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"And you'd never let it happen again?" she asks.
"Ok, you win. I'll remove the problem."
After we say our goodbyes, I go back to the resort ready to prove to Deacon that I don't need him holding my hand every step of the way. As I step through the front doors, I take a look around, reminding myself that I've been doing this without him all these years and the resort has been just fine. So, he can start familiarizing himself with other aspects of the place.
The resort is bustling with activity. I always make sure to greet everyone that works here, from the front desk to the housekeepers and maintenance, because none of this would be possible without their efforts. They are the ones keeping the resort beautiful and inviting.
The entrance flaunts that perfect mix of Southern allure and contemporary grace. The check-in desk, dressed in polished wood, and the staff, in their neat uniforms, exude professionalism. A stunning chandelier steals the spotlight just above the grand winding staircase, the perfect focal point to greet guests as they enter.
Strategic placement of amenities caters to diverse guest needs. The spa tempts with promises of relaxation, offering a range of indulgent treatments. The fitness center, equipped with modern gear, invites guests to maintain wellness routines while enjoying scenic views through large windows.
Outdoor spaces are equally inviting. The pool area is a haven of tranquility, surrounded by lush native landscaping andcomfortable loungers. The sound of water cascading from a nearby fountain adds a touch of serenity.
With each step, I remind myself that I helped bring this vision to life. The Reynolds asked me to be much more than head of marketing for this place. They put their trust in me to spearhead this entire renovation, igniting a drive in me to deliver nothing short of excellence.
Though Deacon may have some doubts, I do have the expertise to make crucial decisions alone. The upcoming magazine campaign is the perfect opportunity to showcase my skills and demonstrate that I am more than capable of steering the marketing ship alone.
Approaching my office, I take a deep breath, ready to face the challenges ahead. The best way to deal with this complicated situation is to let my work speak for itself. If I'm successful, we can all go back to normal life.
I won't spend so much time with Deacon and any feelings that have been brewing will fade over time. It's a good plan. I can do this.
I plop down in front of my computer and bring up the design templates for the media materials, thinking about my conversation with Bella. My hand hovers over the mouse as I stare at the screen, considering all the different design options. I start clicking and making changes, taking it in an entirely new direction.
I've had some of these ideas in mind when we started, but I've been trying to be a better teammate, not forcing my will on Deacon. But I'm realizing in doing that, I've lost a bit of myself, my competitive edge. It's that spirit that has made me who I am, made me good at what I do.
Deacon is not going to be happy about me taking the lead on this, but I need to refocus. It's my job that comes first. I was hired to run marketing, and that's what I'm going to do.
Chapter twelve
DEACON
I'm finishing up my morning routine, shaving and getting ready for the day, when I hear a soft knock on my bathroom door. I give myself a quick glance in the mirror before opening the door. Sasha is standing there, still in her pajamas, her hair wild and messy from sleep. She should be ready for school by now. The fact that she's not dressed yet tells me something’s wrong. Sasha is usually pretty punctual, at least as much as a six-year-old can be.
"Hi, sweetie. You okay? You don't look so good." I bend down to take a better look at her and place the back of my hand on her forehead. "You're not running a fever. That's good."
"My stomach feels funny." She gives me that puppy-dog look that always makes my heart melt.
"Yeah? Do you think you're going to throw up?"
"I don't know." She shrugs, looking so helpless that I just want to cuddle her in my arms and make everything better.
"Well, why don't you go sit on my bed for a minute and I'll get you some ginger ale, okay?"
Sasha nods and shuffles off toward my room, her tiny footsteps echoing through the hallway. I go down to the kitchen and grab a drink and a few crackers for her to munch on, just in case. Sometimes, Sasha makes herself sick just from being excited or nervous about something. With all the changes, between the big move and all of the new people around her, I wouldn't be surprised if that’s what’s wrong.
I return to my bedroom, where Sasha is waiting on the edge of the bed, and I kiss the top of her forehead before I hand her the goodies I brought. "Here you go, princess. How's that?"
She takes a slow sip and then a nibble, taking her time to make sure her stomach can handle the crackers. While she's testing out her limits, I finish getting ready. I could send her to school like this, but I'd probably just get a call an hour or two later telling me how sick she is and asking me to come get her. Staying home isn't an option with the big magazine spread coming up, and I've yet to even think about interviewing nannies.
"You think you can hold that in there?" I say as I step into the room, putting my watch on.
"Maybe, I think so." She tilts her head, chewing and staring off at the wall, and swallows hard. When it doesn't immediately come back up, she decides the crackers were a success. She finishes them and takes a long sip of the soda to wash it all down safely.
I smile at her and walk over to the closet, taking the time to decide which suit I want to wear. Harper and I haven't spoken since our kiss, and this is the first day we'll be seeing each other again. Yesterday, I actually decided to try to seek her out a few times, even made an effort to linger around her door, but she was more elusive than a bobcat in a thicket. Part of me suspectsit was intentional, but I don't want to jump to conclusions. Maybe we just missed each other all day.
I don't want to set expectations, nor do I want to pressure her, but I really want to talk to her about it. We're going to have to continue to work together, after all, and it's essential we stay professional. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to her.
I glance over at Sasha and catch her with this wide-eyed, almost tortured look on her face. "What? Something wrong, honey?"
