“Asher Barrington, you’ve got me out on this damn island, and you can’t even pick up your phone,” Monroe hissed as he paced around the expansive lobby of the Carle De Blu resort. “This was our deal. I’m here, and you’re nowhere to be found. Call me.”

“Mr. Redson,” a crisply dressed concierge said gently as Monroe tucked his phone away, “I reached the airline about your missing luggage, and I assure you we will not stop until it’s found.”

Monroe grunted and started taking a mental inventory of what was in his missing suitcase he’d likely never see again. “I just want to go to my room.”

“Of course, Mr. Redson. I completely understand. We have you staying in the presidential suite. My name is Buckley. I’m part of your personal staff. Anything you need don’t hesitate to request it.”

“I’m going to need a lot if my suitcase doesn’t turn up.” Monroe sighed, following the rigid-backed Buckley through the spacious and artfully decorated lobby. The Carle De Blu was a luxurious resort on a hard to access, remote island in the Caribbean.

There were plenty of resorts like it in the world. So why was Monroe spending his time muddling through the inconvenience of Carle De Blu? Because the island government had been working for years to drop their corporate and individual tax rates to next to nothing. There had been rumblings but never anything of substance. Monroe, a master of gathering information and trading secrets, knew it was about to go through, and Carle De Blu would become one of the most sought after properties in the world. Corporations would be able to use the island as an off-shore tax shelter.

Monroe didn’t mess around with those shady practices himself. Neither did Asher Barrington. It was messy and nearly always landed you in hot water in the long run. It wasn’t their plan when they’d caught wind that the tax rate changes were coming. The plan was to get in ahead of the deal, scoop up Carle De Blu, and then capitalize on the networking and growth that would happen on the island. Getting in before the rest of the world knew what was coming was paramount. It would be a joint venture. There was just one problem. The price tag on the Carle De Blu was a small fortune and didn’t seem to align with the public revenue estimates Monroe had dug up.

Lost in thought, he fell a few steps behind Buckley on his way through the lobby. As he rounded the corner toward the elevator, he collided with a tray balanced on the hand of a waiter walking by. Leftover sludge from half eaten dishes glopped against his chest and slid down the front of his suit coat. Juice wobbled and then tipped, joining the party on his clothes.

“Son of a bitch,” Monroe clamored, stepping backward and watching in disbelief as his seven-thousand-dollar suit dripped with someone’s discarded meal.

“Mr. Redson,” Buckley screeched as though open flames were covering his clothes and not cold leftover tomato soup. With the damage to his suit, it might as well have been. “I am so very sorry.” He snatched a handkerchief from the pocket of the fool who’d caused all this and began wiping at Monroe’s chest. “We’ll get this dry cleaned immediately sir. Let me take you to get changed so we can collect these clothes.”

“What should I change into?” Monroe snapped. “My suitcase is gone.”

“Get something,” Buckley ordered, shoving the clumsy man away. “Anything. Just get it immediately before the stains set.”

The man ran off as though he were in the last leg of a marathon. Monroe had pushed Buckley’s hand away from his shirt and stood in a puddle of dishes and silverware as everyone in the lobby looked on.

The shaking hands of the clumsy waiter held crumpled clothes as he slid back in front of them. “This was all I could get.”

“Come,” Buckley said, tugging Monroe along by his rigid elbow. “There’s a restroom here. Please change, and we’ll work on your suit right away.”

Monroe was practically shoved through the door of a bathroom with the pile of clothes in his hands.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned as he slipped into the white staff uniform that had a name tag still stuck on it. “Stephon,” he laughed, reading the name. This day couldn’t get any worse.

“I am so sorry again,” Buckley said, practically kneeling as he grabbed the stained suit from Monroe’s hands. “Please forgive my staff. That boy was a clumsy foolish idiot, and I can assure you he will be reprimanded.”

“It was me,” Monroe admitted, reluctantly handing his suit over. “I wasn’t paying attention, and I crashed right into him.” It wasn’t always in Monroe’s nature to claim responsibility for something that might end up costing him money. The odds they could get that suit cleaned were slim to none. But the kid couldn’t be more than twenty years old, and the way his lip was quivering Monroe could tell he was riddled with fear.

“That’s very generous of you to say, Mr. Redson,” Buckley said, dipping his head and trying to lead Monroe toward the elevator. “Here is your room key. You’re on the top floor. No room number; there is only a symbol on your door that matches this key card.”

Monroe took the key and watched Buckley walk away as a cleaning crew scurried by toward the enormous mess in the lobby. This trip had been one misstep after another, and if Asher didn’t call him back soon, he’d call the whole deal off.

He reached the top floor and winced at the itchy polyester staff uniform that was choking his neck.

“Hey,” a woman called from an open door of one of the rooms as he passed. “Hey, I need a hand in here.”

She was dressed in what must be the female version of the same kind of white uniform he was itching to get out of. The only difference was she filled it out perfectly. Her thick hips and slim waist drew his eye immediately.

She was just a flash in the door, and he thought he ought to keep moving toward his room. He didn’t need any more drama. But the rich scent of her perfume lingered near him and he felt a need to get closer.

“I’m not a housekeeper,” he called into the room as he made a move to eye her more closely. He’d been right. She was worth stopping for. Her skin was smooth and richly tanned. The top two buttons of her uniform were undone just enough to catch a glimpse and know he wanted more. Her plump lips were pursed together and turned down with annoyance. That was part of the allure. She didn’t seem impressed with him at all. Some women could spot an expensive suit and a diamond rimmed watch from across a room and instantly they’d turn on their charm. This woman was giving him the cold shoulder, and for some reason it was making him hot.

“Yeah me either,” she snapped back. “But the owners of Carle De BLAH don’t really care what job you were hired for. They want us all working like dogs, day and night, and pretending we love it. You must be new here if you don’t know that. I’m Aria.” She moved and talked quickly as she continued her work.

“I . . . uh, I’m Monroe.” He nearly launched into an explanation about his ruined suit as he breached the doorway. But the sight of her bent by an overturned couch made his heart thud. Her toned calf muscles flexed as she tried to turn the couch the right way, but failed. Letting out a groan she nibbled in frustration at her lip, and he couldn’t help but smile. Damn she was sexy, and she wasn’t even trying.

“Hang on,” he said, racing over and flipping the furniture right side up in one fluid move. Startled, she stumbled back a bit, and he steadied her against his arm. “Whoa, easy. You all right?”

“Yes” she replied, using one hand to pat her hair back into place. “I didn’t know you were going to go all monster man on the couch.” Her other hand lingered on his bicep and he could tell for the first time she was actually looking at him. Drinking him in the way he’d been doing to her.

“When there’s a job to be done,” Monroe began playfully, flexing his muscles. Abruptly, she pulled away and cleared her throat nervously.

“You’re way too optimistic to be anything besides a newbie. That smile doesn’t last. You’re still riding the high of believing everything they told you when you took the job.”

“Just got here today,” Monroe explained, curious to know more of what she had to say. It wasn’t like he was intentionally lying to this girl. He just wasn’t going out of his way to correct her. Monroe was a pro at getting information out of people. It’s how he’d heard about this deal in the first place. But getting down to this level, the real gritty stuff, usually cost him time and money. He never ventured into a deal without finding what they tried to hide behind the curtain, no matter how much it cost. This beautiful woman was giving it away for free. He wondered for a moment, flashing his sultry smile, what else she might be willing to give him. The deal went out of his mind for a moment as he imagined what he could do to her on this couch he’d just flipped back over.

“You’ll hate it,” she said flatly, interrupting his fantasy, as she moved through the room and righted anything else that had been upended. “We all do. Some take longer than others to realize what’s going on. But once you do, it’ll be too late.”

“Because the guests are pigs?” Monroe asked, tossing the pillows back onto the couch and assessing the rest of the damage. “Was there some kind of rock and roll band staying here?”

“This is nothing,” she scoffed waving around the room at some of the biggest messes. “This isn’t even the worst I’ve seen this week. But the guests aren’t nearly as bad as the management here. People go on vacation, especially people who can afford to come here, they’re going to leave us a mess. I’m used to that. But the treatment we get from the company, that’s not something you get used to. I hate to be the one to break it to you. I don’t like to run around here bursting everyone’s bubble. But you might as well find out now. This place is a trap, and they caught you in it.”

“Mr. Redson,” Buckley said sharply as he peeked his head into the open door. “I came to make sure you made it to your room all right.” Buckley’s slicked back hair was spiking up, clearly his running around had him disheveled. The look of sheer distain he gave Aria created a pit of anger in Monroe’s stomach. She’d done nothing wrong, but judging by Buckley’s expression she’d be in for it once they were alone. That was unless Monroe could intervene.

“I just passed by and this lovely woman caught my attention,” Monroe said, straightening his back as he gestured toward Aria. “She’s quite interesting.”

“You’re a guest,” Aria gasped quietly, her face burning with molten hot embarrassment. “I . . . um, he seemed lost.” The way her voice cracked and stuttered made Monroe suspicious. It was one thing to be a nervous employee concerned about what your boss might think, but the expression on her face made him wonder if this was something more.

“I was pissed about the accident downstairs,” Monroe cut in, stepping between Buckley’s angry glare and Aria. “I was turned around up here. Aria just offered to show me to my room.”

“I’m happy to do so,” Buckley said, gesturing for Monroe to follow him. “You’ve been through quite enough today without the help causing you more trouble.”

“I’d like to continue my conversation with Aria,” Monroe said, not budging. “She can show me where my room is. Then I’d like to finish our chat.” The idea of her joining him in his room sent blood coursing through his body a little quicker. The stress of this deal was boiling over and she looked like the perfect way to unwind. Not to mention, this Buckley guy was bugging the hell out of him. Showing him up would be the icing on the cake.

“I have to clean up in here,” Aria countered, her cheeks flushing, and her blue eyes dancing wildly. Monroe took pleasure in knocking her off her feet. She’d been so confident a moment ago and now she looked ready to bolt.

Buckley ground his teeth together and raised one of his caterpillar-like brows at her. It was as if he couldn’t figure out what to be mad at her about, but he just knew he was. “You’ll do as you’re told. Escort Mr. Redson to the presidential suite and stay until he dismisses you.”

“Yes, Mr. Waygo,” Aria replied obediently as she put the vase in her hand back in its place and followed Monroe out of the room. “Right this way,” she said in whisper as she gestured down the hall to his room.

He swiped the key card in front of the door and when the lights flashed green pushed it open. He nearly laughed at the sight of Aria standing in the doorway, gulping nervously and fidgeting.

“I’d like to hear more of what you have to say about this place,” Monroe reminded her as he stood waiting for her to enter. “You sounded like you had a good story to tell.”

“I am so sorry,” she said, dipping her head down in shame. “I had no idea you were a guest here. You are wearing a uniform. There was no way for me to know. Please, if you can find it in your heart, forget what I said and let me be on my way.” Her hands clasped together as she pleaded. Groveling was not sexy. A pit formed in his stomach as he looked at the pitiful way she was having to beg.

“I’m in a uniform because someone in the lobby ruined my suit. It wasn’t a trick or part of any bigger plan. I have no intention of getting you in any trouble. I have personal reasons for wanting to hear more of what you have to say. Information is powerful and I need to know what you were talking about. Please come in.”

“You want me to go in there with you?” she asked, now a completely new look washing over her face. It wasn’t her job she was worried about; it was her safety. Who was he to demand that she come in his room? He considered relenting and offering her a meeting in a public place but part of what he was looking for was the privacy for her to speak freely. Buckley would surely be prowling around being nosey as hell wherever they went.

“Strictly professional,” he repeated, trying to show how earnest he was. “Clearly you were being completely honest in your assessment of the current management. That’s of interest to me.”

“I’m a nobody; why would you believe what I have to say about this place? Maybe I’m a disgruntled employee with a bad attitude. I think you just want me in your room.” She kept her eyes fixed on his face as she challenged him to reply.

“I don’t trick women into coming into my room. So I can tell you that I do believe you. At first I wasn’t sure,” Monroe admitted with a wry smile. “That is until your boss sent you to my room. As a matter of fact, it sounded more like an order. You’re to stay here until I—what did he say?”

“Dismiss,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’m to stay until you dismiss me.” The look of defeat and disgust on her face was another punch to his gut. He’d rather be punching Buckley in the face for making her feel this way.

“You asked why I believe you.” Monroe shrugged coolly and gestured one more time, inviting her in. “I believe you because he just gave you to me like you were a Christmas ham. So that lent plenty of merit to what you had to say. I’d like to hear the rest. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She gritted her teeth and looked over her shoulder down the hallway where Buckley would surely be pacing around. “Fine.” She gave in with a helpless shrug. “But I’m not waiting to be dismissed. If I want to leave, I’m leaving.”

“By all means, sweetheart.” Monroe grinned widely. “But most women fight to get into my hotel room. You’re luckier than most.”

“Lesson number one,” Aria said, sauntering in with the sass he’d seen when she’d first called out to him in the hallway. “I am not like most women.”