Chapter 19

Hart

Later that afternoon, Daisy sends me the final website design so I can approve it before it goes live.

It’s phenomenal.

She’s super talented, like I told her asshole boss, and will do well if she decides to branch out on her own. The new website is easy to navigate, with clearcut links to bookings, villas, facilities, attractions, and a gallery that would make any tourist want to get here as soon as humanly possible.

She’s made Gem Island the place to be and the resort look like a haven. She’s even managed to make me look good and that’s saying something. I have no doubt that once this website goes live and she ramps up the social media campaign, bookings will start to increase for the first time since Pa’s death.

But as I scroll through the fancy new website I’m struck again by how this place would be perfect for what I have in mind. It’s a radical idea that doesn’t fit with the island’s glamorous image. I mentioned it to Pa once and he shot me down before I finished articulating it.

I know it’s a good idea. Not for the PR but for what it will give to those kids who are doing it tough like I once did. It’s my way of giving back.

I’m tired of dealing with the same issues over and over. No matter which city in the world I visit, no matter the age of the kids, they’re all facing the same fears. Fear of being shunted from home to home, fear of foster parents and siblings, fear of losing everything and ending up on the streets, fear of abuse, fear of bullies.

I should’ve known Daisy would home in on my comment about bullies. That’s what set me off when I entered the conference room and saw that boss of hers berating her. Something inside me snapped, catapulting me back in time to when I was eight, in my first home, and an older foster sibling was standing over me, yelling in my face, jabbing his finger into my chest, trying to get me to fight back.

I despise bullies.

Thankfully, Daisy didn’t probe when I switched our conversation to light-hearted. I like that about her. She’s refreshing and fun and genuine.

And she’ll be leaving shortly.

I should be relieved. I’m not. I’m already imagining how empty this place will be without her, which is crazy considering I have no plans to stick around longterm either.

I’ve had a few applicants for the role of island manager but none have the experience to run a resort of this magnitude. I’m leaning towards offering Kevin the job but he vetoed the idea when I first mentioned it shortly after Pa’s funeral.

Then again, I didn’t exactly couch my offer in appealing terms, virtually asking him to step up so I wouldn’t have to. This time will be different. I’ll put together an attractive package, one he can’t say no to. I’ll formally interview him, on the pretext that he’s up against a host of super-qualified candidates. He won’t be able to say no.

The sooner Kevin assumes managerial duties, the sooner I can leave. But not before implementing my plan with Daisy’s help.

For my idea to have an impact I’ll need the right PR and I know just the woman for the job.

My gaze is drawn to the computer screen again. She’s a whiz. I fire off an email telling her so and asking her to meet me here in an hour. It gives me time to draw up a rough outline of what I envisage for the older villas at the back of the property.

When I hear a knock on my door I glance at the time in the top corner of my screen, surprised to see sixty minutes have flown by. I get like this when I’m passionate about something and making lives easier for the kids I deal with is my new priority.

‘Come in,’ I call out and the door swings open. I’m prepared to see Daisy; I’m not prepared for the tightening in my chest. It’s an unusual feeling, part heartburn part breathlessness, like I’m an asthmatic who indulges in one too many burritos. Stupid, because my breathing is fine and I hate Mexican food.

I don’t like that the awful burn in my chest makes a mockery of my previous belief that I’m dead inside, that I don’t feel anything, because there’s an inherent quality to this amazing woman that makes me feel something, no matter how much I don’t want to admit it.

I pegged it as lust initially. Lust is good. Lust is slaked. Lust fades and can be chalked up to a memorable fantasy to be dredged up when I’m an old man.

But that burn intensifies as she enters my office, her smile light, her eyes bright, her pale pink silk sundress swishing around her shapely calves, making her look carefree in a way I can never be.

The burn has to be lust. It’s all it can ever be.

‘You wanted to see me?’ She closes the door and sashays across my office, working it.

I want to vault my desk, grab her, and take her up against the nearest wall.

‘Yeah, thanks for coming.’ I stand and move around my desk, gesturing at the leather sofas in the far corner. ‘Let’s have a seat.’

Some of her sassiness fades. She’s shooting me glances from beneath her lashes, like she’s uncertain and nervous.

‘Don’t worry, this is a good thing.’

‘Okay.’ She sits and clasps her hands in her lap, oddly strait-laced when I’ve seen her naked and wanton and willing.

‘I have an idea. For the island.’

I have no trouble articulating my thoughts usually but this project is too close to home and I’m oddly reluctant to divulge it for fear of her judging; or worse, seeing right through me.

‘For the ad campaign?’ A tiny frown appears between her brows. ‘But we’ve already finalised everything. Adding changes now will only delay the launch.’

‘I think it’s worth it.’

I sit opposite so I can see her reaction. I’ve always depended on my gut reactions to any situation and I’ve never been steered wrong.

‘Go on.’ She relaxes slightly and leans back into the sofa.

‘On your first tour of the resort, do you remember the older villas situated down by the lagoon?’

She nods. ‘The ones you want to renovate?’

‘Yeah.’

Here goes nothing. I’m not used to bouncing my ideas off others. I make a decision, I stick to it. But her expertise can only help in this case.

‘I want to designate those villas for a new foster kids programme I want to develop. Where kids and their foster families can come to the island for a few days of RR. A weekly rotation, where different families come from all around the world for some much deserved time out. We have eight villas so that’s thirty-two families a month, three hundred and eighty-four a year who can benefit.’

The words tumble out in a rush. ‘So many of the kids I see have never left their cities let alone had a vacation. And the men and women who foster are the same. Those people would benefit greatly from a programme like this.’

I search her face for some clue that she gets it; gets me. But she blinks a few times, like she’s trying to hide her surprise or come up with a response that I’ll like.

My heart sinks and I let out a breath I’m unaware I’m holding. Her lack of enthusiasm says it all. Her first instinctive reaction is that my idea sucks.

Disappointment filters through me. I thought she’d seen beneath my brusque exterior to the real me, no matter how many times I’ve tried to hide from her.

I can’t blame her. It’s what I wanted, to hold her at arm’s length, to not reveal too much. I brought this on myself.

So why does it feel like a kick in the guts?

‘I think it’s a fabulous idea.’ She sounds stilted, like she’s choosing her words carefully, and I’m disappointed all over again.

‘But?’

‘The relaunch is ready to go and this will delay it. Is that what you want?’

Damn her for sounding so logical. She’s right. I’m running on adrenalin, eager to get the redevelopment happening, but I can’t derail the plans to make the resort viable again. It’s what we’ve been busting our asses to achieve.

‘Isn’t there some way we can incorporate the programme into the new campaign?’

She shakes her head, the frown between her brows deepening. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the campaign we’ve created focuses on the glamour of Gem Island, the high-end luxury for the discerning traveller. You can’t muddy the message with a cause.’

A cause.She makes it sound like helping foster kids is akin to offering the devil a week’s free accommodation.

Her eyes brighten and she snaps her fingers. ‘Unless we utilise all those shots we took of you, the ones you vetoed. That way, we can put a face to the kids’ vacation programme—’

‘No.’ I hold up my hands. ‘No fucking way.’

I can’t be the poster boy for this programme. It’s not why I’m doing it, for the recognition. I need to stay behind the scenes as usual, ensuring the focus stays where it needs to be: on the kids.

Her nose gets this cute crinkle on the bridge when she’s disapproving. ‘We can make this work. The foster kids’ vacation programme can be an adjunct to what we’ve already done. An offshoot of the campaign, but it will only work if you’re the face of it to bring both aspects together in a cohesive way—’

‘What part of no can’t you understand?’

My hands bunch into fists and I take a deep breath, willing my anger to subside. I must be going mad. A few moments ago I was disappointed she didn’t jump at my idea, now I’m furious because her enthusiasm is overriding common sense.

Her cheeks flush and it’s not because she’s excited. Disapproval tightens her mouth. ‘You initially took me by surprise and I couldn’t see how this would work with the new campaign as it currently stands, but with the tweaking I suggest I think this is a great idea. You hired me to do the PR for Gem Island’s resort and we’ve made a great team. Why can’t you see that enhancing the campaign by featuring you in it is a good thing?’

I grit my teeth against the urge to blurt the truth. ‘Because no one gives a fuck who I am. Those kids don’t identify with me. They’ll see me as some rich prick flinging his cash around for the sake of a tax deduction. They won’t understand. Nobody will…’

I’ve said too much and, predictably, she stares at me with pity. I fucking hate it.

‘I want you to do a separate PR campaign for the vacation villas. That’s it.’

She glares at me like I’ve insulted her. ‘You’ve trusted my professional opinion until now. Why won’t you trust me on this?’

‘This isn’t about trust, it’s about business. You said it yourself. The campaign is ready to launch. I made a mistake trying to rush this. I don’t want to damage the brand you’ve tried to create for the island so let’s wait.’

‘“Damage the brand?”’she mimics, her eyes widening in outrage. ‘Can you hear yourself? You sound like a judgemental idiot.’

She puffs up like one of the reef fish Pa told me to avoid at all costs because of their deadly poison. ‘Your idea is brilliant and I wish I’d had it myself.’ She snorts. ‘Can’t you see I want to make this happen and we can do it sooner rather than later if you agree to do it my way?’

‘Did you just call me an idiot?’

‘No, just that you sounded like one.’ This is not good but we’re both riled now and too far gone to back down. ‘Why are you being so stubborn about this? Why can’t you acknowledge that I’m the expert when it comes to PR and you should take my advice on board?’

‘I would if it wasn’t crap advice,’ I yell, hating this out-of-control feeling.

I learned to control my anger issues after Pa took me in. I soon figured he wouldn’t put up with my moody shit and no matter how hard I tried to push him away he wouldn’t leave me alone. No good ever comes of letting anyone see your weakness. But she’s pushed me too far and I can’t rein it in.

‘I can’t believe you’re so gung-ho that you won’t listen to reason—’

‘We’ll discuss this when you calm down.’ She stands, shooting me a last scathing glare before stalking to the door.

Who the hell does she think she is, scolding me like I’m a child?

‘Don’t you dare walk out on me—’

She slams the door on her way out.