Garrett shook his hand. It would have been churlish not to. But Whitley still irritated him. "What's Halford House to you, Whitley? You never did get around to telling me."
"Paul is going to be my assistant, my right-hand man, so to speak, when my father retires," Shelby hastily replied.
Couldn't the man speak for himself? Garrett was tempted to ask. He didn't, though. Shelby would probably answer for him again. His respect for Whitley plummeted further.
"And when is your father planning to retire, Shelby?" Garrett asked curiously, his eyes gleaming. He knew the answer, of course. But what fiction had Halford told his daughter? This should be interesting; old Art had proven himself a creative liar.
Shelby and Paul exchanged uncomfortable glances. "We don't know the exact date of my father's retirement," she confessed reluctantly. "But it will be soon, Mother assured me. She and Dad want to move to Arizona. We have relatives out there."
"Your father's brother Hal, his wife Hillary, and their loafer parasite of a son who wanted no part of a career in Halford House," Garrett added knowledgeably. "Your dad has mentioned them."
Arthur Halford had ranted on and on about his "idiot nephew," blaming his indolent lack of interest in the business as the reason for the sale of Halford House. Garrett stared at Shelby, who currently looked the part of the quintessential business executive in her no-nonsense gray suit, cheerless beige blouse buttoned to the neck, and sensible gray pumps. She was even wearing hose, no matter that the temperature was in the high eighties and stickily humid. Her hair was pulled back tightly into an uninviting, untouchable chignon.
Garrett compared her to the laughing, soft, sexy version of her that he'd been with on the beach. Instead of being turned off, he found that the two disparate sides of her further intrigued him.
"Cousin Hal has been something of a disappointment," Shelby admitted. "His brother Hart was the designated successor and when he died, everyone expected Hal Junior to step into his shoes. He didn't, but I'm here to do the job," she added brightly.
Garrett frowned thoughtfully. He knew Arthur Halford hadn't asked his daughter to take over Halford House, despite her hotel training and experience. In fact, Halford hadn't given Shelby a thought at all until she had announced that she was coming back. Then he'd panicked, but never wavered about selling. When he had signed the papers today, Halford had eagerly agreed to let Garrett tell Shelby about the sale whenever he deemed necessary, abdicating even that responsibility to someone else. The Halfords seemed oddly lacking in family loyalty, never mind family fun.
"And Paul is going to help me run Halford House and continue its success into the next century," Shelby announced, smiling enthusiastically at Paul.
Her smile annoyed Garrett, as did her marketing spiel.
"But right now, Paul is essentially unemployed?" Garrett just couldn't let that one pass. "He's living here, gratis?"
"Not gratis. I'm learning the ropes," Paul said rather defensively. "Shelby and I have put in full days, making plans and—"
"So you're both on the payroll, the once-and-future executive here and her liege?" surmised Garrett.
"That's none of your business," Shelby snapped.
"Oh, I think it is." Garrett grimaced wryly. "It most definitely is."
"Observing the way Halford House is run is one thing, but requesting confidential, financial information is something else entirely," Shelby informed him frostily.
Garrett sighed. "From your point of view, I suppose that's a valid point. But humor me by confirming a wild guess—that Art put you both on the payroll when you arrived here in Port Key last week. Am I right?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, yes, you're right," Paul said, his voice rising with exasperation. "I don't know why you're so intent on knowing, but I have no problem revealing that I am being paid for my expertise."
"I guess I'm just insatiable for information about these five-star resorts," Garrett said dryly. Naturally, Halford had put Shelby and Whitley on the payroll immediately. He was selling the place and its payroll and expenses to the McGraths. Let them pay!
"Now it's my turn to go out on a limb and make a wild guess," Paul exclaimed. "I think you're planning on going into the exclusive resort business yourself, McGrath."
Garrett stared at him, askance. The guy was not as stupid as he'd thought, despite the boyish grin, blond locks and eye-popping pastel suit. He looked at Shelby and found her staring at him. His silence had extended a moment too long, giving himself away.
"Paul's right! You are!" she gasped. Color was rising in her cheeks.
If she were to find out here and now that he'd bought Halford House, Garrett knew she would hate him forever. He thought of their time together on the beach this morning, verbally sparring, playing in the water, kissing passionately…
He wanted more, much more. He studied Shelby, his blue eyes assessing. She was bright, edgy and defensive. He had no doubts that she would be difficult to get close to. But he wanted to try. And he would never have that chance if things were ended between them right now, before they'd ever actually begun. He decided then and there he wouldn't let it happen.
"Shelby," he said tentatively, mentally preparing a defense.
Fortunately, the loquacious Paul Whitley, who'd gotten him into this mess, spoke up again. And neatly got him out.
"You're going to buy the Blue Springs Resort, aren't you?" Whitley said excitedly. "It all makes sense now—why you want firsthand information about running a top-of-the-line place. And your method of acquiring one was nothing short of ingenious! You put that cheap motel of yours next to the Blue Springs and its property value sunk into the pits. Now you're going to buy it for a song and attempt to resurrect it to its former glory?"
Garrett chuckled. "Whitley, you're a sharp one. You're wasted as an evening assistant manager. You should be running a place like this. Or the Blue Springs," he added slyly.
And that's all it took. For the rest of the tour Paul was deferential and downright charming to Garrett, a virtual wealth of information about the high-end resort business. And filled with suggestions about how to restore an exclusive resort to its former pinnacle.
Shelby was irked. Paul's tactics were so obvious that it was embarrassing. He had decided that the opportunity to run the Blue Springs for Garrett McGrath was more lucrative and prestigious than serving as her second in command here at Halford House, and he was pulling out all stops to let Garrett know that he was up to the task.
She glanced resentfully at Garrett. This was all his doing. Unknowingly or not, he'd driven a wedge between her and Paul. Nothing was going as she'd originally planned, she acknowledged glumly. She and Paul had not grown closer since their arrival here. Their platonic, professional relationship remained the same as it had been in California, except two complications had been added—the entrancing Laney and now the alluring possibility of him running the Blue Springs Resort for Garrett McGrath.
Worse, her father had not mentioned his retirement and he had not turned over a single responsibility to her at Halford House. Her dreams of triumphantly taking over the family business, partnered by a man she admired and respected as a coequal, were beginning to seem depressingly elusive.
"You're awfully quiet," Garrett remarked to her as Paul led them through the gardens, expansively remarking on how similar horticultural wonders could be achieved at the Blue Springs.
"With Paul auditioning for you, I couldn't get a word in even if I wanted to," she retorted under her breath. "Which I do not. I have nothing to say to you, Mr. McGrath."
"What about our little episode of splendor-in-the-sea? Are you going to pretend it never happened?"
To her great consternation, Shelby blushed. "Be quiet!" she admonished. "Paul can hear you."
"And you don't want him to know about us?"
"There is no us!" Shelby shrieked.
Paul stopped talking and turned around. "What's going on?" he asked, looking from Shelby to Garrett.
The pair
exchanged glances—hers threatening, his mocking.
"Nothing," Shelby snapped. She glared at Garrett, daring him to contradict her.
Garrett merely shrugged. "We were talking about that tropical storm in the Caribbean. Think it'll turn into a hurricane and head our way?"
"I hope not." Paul grimaced. "We never had to worry about hurricanes in California."
"Yeah, you had earthquakes to look forward to out there," said Garrett. "I'm concerned about the storm because Shelby and I are going to drive south to Key West tomorrow to the Family Fun Inn down there. Since she's been so generous with her time, taking me around Halford House and all, I thought I'd reciprocate and show her the workings of one of the inns."
Shelby stifled an outraged gasp. What kind of game was Garrett McGrath playing? Whatever it was, she was not a participant and it was time to let him know it.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to refuse your kind invitation, Mr. McGrath," Shelby replied at once. Keeping her voice calm and courteous was a stretch, but she was pleased she achieved it. She was fairly certain that losing her temper would award him the winning round.
"That's it?" Garrett's smile was baiting. "A simple polite refusal? No 'I'm not interested in going anywhere with you, Mr. McGrath'? Not even an 'I wouldn't go near one of your vulgar motels unless I was forced at gunpoint'? I'm disappointed, Shelby. Are you losing your edge?"
Paul Whitley stared from one to the other in uneasy silence. Both Shelby and Garrett seemed oblivious to his presence as they faced each other down like two gunslingers ready to shoot it out in the Old West.
Garrett looked away first but before Shelby could relish her small victory, he made it clear that he wasn't conceding, merely regrouping. "Your parents invited me to have dinner with them and you and your sister tonight. We'll continue our discussion about our trip then. Meanwhile, I have some business to attend to." He lightly tapped Paul's shoulder. "You're a wealth of information, Whitley. I appreciate your input."
Paul beamed.
Shelby seethed. Garrett McGrath did not play by the rules! Silently, she and Paul watched Garrett turn and walk briskly from the gardens, his confident, cocky stride setting Shelby's teeth on edge.
"I am not having dinner with him tonight," she announced. "And I most certainly will not drive to Key West with him tomorrow to visit one of his abominable motels!"
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
"You can't be serious." Garrett's eyes swept over Shelby, who stood rigidly before him. Her severely tailored brown suit, her starched ecru blouse, buttoned, naturally, right up to the neck, her darkly tinted hose and no-nonsense, low-heeled brown pumps would all be considered rather drab and stodgy even in the most conservative workplace.
For an informal tour of a Family Fun Inn in Key West, a casual place in a less-than-conservative resort town, her attire seemed more of a costume. A ridiculously inappropriate one.
"I don't know what you mean," Shelby replied coolly.
"I'm talking about that getup you're wearing. What is it? A period piece from the early '70s—the humorless feminist separatist who believed that anything with style or color was selling out?" He shook his head. "You can't wear that. You'll scare away the tourists."
"If you don't like the way I'm dressed, you can always uninvite me," Shelby suggested with saccharine sweetness.
"Not a chance," Garrett assured her. "Oh, and while you're changing clothes, do your hair a favor and set it free. Right now, it's pulled back so tight, your eyes are slanting."
Shelby faced him squarely, her hazel eyes defiant. "I'm not changing. I consider this trip strictly business and I have dressed accordingly."
Garrett shrugged. "Okay, have it your way, but you're going to be awfully uncomfortable in this heat. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"I won't say anything at all to you," she vowed. Her gaze flicked over him, critically taking in his oversize navy-and-white-striped cotton shirt, sockless boat shoes and faded blue jeans. Her lips curled scornfully. Obviously they were his business-hours jeans, as they were not cut off above the knees.
She glanced at her watch and heaved an impatient sigh. "I suggest we get started. With all the traffic, it'll take close to four hours to reach Key West. The sooner we leave, the sooner this ridiculous trip will be over."
"I can already tell you're going to be good company," Garrett said dryly as he handed the valet parking attendant the ticket stub to claim his car. "The miles and the hours are going to fly by."
"I will do my best not to annoy you, and I hope you will return the courtesy," Shelby said tightly. "If that means spending the entire day without exchanging another word, so be it."
"Sorry, honey." Garrett grinned wickedly. "I'm looking forward to annoying you. Why else would I have invited you along?"
A parking attendant arrived at the entrance with a bright red two-door car, one of the smallest models Shelby had ever seen. "It's not much bigger than a toy," she exclaimed, astonished. "I think the dessert cart in our dining room is bigger than this."
"It was the smallest car the rental agency had," explained Garrett. "Whenever I rent a car, I always try to find one I've never driven before. For variety, I use different rental agencies and ask all of them for their oldest car or the newest one or the smallest or largest, whatever category I can come up with. I've had some interesting rides that way. One time I ended up with an old hearse. Drove it all through Kansas and Missouri."
"Good thing you're not driving a hearse today," the attendant said, casting a meaningful glance at Shelby.
Garrett laughed heartily at that. Shelby managed to produce a synthetic smile. The two of them climbed into the bucket seats. "I always rent a fuel-efficient compact," she told him. "But nothing this compact."
"I thought you'd go for something appropriately high-endish, in keeping with the exalted Halford House image. Certain specialized agencies do rent expensive luxury cars, you know."
"No, I didn't know, not that I would rent one. I am a businesswoman, not an overindulged snob," she said tightly. It bothered her that he saw her that way; even more irritating was that she was bothered by it at all.
Garrett slipped the parking attendant a twenty-dollar bill for his assistance, and the young man effusively thanked him, beaming from ear to ear.
"You overtip," Shelby pointed out, as Garrett slowly steered the little car along the long paved road leading out of the Halford House grounds and back to the outside world. "I saw you doing it last night after dinner, too, overtipping the waitress and the busboy and the wine steward. My father had already adequately compensated them. There was no need for you to—"
"Your father's idea of adequate compensation doesn't jibe with mine," Garrett cut in. "In fact, there isn't much Art Halford says or does that I agree with. For example, if I had a daughter who so obviously did not want to go away with a certain colleague, I would never insist that she do so. And old Art did more than insist that you come with me. Coercion is the term that comes to mind."
Shelby reached into her leather handbag and pulled out a tissue to wipe her forehead. Her skin was already beginning to perspire under her bangs. It was an unseasonably hot day. Although just eight o'clock in the morning, the temperature was already nearing eighty, the humidity in the unbearable range. The car had air-conditioning, but she still had to contend with the sun beating down through the windows, directly on her. Shelby discreetly opened the top two buttons of her blouse. She felt as if the starched, slender mandarin-style neck was choking her.
She cast a sidelong glance at Garrett. Due to the sun's particular angle, the driver's side of the car was spared the heat of the direct rays. His loose, short-sleeved shirt bared his muscular forearms. Unlike hers, his dark hair was not damp from sweat. Not a drop of perspiration beaded on his forehead, either. Resentment flared through her.
"Since you know I didn't want to come with you and you don't approve of my father coercing me, why did you insist that I make this
stupid trip with you?" she demanded crossly. "Just to be perverse?"
"Got it on the first try!" Garrett enthused. "You're a sharp one, Shelby."
"You told Paul he was a sharp one, too," Shelby reminded him acidly. "Maybe I should start campaigning for an executive position at the Blue Springs Resort?"
"You noticed he was doing that, hmm?"
"Of course."
Garrett smiled. "You've worked with Whitley. Do you think he's capable of running a place like Halford House, or, uh, the Blue Springs? Be honest now."
"Paul is quite capable," she said stiffly. "I wouldn't have asked him to join us at Halford House if I didn't consider him to be competent and an asset to the place."
"I wondered if there was another reason why you asked him. A more personal reason." Garrett braked the car to a stop at a traffic light and looked over at her.
He caught her staring at him. For a moment their eyes met and held, then Shelby quickly looked away, her cheeks warm. She'd been stealing glances at Garrett McGrath, staring surreptitiously at him entirely too often, she admonished herself. She had done so too many times during dinner last night with Laney and her parents and him. She couldn't seem to control her straying eyes. But to have him catch her at it… It was mortifying!
"Paul and I are friends and we work well together," she said, fumbling with the windshield visor in a vain attempt to shade herself from the infernal sun.
"Nothing romantic between you?" Garrett was pleased to hear her confirm what he had already guessed. But the fact remained that Shelby had invited Whitley to Florida. Garrett did not care for the implications of that.
"Are you harboring some kind of hope that something may develop between you and Whitley?" he pressed. Because if she was, he was going to crush those hopes here and now, he decided with a fierceness that surprised him.
"That is none of your business!" Shelby flared.
"If you are, you're going to be sadly disappointed. I could tell last night that your sister has designs on Whitley, and he appears to be goggle-eyed over her." Garrett slanted her a quick, assessing glance.
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