Grace looked in the mirror one last time before clicking the compact shut and tossing it into her desk drawer. A quiet ding came from her computer, the fifteen-minute meeting reminder jumping to the center of her screen. Standing, Grace smoothed her charcoal-gray dress across her hips, slipped her feet into her nude heels, and swept her hand across her blonde hair, feeling for any strays that might have escaped her carefully constructed chignon.

She was overdressed. At least she would be on any other day. Wool had no place on a Caribbean island, not even the light-weight sheath she’d dug out of her closet. Given all of the activity that took place on the resort’s beach, wedges were far preferable to spiky heels. And the fine threads of her hair were going to lose the battle against the constant tug of the tropical trade winds, all of those bobby pins and hairspray be damned.

Regardless of her position as head of guest services for the premier resort in the West Indies, Grace preferred her regular and perfectly professional ensemble of well-tailored pants, flats, and airy tops to the more confining silhouettes of business dresses and gravity-defying stilettos, both of which seemed to be the preferred uniform of her colleagues on the mainland. And there was no way she was going to wear an honest-to-god suit at a place surrounded by white sand and wealthy vacationers stripped down to the smallest of bathing suits. Nope, no way.

But she’d compromised for this day. She and the rest of her co-workers at the Seven Winds were about to meet their new boss—the resort’s new owner—for the first time. And if the hotel’s new owner with his New York City sensibilities wanted his department heads stiff and stodgy, that’s what he’d get. Just this once.

Making her way towards the staff lounge, Grace silently recounted everything that had happened over the past four months, everything that had brought them to this moment.

Marcus Baker, the resort’s self-absorbed and erratic general manager, had become increasingly, well, self-absorbed and erratic. He disappeared for stretches at a time, without letting anyone know where he’d be and when he’d be back. And when he was on property, he locked himself away in his office, only emerging for ill-timed and unnecessary interventions in department activities.

It hadn’t been long before his poor decisions had leaked from internal issues to interactions with guests. Like the vacation package he’d insisted they pitch to entice new visitors, but then skimped on providing once people actually arrived. Or the fire-eater he’d hired to “entertain” diners during dinner, who’d managed to cough up enough smoke that Grace had been forced to offer complimentary dry cleaning to more than a dozen guests, promising to have the smudges out by morning. And no one could forget Marcus’s abject refusal to stop hacking up coconuts with a machete on the main lawn under the pretense of tapping the water inside. The beverage director had been forced to remove coconut water from the menu for weeks. And the head concierge, Peter, was the only one who knew where all of the machetes were now hidden.

Of all of it, the worst had been what happened with Jasper. Though Marcus had never been described as a leader, his erratic absences had made the awful circumstances of Jasper’s termination even more so. Especially since Grace had assumed all of the responsibilities that Marcus had willfully abandoned. Including firing.

Grace shuddered at the memory. She, along with every breathing woman over the age of twelve in a ten-mile radius of the hotel, had had a crush on Jasper Cox. Killer smile, brilliant blue eyes, and the well-muscled build of a surfer, Jasper had always been very aware of his favorable attributes. And how to make the most of them—an aspect of his personality which Grace had always known, but never really minded. She didn’t want to marry the guy, after all. Just enjoy herself with him. A thrilling fling, an opportunity for a little excitement. Something the bartender had been enthusiastic about. Or so she’d thought.

To Grace’s astonishment and horror, lurking underneath Jasper’s carefree exterior was a malicious, obsessive man, one who’d stalked then assaulted her good friend Sadie while she’d been sunbathing poolside at one of the resort’s private villas. Grace had hardly believed it when she’d heard. Over the course of Sadie’s visits to the island, while she’d been preparing for and then executing an event for her client, D&A International, Jasper had become enthralled, then irritated when Sadie didn’t return his interest. Then enraged when he discovered she was sleeping with Jack Avery, the handsome and immensely wealthy co-owner of D&A, best friend and business partner of Mark Donovan.

Self-consciously twisting her watch around her wrist, Grace cringed, recalling the humiliating brush-off Jasper had given her a few days before he accosted Sadie.

He’d stood her up. They’d all but done the deed, their mismatched schedules and staff accommodations not exactly conducive to romantic assignations, so Grace had finally skirted some rules and booked them a modest but private room at the resort. Alluring outfit donned, bottle of sparkling wine popped, Grace had waited hours, alone and antsy, until it became painfully obvious that Jasper wasn’t coming. And Grace had been ready to write him off, once and for all, and file the entire experience under month-long-example-of-poor-decision-making.

But then he’d apologized. Practically groveled. Explained why he hadn’t made it, that he’d gotten waylaid by an assignment from Marcus, that he’d gone to sleep tormented by visions of all the things he’d wanted to do to her in the privacy of that room. And, idiot that she was, Grace had forgiven him. Not only that, she’d given him a second chance. That very night. In a cabana. By the hotel’s main pool. Talk about poor decision-making. Grace felt ill every time she thought about how willingly she’d gone with him, how willingly she’d given him access to her body. And a particularly virulent brand of shame shook her every time she remembered what he’d said to her the next morning.

We’re done. I guess it was fun. But you’re not the one I want, Grace. There’s someone else. Someone I want so much more. You weren’t my favorite distraction, but there are worse ways to waste time.

That would have been bad enough. Grace hadn’t been interested in a long-term relationship. But to be flung aside so easily? To realize that he’d never thought of her as more than an easy piece of ass, barely worth his time? That had hurt. But not nearly as much as knowing that Jasper had not only lusted after her friend all along, but was the kind of guy to try to steal what he couldn’t have, to attack where he wasn’t welcome. Thankfully for Sadie, a well-timed head-butt had deterred Jasper long enough for her to break free. And had provided enough time for Mark Donovan to haul Jasper away by the throat.

Mark Donovan.

He was the other reason Grace felt a sharp slice of embarrassment every time she remembered that day.

Releasing a slow and steady exhale, Grace stopped just outside the staff lounge and straightened to her full height, her five-and-a-half-foot stature significantly enhanced by her four-inch heels. Blinking rapidly, she banished all memories of those vibrantly blue eyes, the ropes of muscle spanning those expansive shoulders, and those wide, smooth lips that incited a riot of feelings low in her abdomen. Nope, it had been almost four months since she’d last seen or heard from Mark Donovan. And today was not the day she was going to let him distract her from impressing the shit out of the formidable new owner of her hotel.

A sentiment that was all well and good until Grace pushed through the windowless door and came face to face with a hooded pair of indigo eyes, broad shoulders expertly wrapped in an exquisite custom-tailored suit, and lips curved into a cold, thin smile.

“Ah, Ms. Fitzgerald. How nice of you to join us.”

* * *

Mark. Fucking. Donovan.

Grace’s tongue wrapped around the words even as she clamped her lips down, hauling them back. Her throat burned with the effort. Unable to form a response around the curses clogging her mouth, Grace just blinked.

Mark frowned.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Ms. Fitzgerald.” He gestured to the only empty chair left in the room. Which happened to be right in front of him.

He definitely shouldn’t be here. There was no reason for him to be here. What the fuck was he doing here, now….

Knowing her colleagues were watching, Grace carefully picked her way across the room and glared at the chair before sitting. Crossing her legs and smoothing down her skirt, Grace looked ahead. Studiously. At the wall just to the left of the man in front of her.

“Good, now that we’re all here.” Mark gave her a pointed look, and Grace was tempted to check her watch. She knew she wasn’t late. But she stayed still, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. “Let’s get started.”

Started? On what? What the fuck is going on?!

Drawing himself to his impressive height, Mark surveyed the room. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to meet with me. I understand that everyone’s busy, and I’ll try to limit meetings like this in the future. But it’s important for us to get started off on the right foot. And I wanted to give you a chance to ask questions after I update you on the current state of things at the Seven Winds.”

Grace kept her hands where they were in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, ignoring the clamminess beginning to slick her palms.

What does he mean, “in the future”? And “the current state of things”? Oh, Grace, nothing about this can possibly be good.

Mark’s deep, steady voice broke through her growing unease. “To avoid as much negative publicity as possible, we’ve made a concerted effort to keep the details of this acquisition quiet up until the last moment. But now that it’s time to begin implementing some large structural changes, I thought it would be best to get everyone together and cover all the basics at once.

“As some of you may have already guessed, Donovan Holdings is the new owner of the Seven Winds Resort.” Mark paused, letting the announcement sink in. Her back straight in her chair, Grace refused to meet his eyes, even as she felt them touch her face then her hands then her knees, where they were exposed beneath the hem of her dress. “And,” Mark continued, “since I find that a hands-on approach is usually best with my newest companies, especially those that are about to undergo transitions, I will be working on-property with you for the next several months, overseeing things like staffing changes, infrastructure improvements, and an overhaul of the resort’s marketing campaign.”

Grace was sure she hadn’t sat in a swivel chair. That between the four wooden legs and her own, she was still solidly earth-bound. Then why was her head spinning? Because she was pretty certain that the man who occupied her dreams and nightmares in equal parts had just announced that not only was he the new owner of the hotel, but that he would be staying on the island. At the resort. For months.

Shifting her grip to the arms of her chair, Grace looked up in time to see Mark’s eyes flick off the bottom her ankle, lingering longer than necessary on one foot punishingly wrapped in nude patent leather.

Hands-on, my ass.

“What sort of changes?”

Mark looked at her, and Grace couldn’t decide if she was relieved or offended that his gaze was neutral, no hint of the memory of their kiss banked in the stoic blue. “Were you not paying attention, Ms. Fitzgerald?”

“Excuse me?” Where Mark’s voice had been low, bored, Grace’s came out tinny and sharp.

Calm down, Grace. You didn’t put on this eight-hundred-dollar designer dress you magically found for one-fifty for nothing. Woman up.

When Mark’s only response was a cock of the head, Grace continued, her tone equally flat. “Yes, you mentioned a few areas. Staffing, infrastructure, marketing. I was hoping—I’m sure many of us are hoping—that you’d be willing to expand on those. Seeing as we’re all here, together. You do have a captive audience.” Grace gestured towards the room behind her, hoping that her colleagues were at least looking in Mark’s direction, if not with expectant stares.

“A reasonable request, Ms. Fitzgerald.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there a particular area you’d like me to elaborate on?”

“Well, seeing as I’m sure all of us would like to know how this acquisition will impact our jobs, perhaps you can start there.” Grace heard a few murmurs of agreement behind her and watched Mark assess the crowd.

He gave a sharp nod, beginning, “Some of you might remember that I was a guest here a few months ago. Not just for a few nights, but for close to two weeks. During that time, I had an up-close and personal view of how many of you perform in your jobs. And, overwhelmingly, I was impressed. Not only was your professionalism on display, for the most part.” Grace held her breath, but Mark kept his attention on the room behind her. “But the welcoming attitude exemplified by almost all of the staff was the perfect complement to the luxurious accommodations.”

From the corner of her eye, Grace caught some of her colleagues smiling or bobbing their heads in appreciation, and Mark even looked like he might be on the verge of smiling. But then he shifted, and the room’s mood plummeted.

“That said, during my time here I also witnessed some appalling behavior. And not”—he swiped a hand in front of him, cutting through the knowing whispers—“just in the way you might think. There is no need to publicly dissect the criminal activity of one former employee. But I also cannot ignore some of the other inexcusable events that took place during that time. So, to answer your question, Ms. Fitzgerald, I’ll definitely be restructuring departments in a way that makes sense for the business and also addresses some lingering concerns I have about a few remaining staff members.

“Long story, short. Yes, some individuals will be let go. And the quality of references will be based on a thorough look into their history here.”

Indignation flared in Grace’s chest. “Mr. Donovan, are you suggesting that after spending two weeks at the hotel as a guest, you’re an expert in the quality of our staff? That you’re already so confident about the inner workings of this place that you can accuse some of us of inappropriate behavior?”

Grace could hear her co-workers shuffling behind her, small, anxious movements. But she didn’t know if they were caused by Mark’s announcement or her response to it. Ignoring them, she narrowed her eyes and met his, unflinching. “Don’t you think you need to spend more time here before you make decisions that will leave some of us unemployed?”

“Ms. Fitzgerald.”

With those two words falling precisely, slowly from his tongue, Grace was pulled back to that morning in his villa, and she could practically feel the lick of his breath against her lips. Repressing a shiver, she didn’t let her gaze drop as Mark continued.

“I appreciate your loyalty to your fellow employees. And though this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion, for the sake of transparency I’ll agree that two weeks is not nearly enough time to accurately understand everyone’s performance, their capabilities or skills.

“On the other hand”—Mark’s hypnotic mouth lifted into a knowing smirk—“there are some of us who make important decisions after considerably less thought. And with significantly less information. Those who, I’m sure you’re aware, enter into surprisingly intimate arrangements having known the other party mere minutes. People who willingly—what’s the phrase?—jump into bed with virtual strangers.” Pausing, he traced his bottom lip with one long finger. “So, in comparison to those people, my approach appears quite studied. Doesn’t it?”

Ho-ly shit. He didn’t just…. After months, months of zero recognition that their kiss ever took place, he was bringing it up now. Here. What an asshole!

Grace’s brain was exploding with words, none of which she could say out loud. She knew, without doubt, that her cheeks were ruddy with a mix of embarrassment and anger. Her fingers were biting down on the chair so hard she thought she’d rip the upholstery. And Mark. Fucking. Donovan. He just stood there, a telling grin twisting his mouth and an inciting spark flashing in his eyes.

“Mr. Donovan,” Grace managed to grind out. “Despite your efforts, I don’t think that comparison works in your favor.”

“No?”

Grace almost snorted at how much male smugness he jammed into that one word.

“No.” She shook her head. “Because I think you’ll find the individuals you’re referring to usually regret their impulsive decisions. That almost as soon as the deal is done, they consider the hasty partnership a mistake. One they would undoubtedly annul, given the opportunity.” Seething, Grace missed how Mark’s face hardened at the word ‘mistake.’ “And if it takes only a minute to act on such a huge error of judgment, it’s pretty arrogant to assume that you’d do much better in what is, in the grand scheme of things, not a significantly longer period of time. Certainly not in comparison to how long many of us have worked here.”

Pausing for breath, Grace became aware of two things. First, the room was utterly silent, the air around her strung so tight Grace thought she could feel it vibrating with the mounting tension. Second, all of the distance that had existed between her and Mark Donovan was gone. Registering a crick in her neck, Grace realized that while they hadn’t broken eye contact, Mark had come to stand over her. And she was sitting, neck craning, dwarfed by his towering form.

His response, however calm, did nothing to lessen the threat of his body ranging above hers. “I find your logic, Ms. Fitzgerald, both fascinating and flawed. Not to mention insubordinate. On this particular occasion I’m inclined to let it slide. Especially since my presence—not to mention my position—here must come as a shock. But I respectfully ask that you refrain from any further outbursts until we’re in a place that allows me time to consider and respond. Without an audience.”

At the word ‘insubordinate,’ Grace was at the edge of her chair, on the verge of lunging at the man in front of her. The man who, her mind was struggling to remind her, was her boss. And as the owner of the resort, perfectly within his rights to fire her. But even the more temperate part of her brain was protesting his patronizing tone.

Outburst?! No fucking way. Pretty sure if Peter was the one standing up for the staff, Mark Fucking Donovan’s response wouldn’t be so damned condescending.

Her colleague Carrie must have noticed just how close she was to pouncing and stepped in before Grace was able to let loose with a career-ending slap.

“Mr. Donovan?” At any other time, Carrie’s voice wouldn’t have reached them from her spot in the back of the room. At that moment, however, it was clear and calming. And pulled both Mark and Grace back from whatever precipice they were teetering on.

Scanning the crowd, Mark found Carrie as she continued, “Mr. Donovan, is it true that Mr. Baker no longer works here?”

Grace and Carrie had heard the rumor that morning, one that Grace had completely forgotten at the sight of him.

Mark cleared his throat. “Thank you for your question, Ms. Harris. I’d planned to make that announcement, before I was sidelined….” His head leaned in Grace’s direction. “But since you bring it up,” Mark retreated from Grace’s chair, casually smoothing down his tie, returning to his position at the front of the room.

“The answer is, yes, Marcus Baker is no longer employed at the Seven Winds. His last day as general manger coincided with my first day as the new owner. And”—Mark looked daggers at Grace—“before anyone jumps to his defense, Mr. Baker was not an asset to this property. Both his leadership and decision-making were questionable, at best. Harmful, at worst. I do not regret my decision to remove him. And”—he raised one hand to stop the murmur rippling through the crowd—“I plan on announcing his successor in the next few days.”

God, the man hadn’t even bothered to find a replacement for Marcus before firing him.

Not that Grace disagreed with his decision. On the contrary. It was exactly what she would have done in his place. As soon as she’d learned the hotel was under new management, she’d known Marcus’s days were numbered. Still. Someone who wasn’t quite so cavalier about the future of the resort would have a new GM ready to step in.

A point Grace was about to make when her phone rang.

Mark glared at her, even as Grace saw a hint of recognition flash in his eyes. It was the emergency line, after all. The same one that had saved her from ‘jumping into bed with a virtual stranger,’ as he’d so charmingly put it.

“Is there somewhere you need to be, Ms. Fitzgerald?”

“As it happens. Yes. There is.” Rising, Grace made her way across the room, only stopping when she reached the door. Looking over her shoulder, she ignored the riveted stares of her co-workers. “Welcome back to the Seven Winds, Mr. Donovan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.”