by Tracy March
Cyn’s friends had all been to Caldera. Liza and Cole Collins had gotten married there, and Paige—who owned Sweet Bee’s Bakery in town—started her swoony romance with her doctor boyfriend, Lane, there, too. Cyn had only seen pictures and videos. She’d never been out of the States, much less to an idyllic Caribbean resort. She’d gotten a passport, hoping to study abroad during college, but cost and circumstances ended up getting in the way.
“Shouldn’t you ask Trent and the girls what they think about it?” Cyn asked. “I mean, do they think they’re headed for a proposal? And this idea is all or nothing. If you don’t get a proposal, you don’t get a very satisfying marketing campaign.”
“I’m counting on you to make sure everything works out.”
“Me?” Cyn’s voice trilled, but not nearly as prettily as the wind chimes. Whatever was in it for her had better be amazingly awesome.
“Here’s my proposal,” the Queen said, looking pleased with her play on words. “I’ll give you a twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus if Trent gets engaged before summer.”
Cyn’s heart stammered. “Did you just say twenty-five thousand dollars?” That kind of money would go a long way toward…everything. Especially helping her parents. The bad economy had tithing down at her dad’s church, and her mom’s librarian salary had been frozen for years. Their house was headed into foreclosure with no hope of saving it in sight. Surely if Cyn gave them her bonus, they’d be able to keep their home.
“I did.” The Queen set her steely gaze on Cyn. “But Trent mustn’t find out about the bonus, and I’d prefer that no one else does either.”
Cyn considered that, and decided it would be easy enough to abide by those terms. Everything else, not so easy. But she’d find a way. She set her jaw and looked the Queen square in the eyes. “Understood. And you’ll get your proposal. I promise.”
…
Trent Hawthorne gazed at his grandmother, trying to decide if she was delusional or if she was a genius—possibly both. She sat across from him in a royal-blue velvet wing-backed chair that had been in the parlor at Hawthorne Manor since he was a kid. The room seemed smaller than it had back then, but it was still the size of a country church with several seating areas, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a baby grand piano. He kicked back on the couch after his long trip in from Saint Lucia, letting her idea for the resorts’ marketing campaign sink in.
Her idea for finding me a wife…
“The concept is a proven win,” Trent said. “And if it were some other guy, I’d agree right away. But the process seems off-the-charts awkward, especially for me.” He took a swallow of Guinness from his glass and set it on the end table next to him. Classical music played quietly in the background. He often thought of Gran sitting in here in the evenings, reading the newspaper and having a cocktail.
“Finding someone to marry is always awkward, but it’s terribly difficult in your position.” Gran’s straight spine and tipped-up chin told him how confident she was in her idea. “Employees are off-limits, meeting the right tourist is unlikely, and your time is split among four different islands.”
Trent thought about his life in paradise. Sultry tropical breezes, picture-perfect sunsets, moonlit walks on the beach…alone. “It’s really kind of lonely.” Some guys might not reveal such personal feelings to their grandmothers, but he’d always been comfortable telling Gran nearly anything. And that honesty had helped save his butt on several occasions. As unrealistic as it seemed, this time it might get him a wife. But his taste in women might not align with what Gran had in mind.
“So who are the ‘young ladies’ you’ve invited?” he asked, because getting the basics wrong would definitely be a deal breaker.
Gran gave him that pointed look with pursed lips that told him he’d be foolish to doubt her judgment. He was surprised that hadn’t been the expression she’d chosen for the large portrait of herself that hung over the fireplace mantel. She stared him down from both angles. “I’ll get Cynthia to brief you on them when you two meet in the morning.”
“Cynthia’s in on it, too?” What must Gran’s assistant think of such a plan? Trent hadn’t seen Cynthia for years, but he remembered her being gawky and Goth. She’d probably had her fair share of weird ideas, so this one might not have seemed so strange to her. He supposed he couldn’t really worry about what anyone thought if he was going to make this plan work—for himself and the resorts. He had to put everything into the effort to make it genuine, because that’s what he wanted it to be.
He’d had enough surface relationships along the way that hadn’t amounted to much. Being alone so often now gave him plenty of time to realize he’d outgrown his date-as-many-girls-as-you-can stage—been past it for a while now. He’d seen his friends find genuine happiness. Liza married Cole. Paige found love with Lane. He’d been punched in the gut by what he was missing. Someone to share his life with, not just a night or two. He wanted things to be different this time. But was this really the way to go about finding that special someone?
“Should we at least take a few pitches from ad agencies?” he asked, amazed at how quickly his confidence gave way to doubt. He’d never imagined his personal life captured by cameras and intended for future broadcast. “Just in case.”
A violin crescendo coincided with Gran’s narrowing her shrewd gaze on him. “In case of what?”
In case they have a better idea? Words best left unsaid. Gran’s mind set like superglue when she had an idea she liked. Maybe he could approach it another way.
“Should we do something less elaborate?” he asked.
“Certainly not. Your grandfather and I never asked ourselves that when we built the resorts, and I’ve never heard you ask that about anything else we’ve done since you’ve been running things.”
She had a point, and she kept sticking him with it.
“Why would we scale back now?” she continued. “It’s imperative that we increase business and stay ahead of our competition, now more than ever.” The creases in her forehead deepened. “Economies are struggling worldwide.” She leveled a determined gaze on him. “Not all of us will survive.”
Trent couldn’t argue, and he wouldn’t allow Hawthorne Resorts to go down on his watch.
“We’d invest a small fortune in any marketing campaign,” Gran said. “Might as well make it work to our maximum benefit. We’ll get remarkable promotional videos that are likely to go viral, you’ll get a lovely wife, and I’ll have more hope of living to see my great-grandchildren.”
Trent furrowed his brow. “Now you’re getting way ahead of yourself.” But the idea of having a couple of kids someday appealed to him. He imagined their tiny footsteps echoing as they ran through the high-ceilinged halls of Hawthorne Manor, their laughter bubbling as they built sand castles on the beaches of Turks and Caicos. It was easy to get swept up in the fantasy of having a wife and family, but Gran’s plan to make it a reality seemed way too unrealistic.
He picked up his beer and took a long swallow. “I’m worried that the timeline is a little tight, and there’s a huge risk involved.”
“Meaning?”
He’d never gotten away with nuance with Gran. “I’m not sure I’ll fall for any of the girls, much less be ready to propose in a couple of months. That kind of thing takes time for both people involved.”
“I’m more worried you’ll fall for all of them,” Gran said with a wily grin. “As for timing, you’ll know love when you find it. There’s no need to take things slowly.” She got a soft, winsome look in her eyes. “Your grandfather and I got married three weeks after we met.”
“And you had fifty-one blissful years together.” He repeated what he’d heard her say so many times before.
She reached over and clutched his hand, her grip surprisingly tight, her palm warm against his fingers. “I’m hoping that will happen for you, too. But you have to believe it can.”
The antique grandfather clock struck nine and he waited through all the chimes. Aft
er the echo of the last one had wafted out into the hallway, he said, “I do,” because he knew that’s what she wanted to hear. But truth be told, he wasn’t really sure.
Chapter Two
At eight fifteen in the morning, Trent headed out to the swing that hung from a low branch on the grand old oak by the pond, a mug of black coffee in his hand. He hadn’t slept much for thinking about how the next month would go, what the women he’d date would be like, and if Gran’s crazy scheme could work—for marketing and for marriage. Hearing the details from Cynthia would help him decide whether to put the brakes on the plan or forge full speed ahead.
Trent walked over the last knoll that sloped down to the pond, the view of Gran’s property stretching for acres. He woke up almost every day in a lush tropical paradise, but these rolling, wooded hills felt like home. Years ago, Gran had switched out the tire swing he’d played on as a kid, replacing it with a bench swing piled with billowy floral cushions. But he remembered summer days spent here by the pond—the smell of the warm rubber tire, icy Popsicles freezing his teeth, squirmy worms he’d dug up for fishing with his bamboo pole, a cork strung on the line.
The shade of the old oak welcomed him like a familiar friend. He sank onto the swing, and nearly up to his neck in cushions. The look was too girly for him, but the feel was way more comfortable than a tire biting into the backs of his legs. He took a few swallows of his coffee and set the swing in motion. It was hard to imagine that within a couple of months, he might be sitting here with his fiancée—whomever she was.
“You’re early.” The breezy feminine voice came from behind him. He turned his head and caught sight of the girl it belonged to. The swing still swayed but his gaze stayed steady on her, his pulse picking up a notch, and not from caffeine.
Cynthia?
She was tall, all legs and curves and, man, those eyes. Blue—and a little green—like the Caribbean Sea on a sun-drenched day. Clearly she wasn’t the gawky Goth girl he remembered. He had the good sense to close his slack-jawed mouth before a gnat flew in, but his gaze stayed riveted on her as she headed toward the swing.
“A few minutes.” All of a sudden he couldn’t think of anything witty or dashing or even mildly interesting except, Wow. Totally inappropriate considering she worked for Gran—and him, too. Even if she didn’t…
“Can’t blame you,” she said. “I’d sure be in a hurry to get things started, if I were you.” She raised her eyebrows and shot him a conspiratorial smile. A flash of white teeth. The shimmer of gloss on her pink lips. She stopped in front of the swing, the tails of her gauzy blouse peeking out from below a smart jacket, skinny pants tapering down those long, shapely legs, and a pair of canvas flats finishing off her business casual look. She brushed her silky dark hair away from her face and looked at him curiously. He had to blink to keep from staring.
I should’ve worn something better than jeans and a Nationals sweatshirt.
“You gonna stop that thing so I can get on?” She grinned.
Trent planted both feet in the grass, sending the opposite end of the swing lurching forward, floral cushions tumbling onto the ground as if a garden had just sprouted there. By the time he got to his feet, she’d picked them up and tossed them back on the swing. They stood facing each other, her amused gaze on his.
“It’s a little weird for me to introduce myself since we kind of know each other, and we sort of grew up together—but not really. I’m Cyn—the human behind the emails.”
“Cyn?”
She shrugged. “If you’re more comfortable with Cynthia, that’s cool. Mrs. Hawthorne insists on it.” She settled on the swing, keeping it steady with her feet on the ground. “Cyn’s a college nickname that stuck. I even went through a stage where I spelled it S-I-N.” She rolled those amazing eyes. “Long story.”
“We all have one.” But a girl like her with a name like that? Trent swallowed hard and sank back onto the cushions at his end of the swing. “Although yours sounds especially exciting.” He gave her a sidelong glance and grinned. “Or really disturbing. I can’t decide which until you fill me in on the details.”
A corner of her mouth curled with mischief. “Not a chance.” She pushed off with her feet and the swing swayed with a steady rhythm. “Our focus has to stay on you finding the girl of your dreams, and creating an awesome ad campaign for the resorts.” She drew her feet up onto the cushions and sat cross-legged, facing him at an angle.
Trent nodded. “People just don’t have as much money to spend on vacations as they used to. Our competition is staying afloat by discounting, and we don’t mind doing a little of that.” She probably knew all that, but talking business distracted him from focusing too much on her slender fingers, the curve of her neck, the long dark eyelashes framing her eyes. She was his kind of sexy, all right. He drew a deep breath and finally looked away from her when a fish jumped up out of the pond and dived back in with a splash. “We’d rather be the company travelers associate with high quality and really getting their money’s worth. But that’s a tough sell these days.”
“You’ve got to get them emotionally involved,” she said. “Show them that romance happens at Hawthorne Resorts. Couples are looking for that, no matter how long they’ve been together. If they associate a swept-away kind of romance with your brand, most of them won’t settle for a discounted substitute.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “You seem to understand the concept of the campaign I envision—and the romance.”
“I do.” She pulled a cushion onto her lap and set her tablet on top, but her intense gaze never left his. “I mean, doesn’t everyone want that kind of romance? That’s the magic of the idea.”
He took a slug of his coffee. “Right.”
Cyn smiled as if she had a thousand secrets. “So let’s make it happen.” She swept her finger across the screen of her tablet and brought it to life. “Here’s the plan so far. This morning we’ll meet with the executive producer and the production crew—they’ll be here in an hour. You and Mrs. Hawthorne will make sure they fully understand your vision for the campaign. I need to get more of a handle on your personal expectations since I’ll be the liaison among you, the girls, and the production team.” Her hair fell around her face as she gazed at the tablet, swiping from screen to screen.
The girls… He’d forgotten about them for a moment.
The swing swayed lazily. Every so often he caught the subtle scent of Cyn’s perfume—a little citrus, a little spice, a little mischief.
“So we’ll showcase the resorts by having the girls meet me on the islands,” he said. “We’ll go to Turks and Caicos, Jamaica, and the Bahamas. Gran wants to save Saint Lucia and Caldera for the wedding.” Heat rushed to his face and he looked away from Cyn. How was he going to get through this if he felt awkward just mentioning a wedding?
“Don’t worry.” She squeezed his biceps and he instinctively flexed. “I’m sure this whole process might feel forced and staged at times. But it’ll be worth it when you get your stellar ad campaign and the love of your life.”
Trent faced forward and nodded. “I guess I always envisioned it happening more organically.”
She raised her eyebrows and gave him a tease of a smile. “And how’s that working for you so far?”
“You’ve got a point.”
“I want this to work for you, your dream girl, and the resorts,” she said. “When things start feeling too artificial or too anything—and they will—just let me know and we’ll sort it out. You’ll be on your own with the production team at the resorts, but you can call or text or Skype me. Whatever works for you.”
Trent pressed his lips together tightly. Maybe she didn’t totally understand the plan. “What works for me is your being there, too. We need the whole team at the resorts. You’ll be traveling with us.”
Cyn drew her head back, her eyes wide. “I will?”
“Sure.”
She squinted and stared out at the pond.
“What?”
>
“I…” She took a deep breath and sighed.
When it seemed as if she wasn’t going to finish what she’d started, he said, “Remember what you said about letting you know stuff and sorting things through? That goes both ways. What were you going to say?”
“I have the plans for the garden party to keep on track, and now with the traveling…”
“I think you can handle it, but I don’t think that’s what you were going to say.”
Cyn cast a sidelong glance his way, looking timid for the first time. She rolled the ruffle of a cushion between her thumb and forefinger. “I just imagined that if I ever got the chance to go to a Hawthorne Resort, circumstances would be a little different.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You mean that you wouldn’t be going for work, and for the sake of someone else’s romance? You’d be going because of your own.”
Her eyes flared for a second, as if she were surprised he understood. “Something like that.”
“I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “Every day I watch couples living out their dreams at the resorts—weddings, honeymoons, anniversaries. Sometimes they come just because…”
The swing had slowed to a slight sway so he pressed his feet to the ground and pushed off. They swung in silence for a moment, the pond shimmering blue and mesmerizing.
“Other people’s romances—that’s our business.”
She gave him an encouraging smile. “But this time it’s yours.”
…
Cyn hadn’t expected Trent Hawthorne to get her, but she was thrilled that he did. The better they related to each other, the better the chance she could guide him into the arms of the right girl—whichever of the three it might be. Hopefully the chemistry would sizzle between him and at least one of them, and why wouldn’t it? His looks alone would have any girl swooning. Then there was his money—which wasn’t a requirement, but certainly was a bonus. But a guy who actually talked about romance and feelings? He’d hook every one of those girls at hello, and reel them in with every word afterward.