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“Or what?” she shot back.
“Or I’ll come looking for you and you will lose one article of clothing for every minute it takes me to find you.”
She laughed throatily. “Are you trying to get me there on time or convince me I’d rather be tardy?”
“Go.” He pushed her gently in the direction of the door. “Finish the rooms on your side, and for God’s sake, let me do mine without you entering any more of your air-conditioner grievances onto the record.”
They parted and he didn’t stop checking off items on the inspection list until Alice texted him that everyone was in the staff meeting room in the main building. He dashed through the rain, and spent the afternoon having terse conversations about fun concepts like contingency plans, insurance claims and flood preparation.
It took a supreme act of will to remain focused, especially when he’d rather be drowning his sorrows in Cara. Elena ordered food to be brought in at some point and Keith ate without tasting it, one ear on Mary as she talked through ideas for how to move the expo indoors. The remainder of his attention stayed fixed to his computer screen, where a constantly refreshing radar image tracked Mark.
The good news: the tropical storm hadn’t been upgraded to a hurricane.
The bad news: it was still a tropical storm and the airport hadn’t been reopened.
Alice typed up notes and split the tasks amongst the senior management. Keith’s list contained exactly the same number as everyone else’s because at the end of the day, he didn’t have the heart to foist more work on his staff just because he had a selfish desire to get an old flame between the sheets.
No one left the little meeting room and Keith didn’t look up until nearly ten o’clock. Wind howled outside, occasionally gripping solid objects and flinging them against the side of the building. The storm had slowed the moment it hit land and battered the island for hours.
The airport remained closed indefinitely and Keith’s doubled workload had decreased by two items in two hours. The long evening loomed, promising to be lonely and stressful, but only because he’d hoped to have other plans. Most days, stress couldn’t touch him because he lived and breathed his work and liked it that way.
Elena plopped into the next chair and put her head in her hands, groaning.
“Yeah,” Keith commiserated. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s that definition of insanity. You know, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? I look at the agenda for the expo, and every time I think I’m going to see a magic solution that will allow us to kick it off tomorrow as planned.”
“There’s no magic. Just hours upon hours of hard work for zero payoff.” Normally, he’d sugarcoat a comment like that at least a little bit, but he was out of both sugar and patience.
Elena frowned. “That’s unacceptable.”
And that was typically Keith’s line. An unwillingness to fail coupled with hard-core will got him through the day.
“You’re right. There will be a payoff. Eventually.” It was just hard to see it right this minute through the red haze of professional and personal roadblocks. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’ve been putting in twelve-and sixteen-hour days for weeks,” Elena said mildly. “Take a break. The storm is going to do what it’s going to do and no spreadsheet in existence will change that. Let’s reconvene in the morning, assuming any of the resort is left standing around us.”
His grin felt a little flat but it was genuine. That’s why he’d handpicked Elena Moore—she had a pragmatism he appreciated. Especially when all he really wanted to do was text Cara and see if she’d still meet him for a drink in his room.
“That’s a great idea.” Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and typed a message.
He hit Send, stood and gathered his laptop and other stuff, which had somehow become strewn across the table.
If Cara wasn’t already asleep, he’d get a chance to blow off some of his personal frustration. The professional frustration would have to wait until dawn.
Like a teenager, he held his phone in his hand, screen up, so he’d see the return text from Cara the moment it arrived.
Nothing.
Maybe she was making a point, refusing to answer because it was way past nine o’clock and he’d made such a big deal about punctuality.
He dashed to his room without an umbrella. The wind nearly knocked him sideways, but he finally got a hand on the door and pushed his way inside, already soaking wet.
