victory. She’d assumed he couldn’t be flexible. She’d been wrong.
A new determination filled her eyes. The look hit him in the chest. Hard.
Then she smiled, and that hit him even lower.
“The Sunset Harbor Inn will be a five-star boutique hotel in time for your Christmas wedding,” she said. “I guarantee it.”
CHAPTER 3
How in the blue blazes am I going to pull this off?
Callie had asked herself this very question no fewer than six times since leaving Sam’s office. At least with him being such an unreasonable, egotistical jerk, she’d have no worries about their intimate past getting in the way of their working together. Handsome went only so far. Sam might be one of the most attractive men Callie had ever met, but his personality negated any effect those blue-gray eyes and that sculpted jawline might have.
The broad shoulders were another matter altogether. Damn if she hadn’t always been a sucker for a good set of shoulders.
She’d looked forward to this job. To six months of taking her time with it, digging into the details, and making the Sunset Harbor Inn the masterpiece upon which she would build her career as a project leader. Now she’d barely have enough time to put new paint on the walls.
Callie put a halt to the negative thoughts before they could take hold. She could do this, and she would. So six months was now three. Fine. They’d just need a sound plan.
The first order of business was to survey the inn from top to bottom to create a running inventory of what could be salvaged. Though most of what she’d seen the day before qualified as dated, there had to be something closer to antique quality on the property. And some of the dated furnishings—dressers and nightstands—could be brought up to boutique standards with a simple makeover.
In fact, Callie wondered if there weren’t some sort of craftsmen on the island who could handle restoration and refurbishment. A thorough exploration of Anchor Village and the resources available went on her mental to-do list.
And then Callie remembered the one thing she’d forgotten to do the night before.
Call her mother.
Taking a deep breath, Callie closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for the call. Best to get it over with. Her mother was what one might consider . . . difficult. She’d never given Callie a compliment, let alone the benefit of the doubt in any situation, including when Callie’s husband had cheated with another woman.
And not any woman, but the one woman he must have known would hurt Callie the most.
According to Evelyn Henderson, Josh would never have strayed if Callie had kept him happy. So much for maternal support.
Standing on the front porch of the Sunset Harbor Inn, Callie touched her mother’s name on her cell phone screen, pressed the cold metal to her ear, and waited.
Nothing.
Pulling the phone from her ear, she glanced at the screen. No signal. Walking to the other end of the porch didn’t help. Callie even leaned over the railing, holding the phone high above her head.
Still no bars.
“You’re wasting your time,” said an unfriendly voice from behind her. Callie had ignored Bernie and Olaf today, since neither had been much help during their first encounter, and neither had acknowledged her presence when she’d walked past them seconds before.
“Excuse me?” she asked, not sure which of them had spoken. Or if the comment was even meant for her.
“No cell service,” Olaf said, offering a smile that revealed two missing front teeth. The expression looked like a snarl, but there was friendliness in his eyes.
And then she realized what he’d said.
“There is no cell service here, around the hotel?”
Bernie shook his head, never taking his eyes off the checkerboard. “No service on the island. And don’t get yer knickers in a twist. You won’t die. The landlines work.”
“But surely there’s somewhere—”
“Nope,” Olaf said. “None.” The gap-toothed grin widened, as if he found joy in sharing this sort of news. Maybe watching visitors deal with this information was a form of entertainment for the locals.
Fine. She could live with no cell service. Her cottage had come with Wi-Fi, so she wouldn’t be completely disconnected from the world.
“I appreciate your letting me know,” she said, stepping closer to the two men. The smell of fish hit her full-on, sending her a step back. “How often do you gentlemen come here to play?”
“Every day,” Bernie said, still not bothering to glance her way. “What’s it to ya?”
Callie tried to be polite. “As you might know, the Sunset Harbor Inn is being renovated. We’re going to be closed for business for a few months. I’m afraid you’ll have to play your game someplace else.”
This gained Bernie’s full attention. “Says who?”
“Says me,” Callie answered, before realizing she was mimicking the older man. “I mean, I say so. There is too much to be done, especially on this front facade, to have to work around a game of checkers.”
“Who’s doing the work?” Olaf asked.
Callie blinked. “Well, I don’t know yet. We haven’t gotten that far.”
“Then we’ll help with the work and play checkers here on our lunch break.” Olaf said these words as if there need be no further discussion.
“I don’t think that’s a good—” Callie started.
“All worked out.” Leaning over the board once more, Olaf moved one of his black checkers. “King me!”
In lieu of arguing with the men, Callie decided to let Sam handle his locals and proceeded inside to make the call from her office. It would be long distance, but surely Sam couldn’t hold it against her when using her own cell wasn’t an option.
Jack was practically horizontal in his chair, wearing a pair of earbuds. His ears should have been bleeding, considering how well she could hear the music. Her trusty desk clerk had his eyes closed and was playing a mean air guitar as he jerked his head from side to side, sending the dark sweep of hair flipping back and forth over his forehead.
She tried clearing her throat, but that was a waste of time. Callie rang the small bell on the counter, something she intended to do away with immediately, but the rock star continued his performance. Walking around the counter, Callie waited for an opening, then tapped Jack on the forehead with one finger.
Green tennis shoes hit the floor as Jack leaped to his feet so quickly, he knocked Callie backward while sending the desk chair slamming against the wall behind him. The dying plant in the window teetered but thankfully did not fall.
Callie did not fall either, but only because Jack’s reflexes were quick enough to catch her by the forearms. The pair froze, both in shock. Jack looked as if he wanted to let go but seemed aware that if he did so Callie would hit the floor.
And, of course, that was the moment Sam Edwards walked through the door.
Sam wasn’t sure what to make of the scene he found behind the counter of the Sunset Harbor Inn. Callie hovered at a severe angle as a goofy-looking teenage boy clung to her forearms. A boy who looked scared enough to piss himself when he caught sight of Sam, causing him to let go, and nearly dropping Callie to the floor.
She was quick enough to step back and regain her balance, saving herself from the fall. The pair looked from Sam to each other and then back again in awkward silence. Then they spoke over each other.
“I walked in and—”
“She poked me and—”
Neither finished their sentence, and at that point, Sam didn’t care what the hell had been going on. In fact, he preferred not to know.
“Ms. Henderson, I’m here to make a full inspection of the inn and discuss the overall direction we want to go in. If you can peel yourself away from whatever it is you’re doing there, I think we should get started.”
He may have agreed to be flexible and allow Callie some decision-making leeway, but he wasn’t about to turn the entire project over and remain mute.
“Yes,” Callie said, pressing her skirt back into place and straightening her jacket. “Of course. Let me grab a legal pad from my office, and we’ll get started.”
Within minutes, Sam was so angry with himself he couldn’t see straight. The inn was an embarrassment. Faded paint, dated furnishings. It was clean, thank God, but glaringly neglected. How had he let this happen?
When he’d taken over the hotels, he’d silently, if reluctantly, promised Uncle Morty that he would make him proud. But there was nothing to be proud of here.
“The columns are going to be an issue,” Callie said, bringing Sam back to the conversation regarding the dining area. “But I doubt we have any choice other than to leave them.”
“We don’t,” Sam said. He’d learned as a child that the six pillars scattered throughout the center of the dining room were all load bearing.
The room was currently sectioned off into small areas, some with couches, while others included dining tables and chairs. A large fireplace occupied the wall to the right of the entrance and faced a cozy seating arrangement that included a coffee table covered in magazines. None of them looked current.
“We’ll need all new furnishings in this room,” Sam noted. “The area rugs have to go, as do the light fixtures.”
Callie took notes as he spoke. “I think we can salvage some of the furniture,” she said. “This will predominantly be a dining hall, but I like the option to switch things out and give it this homey, bed-and-breakfast feel when possible.”
Sam looked again at the chairs before the fireplace. Dark, carved wood. Faded upholstery circa 1982, covered in maroon flowers. The color might have been almost white once upon a time but had yellowed with age and use.
“There is no saving this furniture.”
Callie argued. “I think there is. Touch-ups to the wood. New upholstery. All some of this needs is updating. Considering the time restraints we’re under, salvaging as much as possible is the best way to go.”
He had to agree, the more they kept, the lower the overall cost. Sam was willing to do whatever it took to turn this inn around, but there was still a bottom line to consider.
Good to know Callie didn’t intend to spend him out of business. And that she was willing to hold her ground when she believed she was right.
“I want approval on the upholstery.”
“Noted,” she said. “I’ll get samples as soon as possible.”
“Good. Then we move on,” Sam said. “What’s next?”
Callie looked up from her notepad, glanced around as if not understanding the question, then turned a subtle shade of pink. After a quick bite of her bottom lip, which did strange things to Sam’s breathing, she said, “The bedrooms.”
CHAPTER 4
This should not be awkward, or so Callie kept telling herself. They were in an unoccupied hotel room to evaluate the space for remodeling purposes. The presence of a giant bed in the middle of the room should not have had any effect on her ability to focus on the task at hand.
But it did.
If Sam was similarly afflicted, he covered it well.
“All the rooms but two are this same size,” he said, crossing to the window to the left of the bed, which put some distance between them. Thank the heavens. “Did you have a plan for what we can do in here?”
The answers that flew to mind were not professional ones. Callie used the legal pad as a fan while she concentrated on finding the right answers.
“New draperies and bedding. Each room will be unique, so we’ll need several sets of every color and pattern. New paint and area rugs over newly installed hardwood floors. Industrial grade to withstand the level of traffic a hotel endures, of course.”
There. Back on track. All business.
“We’ll need new mattresses,” Sam said. “I’ll give you the name of the company we used for the Anchor. So far the guests have been happy, so I trust we made the right choice.”
“Mattresses,” Callie said, keeping her eyes on the yellow lined paper and not the man with whom she had once shared her own mattress.
“Okay,” she said, stepping toward the door. “I think that does it. I can get started on this—”
“Why are you here?” Sam asked, taking Callie completely off guard.
She stared blankly. “Excuse me?”
Sam crossed his arms, pulling the suit jacket tight over his broad shoulders. “You weren’t surprised when you walked into my office yesterday, so you knew I was the person you were coming to interview with.”
She’d forgotten how direct Sam could be.
With a brief hesitation, she considered her answer, but in the end, Callie told the truth. “I need this job. I knew any operation run by you would be top quality. I’ve worked hard since earning my degree four years ago, and have assisted in several hotel transformations, but I’ve struggled to find anyone who would let me lead a project.” Standing tall, she added, “When I found the ad for this position online, I applied immediately, hoping our previous connection wouldn’t be a problem.”
Once her full confession was out, silence filled the air around them. Tiny dust particles danced in the beam of sunlight behind Sam’s head as his eyes narrowed, boring into her as if he could see the words she hadn’t said. Then his stance loosened.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Looks like your gamble paid off. Hopefully for both of us.”
The breath Callie hadn’t realized she’d been holding whooshed out. “I really appreciate this chance, Sam. I won’t let you down.”
“I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t believe that.” Sam glanced around the room. “Back to the task at hand. You said each room will be unique. That’s forty-two rooms. What do you plan to do to make them all different?”
“Right,” she stammered, jarred again by the sudden change of subject. “In the past, I’ve created a sort of color block for the layout. A four-block of rooms in blues, the next in reds, and so on. That helps the painters keep things straight and gives the hotel a flow and consistency, even while nothing is exactly the same.”
Sam nodded. “A sound strategy. And the style?”
“Clean lines and simplicity with touches that make the rooms feel cozy and welcoming.” Callie warmed to her subject now that she was discussing the part she loved most about these renovations—the actual decorating. “Nothing too frilly or cluttered. Elegant but accessible. We want guests to explore the local attractions but feel at home enough in the room that when they make a return trip to Anchor, we’re the first place that comes to mind.”
Sam smiled, and Callie realized it was the first time he’d done so in her presence since she’d walked into his office the day before. Maybe even longer. His full lips stretched over straight white teeth, and tiny laugh lines appeared around his eyes.
He looked younger when he smiled. Though Callie knew Sam was only thirty-six, he looked much older than she’d expected him to. Older and sad. Though she hadn’t put that emotion to it before, since he covered so much with formality. But there was definitely sadness in his eyes.
“We’re clearly on the same page, Ms. Henderson,” Sam said, joining her once again at the door.
“Please,” she said, “call me Callie. Every time you say Ms. Henderson, I want to look behind me for my mother.”
Sam’s smile turned into a grin. “I met her once, didn’t I?”