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“It’s alright.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath, knowing whatever she’s about to say is going to further ruin my already crappy day. “What’s going on, Karla?”
“I know this is one of our busiest weeks between the wedding and summer closeout party. I hate to leave you in a lurch, but my dad had a stroke this afternoon.” She pauses to blow her nose directly into the phone. “They’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that.” And genuinely I am. Really. But of course, my brain doesn’t shut off and now I’m wondering about all the things she was supposed to complete last week. I don’t know what’s done, what’s not. I really don’t want to be the guy that asks about business, but I have to be. “Did you happen to get everything finalized for the wedding and the party last week?”
“I didn’t have time to work on the party. I was too busy with the wedding, but that’s good to go. If you want to have a look at my notes, they’re on my desk.”
I hold back the groan building in the back of my throat. Don’t get me wrong, the wedding is super important, but most of the guests are here for the summer event. Every year it gets bigger, and this was supposed to be the year to top them all. With me at the helm, everyone will be eating hot dogs and lighting sparklers.
“Don’t worry about us. Go home and spend time with your family.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Take as long as you need. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
She mutters her thanks and disconnects the call.
This is why I’ve been talking to her for the past six months about finding an assistant. At first she outright refused and then, when she was out for two weeks with the flu, said she’d reconsider. She’s been out two more times since then, but has yet to find the right fit. I should’ve hired someone myself, but every time I wade through all the event shit, there’s a fire somewhere else, and I’m pulled in a different direction.
But fuck. I need everything to run smoothly this week.
This is the first year I’m running the resort on my own. If I give my mother a reason to think I’m unfit for the job, she’ll have no problem taking the reins and demoting me back to the night manager. Or worse, she’d ship me off to one of her other hotels.
I don’t need a curvy distraction, and I don’t need someone to entertain, especially when I have a week to plan the biggest event of the year.
No pressure.
Fuck me.
This should have been done ages ago.
Just another reason I need to make sure Violet Camden leaves first thing in the morning.
CHAPTER THREE
Violet
I knowthe second Donovan walks into the cabin. The door closes behind him with a heavy thud, the air temperature drops significantly, and his dismay is practically audible.
He stands in the doorway to his bedroom, his eyes wide open, and his hand pulling his hair so roughly that it stands on end. “What the fuck did you do to my room?”
“You told me to unpack.” I shrug. Did I purposefully explode my suitcase all over his room? Maybe. It’s nothing I’ll admit out loud, though.
“Yeah, I told you to unpack a few things. Not cover my room with your clothes. Is that a bra on my lamp?”
“You seem stressed.” I raise my voice an octave, like I’m talking to a baby. “Did your phone call not go well?”
“No. My phone call didn’t go well,” he answers through gritted teeth and stalks over to his mini bar. He doesn’t even bother to pour himself a glass. He takes a swig directly from the tiny tequila bottle with the expensive label. I might have looked when I first came in.
I raise a brow but he ignores me so I continue ‘unpacking’, pulling out a few more shirts and tossing them across his bed.
He takes another drink, this time from a glass, and looks over toward me with a frown. “I know you’re just doing that to piss me off. It’s working.”
“Oh, good. My life’s goal has been accomplished.”
“You are so annoying.”
“As are you, Donny.”
