Page 32 of Last Resort

“But a phone call still would be nice,” I say with a saccharine-sweet smile. “To let them know they were valued regardless of whether we ever see them again or not. Common courtesy and all that.”

“Common courtesy and all that,” Callahan murmurs before taking a sip of his drink, his eyes meeting mine just above its rim.

“I think that’s a good start,” Brady says with a resolute nod. “We at least have a general roadmap to start with. From there we can dig down to the nitty-gritty details as we go.”

“Agreed,” I say, more than confused about what Callahan was trying to say to me with all the comments.

But I think I gave as good as I got.

At least I hope I did.

“Callahan? Is there anything further on your agenda you’d like to discuss tonight?”

That smirk is back. This time it’s followed by a soft chuckle. “Not at this time. I think we have many nights to discuss the intricacies of how we make our guests come back for seconds.”

“Very true. Of course, the ultimate goal would be a carryover to other properties you own,” Brady suggests, clearly trying to make up for his agreement with me. “We just need to ask ourselves the question: how do we entice them to want to use Sharpe International resorts exclusively?”

I give a nod to Brady. “I’m fairly certain that if they should stumble across a sibling property, their first taste here will encourage them to try the others out.” I look directly at Callahan and shrug, my expression stoic. “I mean, why limit yourself to just one Sharpe resort when there are others you could experience? Who knows, you might be better suited for a different one. While they all might have the same look, each one has differing attributes. Everyone loves to have options.”

Callahan’s grip on his glass is so tight his knuckles are white.

Good.

Serves him right.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Callahan

She taunted me.

Sat there and fucking taunted me with her bullshit comments about how one should experience other Sharpes and see which one fits the best. Then she excused herself from the table with a smirk and said she had to review a few more things before she went to bed.

What the hell was that all about?

But I’m the one who slipped, fucking showed my cards, when I hadn’t planned on it. I was so damn preoccupied with not being affected by her, or rather not letting her know I was affected by her, that I wasn’t thinking clearly.

Then I spent the rest of our bizarre battle of wills grasping for straws as I tried to put her off me. Piss her off and think that I didn’t want anything more with her than the night in the suite to make it easier for me to push her away. To not act on the desire that thrummed in my veins each and every time our eyes met.

The irony? I didn’t want more than that night with her. The sex was incredible but like always, when I shut that door and walked away, for all intents and purposes, I was over it. Over her.

Wasn’t that the whole point? A rebound. Sex without strings. No regrets.

But clearly I wasn’t over her.

Not when I ordered her Starbucks. Certainly not when she walked her fine ass out of the conference room to leave me picking my jaw up off the floor and adjust the hard-on in my pants. And definitely not now that we’re stuck working together over the next few months. It’s going to be one long, miserable stretch to want someone and not be able to act on it.

You promised that you wouldn’t, Callahan.

The woman has moxie, that’s for sure.

And why is it such a turn-on?

Fuck me and my promises.

I stand with my hands on my hips staring into the moonlit night. I don’t see the flames of the tiki torches or white clapboard fronts of the buildings. I don’t hear the steel drums or smell the scent of the ocean. I don’t even know that I’m in paradise because right now I’m sitting in my own personal hell.

All I can think about is that little tug of war we just had in front of Brady. All I can focus on is the sound of her soft laugh and the defiance and challenge in her eyes.