Where the hell was Santiago?

Abena hung up the phone after the call went to voice mail again.

Today of all days, Emilio, the general manager, called and explained he was in the hospital, busted up from a water-skiing accident. He couldn’t reach Santiago and sounded on the verge of tears when he reminded Abena about their very important guests coming later this evening.

Martina Esposito, one of the world’s most popular singers and over three hundred of her guests were coming to the restaurant for a special meal that had been checked, double-checked, and triple-checked. Everything was ready and in order—well, except for one of the stars of the meal.

There were no lobsters.

The cooling unit where they had been stored overnight hadn’t been set properly. When staff opened the containers after the delivery, a stench filled the kitchen. The crustaceans were completely unusable. Every. Single. One.

Abena took the elevator to Santiago’s floor. Her low-heeled shoes padded softly on the carpet as she rushed down the hallway. Dressed casually in jeans and a purple blouse, she’d had to abandon her cart at the supermarket when she received the call from Emilio.

Phone to her ear as she marched toward the Sol suite where Santiago resided, she listened as it rang once. Twice. Three times.

“Hola?”

Abena let out a sigh of relief, then demanded, “Where have you been?”

Slight pause. “Why are you talking to me in that tone?”

His voice sounded low and husky, as if he’d recently woken up. Abena tried not to think of his tanned skin, the muscles in his arms and back rippling as he rolled under the covers to reach for the phone, naked—because that’s the way he said he preferred to sleep. Now was not the time to conjure up those types of images. They had to avoid a catastrophe.

“I’m outside your suite.” She slammed the side of her fist against his door three times, so the pounding echoed in the hallway. “We need you in the restaurant, and we need you right away. The lobsters have all gone bad. We have nothing.”

There was quiet for several seconds before he spoke again. “What do you mean, they went bad? What do you mean, we have nothing? And why are you working? It’s Sunday.” Santiago’s voice had lost its sleepiness and been replaced by a hint of panic mingled with confusion.

“I mean they went bad. The lobsters are inedible, and we have Esposito and her people coming at seven-thirty. I’m here because no one could reach you.”

She heard the rustle of sheets before he swore in Spanish, followed by, “How the hell did we end up in this predicament?”

“The same way everything happens in this business—completely and purely by chance.”

The lock disengaged on the inside of the room, and the door swung open. Santiago stood before her with one hand holding up the sheet around his lean waist, his sleepy gray eyes squinting against the light from beneath a lock of hair that had fallen across his brow. The ever-present necklace glinted on his tanned, muscular chest.

Abena swallowed as her hungry eyes scanned his body. “Rough night?”

“Long night. Come in.”

Carefully, like someone entering enemy territory, she walked into the suite and let the door swing close behind her. Esteban could be making a lot of money off this room, but he’d allowed Santiago to remain here for free for six months, giving him plenty of time to get settled and find his own place.

“Give me ten minutes.” Santiago disappeared into the bathroom, but left the door slightly ajar. “Tell me what happened,” he called out.

The shower came on, and she turned away from the door.

The room contained the typical hotel furnishings of a desk and chair, and an area with a small refrigerator and a coffee maker on the counter. Across the room, the heavy printed drapes were closed—shutting out much of the light, so the entire room seemed wrapped in a golden cocoon from the dimmed, overhead bulbs. They cast a glow on the burnt yellow walls and reflected off the dark hardwood floor. A four-seat dining table sat in an alcove beneath a chandelier, while comfy chairs surrounded a low table, arranged to promote conversation and facilitate easy viewing of the flat screen on the console against the wall beneath two decorative mirrors.

Her eyes paused when they encountered the unmade bed, covered in neutral linens and two steps up on a raised platform to her left. She imagined Santiago lying there, naked as the day he was born—the scent of him deep in the sheets, his husky voice whispering all manner of compliments in Spanish and English.

“Abena?” His voice was a jarring reminder she hadn’t replied to his request for more details.

She recited what little the chef had shared with her when she arrived on the scene.

“This would be funny if it wasn’t so alarming,” Santiago said when she finished.

“Yes.”

The clean scent of pine soap wafted through the cracked door. Abena didn’t want to think about water and soap suds cascading down his body. She walked across the room and perched her bottom on the edge of the sofa, running her palms up and down her thighs rapidly enough to start a fire.

She shouldn’t have come up here, but since she’d had trouble reaching him by phone, knocking on the door was the next best option. She knew he had to be in the building, or at the very least, nearby. Esposito’s event was too important for Santiago not to be readily available to the staff.

The shower shut off and seconds later, Santiago exited. This time he wore a white towel cinched around his waist, and his damp hair was thrust back from his forehead. Silky hairs lay flat on his chest and arrowed down beneath the edge of the towel.

“A few more minutes and I’ll be ready.” He only gave her a quick glance before disappearing out of view.

From this vantage point, she could no longer see him, but heard him climb the two steps and then rummage in the closet and the drawers. Her gaze drifted up to one of the mirrors on the wall, and her entire body stilled. Santiago removed the towel and tossed it on the bed. His bare behind and the muscles of his back were on full display.

Air squeezed from her lungs and her abdominal muscles tightened. She should have the decency to look away, but couldn’t. Who could possibly look away from such a fine specimen of a man, as he slipped on a pair of boxers and a gray button-down shirt, moved out of the line of sight for a moment, then reappeared in the reflection and pulled on a pair of dark pants. She kept her eyes on him, riveted by the reverse striptease.

He grabbed the towel and moved out of sight as he hurried down the steps. Abena dropped her gaze to her hands and pretended to be preoccupied with her phone while he put the wet towel in the bathroom.

“Let’s go,” he said when he came back out, fastening a watch on his wrist. There was tiredness in his eyes, but he appeared more alert.

She followed him silently from the room, inhaling the cleanliness of his skin. He smelled fresh, like linens left out to dry in the sun.

“So, long night, you said?” Not that she cared.

They walked into the elevator together.

“My sister lives in Fort Lauderdale. She has two kids and seldom gets a break, so I took her and one of her friends out last night. We hit a few clubs. Satisfied?”

A sister. Another little tidbit she didn’t know about him.

She shrugged. “It’s not for me to be satisfied. I was just asking.” She cleared her throat. “You only have the one sister?”

“I have five. No brothers.” He punched the button for the third floor, where their offices were located.

“What are you doing?” Abena asked. “We have to go down to the kitchen and talk to the chef.”

“I have an idea.” The doors opened and Santiago stepped out.

She hurried after him, down to his office at the other end of the building. He logged into the system and printed several sheets of paper, which he then removed and stared at. Abena knew better than to disturb him while he was in deep thought.

He glanced up at her. “Not everyone in the party is eating lobster, correct?”

“Correct, but approximately two thirds of the group chose to include lobster with their meal. The others only wanted steak.”

Gripping the back of his neck, Santiago paced the floor. He stopped suddenly. “Here’s what we have to do. We have to find enough lobsters to feed, what—two hundred men and women?”

“Two hundred and twelve.” She’d memorized every detail of the event.

“Two hundred and twelve between now and five-thirty.”

“You mean seven-thirty, when the dinner takes place.”

“Five-thirty, so we can get them all here with plenty of time to be cooked.” He glanced at his watch. “We have two hours.”

“Okay, makes sense, but where in the world are we going to get that many lobsters on such short notice?”

“Have a seat.” He pointed at the leather chair behind his desk, and though she hated his commanding tone, Abena sat down. “I’m going to start calling all the neighboring hotels, restaurants, and markets to find out if we can purchase their lobster supply. You’re going to arrange for Uber drivers to pick up the lobsters and bring them back here. Anyone who can deliver for us, we’ll accept their offer. In the meantime, start calling employees and get as many as you can to come in early. We’re going to need as much help as we can to get these things cleaned and steamed.”

Santiago sat down, pulled out his phone, and started calling. The first calls went to restaurants in the Galiano Holdings group. At the same time, Abena called down to the kitchen to let them know they were working on the lobster problem. Once she’d allayed the chef’s fears, she scrolled through the employee contact list and started calling all the wait staff to find out who could come in earlier than scheduled, because they needed all hands on deck.

While she worked, she listened to Santiago maneuver through phone conversations. None of the restaurants in the Galiano group had lobster.

He kept dialing and she gnawed the corner of her mouth. Could they pull this off?

She left a voice mail for an employee and looked up when Santiago snapped his fingers to get her attention.

“How many do you have?” he asked, speaking into the phone while keeping his eyes on her. He held up five fingers and she jotted down the number. “Great. We’ll send someone over right away.” He repeated the name of the restaurant and their address as it was relayed to him. Abena scribbled down the information on a sheet of paper as fast as he spoke.

Right away, she set about working on transportation. Santiago continued calling dining establishments on South Beach and then widened the net to other parts of the city. At the same time, Abena alternated between arranging transportation and calling Patagonia employees.

Over two hours later, she hung up the phone and grinned across the desk at Santiago. “Finished. Dana said she’ll pick up the last order on her way in.”

Working together, they had coordinated the delivery of two hundred and thirty lobsters. Some of the restaurants were kind enough to shuttle them over, and several of the incoming staff offered to pick up a delivery, which saved time.

Santiago blew out a relieved breath. “Time to head downstairs.”

Abena hopped up and followed him out the door.