Читать книгу Gentle Persuasion - Cerella Sechrist - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS BALMY.

She hadn’t expected it to be so...balmy.

Ophelia Reid squared her shoulders as she stood at the doorway of the Okina Inn, the bed-and-breakfast where she’d booked lodging until she completed her mission in Hawaii.

She’d endured merciless teasing from her coworkers in the time before her flight: how privileged she was, as the CEO’s daughter, to snag this assignment. Yet, even in such lighthearted banter, there had been the glint of sympathy in their eyes. This was no simple placement such as those Reid Recruiting Agency normally performed. This was the assignment that would make or break her career and fulfill the dreams she had nurtured since childhood.

Clearing her throat, Ophelia raised her hand and rapped upon the door with solid determination. Only as her fist withdrew did she notice her hand was trembling slightly.

Frowning, she rested her arms at her sides and willed her fingers to still their shaking. She tapped out the seconds in her designer sling backs, resisting the desire to smooth her black slacks.

Minutes passed, and she again marveled at the temperate climate. Not too hot, not too cold—just as her assistant, Holly, had told her it would be. The trade winds offered a consistently sweet breeze, and the air held only the faintest hint of ocean moisture. Paradise.

For a moment, her shoulders sagged, and she let her head fall back, feeling the delicious pull of her tense muscles as they stretched along her spine.

The door opened, and she snapped her head forward, wincing at the abrupt movement.

A squat, round-faced woman with Polynesian features narrowed her eyes to slits at the sight of Ophelia standing on the doorstep.

“I’m Ophelia Reid.” She paused, hoping this introduction would be sufficient.

Apparently not. The woman stared.

“I’m a guest of the inn. I’ve booked the Lilly...koloni suite.” She stumbled over the Hawaiian name, and the stubby woman scowled.

“Liliuokalani,” she offered in a slightly accented voice, her tone disparaging.

Ophelia’s smile felt strained after her long flight. “That would be the one.”

The woman huffed and folded her short arms across her more-than-ample bosom. “Where’s your husband?” she demanded.

Ophelia’s mouth dropped at this question. “I don’t have a husband.” She winced at this statement, thinking of her longtime boyfriend, Cole. The two of them had broken things off shortly before she’d boarded the plane to Hawaii. The possibility of her moving to Paris had ignited an argument between them that could reach no satisfactory conclusion, and she had ended things after four long years of dating.

Her statement only served to heighten the woman’s suspicions. “What sort of haole woman books the Liliuokalani suite only for herself?”

“Haole?” Ophelia repeated, suspecting she had just been insulted.

“Foreigner. White,” came the clipped reply.

Ophelia flared her nostrils. “I will have you know that just because I am a single woman does not mean I cannot enjoy a luxury suite! This is the twenty-first century, and women are entitled to...to—” she flagged as she mentally cataloged her list of feminine rights “—to stay in luxury suites by themselves!” she lamely finished. “If they want to,” she added.

The other woman looked Ophelia up and down. “Maybe you’re single because you’re too skinny. A man wants a woman who can feed him. That’s the problem with you mainland girls. You starve yourselves and think that’s what a real man wants.” She reached out and pinched Ophelia’s bare arm to demonstrate her point.

Ophelia gasped in indignation, jerking her arm beyond her criticizer’s reach. “I can cook!” She automatically defended herself and then considered the relative dishonesty of this statement. “When I have to,” she tacked on to the end.

This elicited another harrumph from the Polynesian lady. “Microwave dinners don’t count. Neither do reservations at fancy restaurants.”

Frustration and fatigue churned madly in Ophelia’s stomach. “Are you going to show me to my room or not?” she demanded.

The irritating woman unfolded her arms to rest them on her wide hips. “The rooms are not ready. You’re too early to check in.”

“What do you mean the rooms aren’t ready? My assistant made the reservation on Friday. She was assured I could check in as soon as I arrived”

“I said—” the little woman amplified her voice by several notches, as if this might impart understanding “—the rooms are not ready!”

Ophelia felt pinpricks of tension shooting along her nerves. She had never been treated so abominably when trying to check in to a room. Except that one time in Paris when Holly had booked her at the wrong hotel. But even the most snooty of French concierges didn’t compare to the feisty lady before her. “Well...what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

The woman shrugged, as if this was a matter beyond her concern. Despite her upbringing, where appearances were everything, Ophelia suddenly wanted nothing more than to sink to the porch of the inn and cry with aggravation. It had been a long flight to the islands with a combined travel time of over twelve hours on two planes, and she had not expected to encounter such a greeting upon her arrival in this tropical paradise.

“Pele? Is there a problem here?”

The woman turned toward the voice at her back. Ophelia’s weariness suddenly evaporated at the appearance of the man behind her tormenter. Six feet, two inches tall with a scruffy jawline, russet-colored hair and the most startling blue eyes she had ever seen, Ophelia immediately recognized the singular presence of Dane Montgomery. Her stomach jerked with what she could only assume was relief at the presence of the very man she had been sent to find.

“Mr. Montgomery.” She smoothly extended a hand. “I’m Ophelia Reid.”

This poised introduction caused Dane to hesitate for a fraction of a second before slipping his hand into hers. His grip was firm, cool and brief, his expression guarded.

“I’m sorry. Did we...have an appointment?”

Pele answered for her. “This haole woman booked the Liliuokalani suite...for herself.”

The sight of Pele’s eyebrows, arched with meaning, stung.

Ophelia fought the blush threatening to stain her complexion. “There seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding,” she explained.

Dane looked from Ophelia to Pele and back to Ophelia again. “My apologies. You’re one of our guests?”

Ophelia nodded, trying to keep the pleasant this-isn’t-bothering-me-at-all smile stuck to her lips. “The Liliuokalani suite,” she confirmed, taking pains to pronounce the name correctly.

“I apologize,” Dane repeated and attempted to nudge Pele’s considerable girth from the doorway’s entrance. “Won’t you come in?”

“She has no husband!” Pele reminded him. “And the rooms are not ready!”

Dane carefully cleared his throat and steered Pele aside. “Well, then, why don’t you see about making the rooms ready, Pele?” he suggested, and Ophelia noted he spoke the words through clenched teeth.

The stout woman glowered. “She wants the suite all to herself,” Pele persisted.

“Which is absolutely not a problem.” Dane directed these words to Ophelia with a contrite look. He continued to prod Pele toward the stairs, no easy feat considering she appeared to be digging her heels into the rug as Dane pushed her along.

“This is what comes of girls starving themselves,” Pele muttered direly as her foot landed on the first step. “They lose all their senses!”

Her mumbling continued the entire length of the stairway until she disappeared onto the landing above. Dane turned with an expression of relief.

“I’m sorry we weren’t able to greet you properly. My receptionist has the day off, and Pele is our housekeeping staff. The Liliuokalani suite is usually reserved by honeymooners. Pele must have misunderstood. She can be quite...set in her ideas of propriety.”

Ophelia waved a hand to brush off the mix-up. “It’s not a problem.” Now that she had finally been allowed entry into the inn’s foyer, she took some time to survey her surroundings. The furnishings were exquisite: beachscape paintings in rich hues of cerulean blues, aquatic greens and ivory sand, a teak reception desk with track lighting, tropical plants dotting the end tables and a woven area rug covering the hardwood floor. Paradise kept looking better and better.

While Ophelia had been studying the main reception area, Dane had slipped behind the desk to consult the records.

“Here we are, Ophelia Reid. Liliuokalani suite. Paid for one week in advance.” He glanced up at her. He seemed to consider querying her further on this before remembering his manners as the inn’s owner and host.

“As you’re well aware, the suite is not quite ready for you yet. Perhaps you’d like to take some refreshment on the lanai?”

Ophelia nodded with relief. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

He led her toward a set of glass-and-wood doors opening up onto a patio overlooking the gardens. She breathed deeply, once again enjoying the perfect weather.

“Would you like me to bring in your bags?” he questioned.

She shook her head. “They’ll be fine in my rental car for now.”

While Dane stepped behind the bar, Ophelia used the opportunity to regain some of her scattered composure. She tried to recall the speeches she had formulated on the flight from New York to LAX and then on to Kona International airport. She was good at this—a crack negotiator and a talented recruiter in her trade. But this was different. Everything—her career, the family business, her relationship with her mother/boss—hinged on this one man, this one job.

She was so deeply absorbed in thought that she jerked physically to awareness when Dane approached and set a tray of chilled juice and glasses on the table before her.

If he noticed her start, he didn’t draw attention to it. Instead, he poured them each a beverage and handed one toward her before taking a seat.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Reid—”

“Ophelia.”

“Ophelia,” he corrected, “how is it that you know who I am?”

She smiled easily at him. “It’s only been, what, three years since you retired to these islands, Mr. Montgomery? Surely, you didn’t think your celebrity status in the corporate world would be forgotten so readily.”

She noticed her mention of his former life caused Dane to reflexively tense.

“Your face has graced the covers of nearly every notable trade magazine in business.” And Dane Montgomery’s face was not a forgettable one, though she didn’t flatter him by saying so.

His jaw, dusted with a fine smattering of stubble, hardened. “I don’t grant interviews anymore.”

“Oh, I’m not a journalist,” Ophelia assured him.

He studied her intently, his mind obviously scanning its memory banks.

“Ophelia Reid...” he murmured thoughtfully.

She took a sip of her juice, its cool sweetness sliding easily down her throat. “This is delicious, thank you. What sort of juice is it?”

“Guava,” he answered with some distraction before looking at her carefully. “We’ve never met,” he noted with certainty.

“No,” she agreed. “We never have.”

He leaned back, his own beverage standing forgotten. “But I would presume to say you’re not here for a vacation, reporter or no.”

Ophelia took the seat across from him, settling into the cushioned wicker chair. “Not exactly,” she admitted. She couldn’t help admiring the lean, muscled lines of his arms as he crossed them over his chest. No wonder the media had so often portrayed him as something of a demigod in the business world. His famed good looks were even more evident in person than they had been in the articles she’d been reading about him. It filled her with intimidation, and she reminded herself that his looks had nothing to do with her mission.

He narrowed his eyes and watched her. She held his gaze and stared right back.

“I’m here to make you an offer,” she finally said.

Dane dropped his arms and stood, his response short and sharp. “Not interested.”

She sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“You haven’t even heard the terms.”

He shook his head and placed several steps of distance between them, as though she were contaminated.

“Not. Interested.”

She leaned back, looking out over the garden. “Fine. This job’s not on commission for me, so...” She shrugged.

This statement apparently piqued his curiosity, as she’d known it would. Recruiters usually made their living solely on the commissions they reaped from placing high-salary executives in top-end jobs. Working an assignment gratis had to have a compelling reason behind it.

Sufficiently mistrustful, however, Dane did not nibble on this declaration, at least not immediately.

“Ophelia Reid.” He repeated her name once more. “You’re a headhunter.”

Now it was her turn to tense. “I’ve never been fond of that term. I prefer the more noble title of ‘executive recruiter’ in my profession.”

He scoffed. “You can paint it any color you like—it’s all the same to me.”

She took another sip of juice to prevent herself from rising to the bait. Dane Montgomery’s dislike of recruiters was well known, and she chose not to take his disdain personally.

When she remained silent, Dane began to pace, scratching his jawline thoughtfully before finally snapping his fingers.

“Reid Recruiting Agency.” He slid her a sideways glance. “You’re Lillian Reid’s daughter, aren’t you?”

She suppressed a wince, as she always did, when she was labeled in this manner. Her mother’s reputation forever preceded her, singling her out as the only child of the ferociously famous corporate negotiator.

“The one and only,” she coolly owned, lifting her glass in salute.

He frowned, seeming to notice the subtle frost in her tone. “Lillian Reid as your mother. That must have earned you your fair share of therapy.”

She tried not to glower at him for this observation. Her attempts caused him to grin, and she felt a strange stirring in her stomach at the sight. “So you work for your mother, then?” he confirmed, getting back to the subject at hand.

She nodded.

“How long?”

“Straight out of college. You can’t expect me to confess how many years ago that’s been.”

Dane closed one eye and pretended to size her up. “Less than ten, I’d say.”

She laughed, her tension easing slightly. “They told me you could be charming.”

“Could be?”

“When you want to be.”

“Ah.” He paused. “So?” he prompted.

“So, what?”

“Am I right? Ten years or less?”

She rolled her eyes. “Twelve, if you must know. I’m thirty-three.”

He clicked his tongue. “So young.”

“As compared to your thirty-six years?”

“You have done your homework.”

She swirled the ice in her glass. “I should warn you not to underestimate me.”

He scoffed. “As Lillian Reid’s daughter, you’re probably right.” He frowned. “If you’re not taking a commission, there must be some other incentive. You didn’t come here just for the weather, after all.” His lips twisted into a smirk of disdain.

“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t.”

He returned to his seat and picked up his glass. “Not to sound arrogant, but...the salaries I’ve been offered would have provided a, let’s just say, substantial commission for you, should I accept the proposal. Any particular reason why you’re foregoing your percentage?”

She placed her glass back on the table and leaned forward. “Some things in life are worth more than money.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “Well said.” He waited a few seconds more before querying, “You’re not going to tell me your reasons, are you?”

She leaned back in her seat but remained silent. Instead of responding, she swiveled the topic in another direction. Gesturing to the gardens before them, she observed, “It’s easy to see why you gave up what you did. The islands are beautiful.”

Relaxing farther into his seat, he followed her gaze. “This is your first trip to Hawaii?”

She nodded. “Travel comes with the job, of course, but I’ve never had the pleasure before this. You gave me a good excuse.” Her eyes returned to his, and when they met, she found herself inexplicably unsettled. Diverting her attention away once more, she tried to keep herself on solid conversational ground. Her research had prepared her for Dane Montgomery’s handsome features, square jawline and toned physique, but the reality of those liquid blue eyes and deep voice was something else entirely.

“How many employees do you keep on staff here at the inn?” she asked, anchoring herself to neutral territory.

“Three, in addition to myself. There’s a set of rooms on the other side of the inn for them. They live here with me.”

“And they’re all locals?”

He cocked his head. “Why do you want to know?”

She sighed. She had known he’d be difficult, but she hadn’t expected such open mistrust. She shrugged. “It’s an interesting endeavor—giving up the corporate life like you did, buying a coffee plantation and inn, and setting out on a new venture. I’m curious.”

“If you’ve done your homework, I’m sure you’ve read all about it already.”

“Still...reading about a legend isn’t quite the same as meeting one.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you? If you’d bothered to compose a personality profile on me, you’d realize that flattery won’t get you very far.”

He had a point. She had made that very note in the margins of her paperwork during the flight over, and already, she had made the mistake of trying to play to his vanity. She had a flash of doubt as to her ability to accomplish this task. After all, she wasn’t the first recruiter to attempt luring Dane Montgomery out of retirement.

“I apologize,” she offered, “but before you turn me down flat, you should at least read the proposal.”

He sighed and looked away, off toward the mountains in the distance. She sensed a weariness emanating from him, and rather than take advantage of this vulnerability, she attempted to alleviate it.

“I have the entire week at my disposal,” she reminded him. “And I’m certain you feel a little ambushed by my arrival. Why don’t you take the afternoon to let the idea sink in, and I can present you with the proposal later?”

He turned his eyes on her, the warm blue going a shade darker with what she could only hope wasn’t loathing. “How considerate of you,” he noted.

She bit her lip.

Clearing his throat, he rose to his feet. “I’ll check on Pele, see how she’s coming along on your suite.”

A deep exhaustion had settled into her bones. She wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a nap before facing the initial round of negotiations. “Thank you,” she responded.

Dane turned to go, but then he lingered on the threshold of the lanai, frowning at her. She smiled cheerfully, though it felt tight and awkward on her lips. He did not return the gesture. As he stole away, Ophelia relaxed her face and rested a hand over her stomach, attempting to convince herself it was only the stress of the situation that had caused the restlessness inside her.

* * *

WHILE OPHELIA REID waited for her rooms to be readied, Dane found himself struggling to explain his dilemma to Keahi.

“She is not the first haole to try and lure you away from the islands,” Keahi, his plantation manager, pointed out as he flipped through a sheaf of paperwork in their shared office.

“No,” he conceded, “but she may be the prettiest.”

Keahi looked up from his task with sudden interest, and Dane wished he could withdraw his offhand remark. He’d meant to make a joke of it, as much to convince himself that Ophelia Reid’s unexpected beauty was of no consequence as to prepare Keahi for it.

“Pretty, eh, boss?” A wide grin split the older man’s face. “You don’t pay no attention to the pretty ones.”

Dane grimaced. “I pay attention, Keahi. I just don’t pursue them.” After all, there had been no end to the beautiful women in his life—both those on the mainland, before his retirement, as well as the ones who came and went on the islands. But Dane had learned that most of them were still too interested in the successes of his past to appreciate the commitment to his new life in Kona.

Keahi rolled his eyes and reached for another stack of papers. “Leilani says you spend too much time alone.”

“Leilani is young and full of romantic notions about love,” Dane reminded and swiveled to face his own desk. “She thinks if I fall in love it will solve all my problems.”

“Ah, she just cares about you,” Keahi said. “She appreciates all you’ve done for her and Pele. She wants you to be happy.” Dane heard the squeak of his friend’s chair as he turned in it. “She knows you deserve it.”

Dane pretended to study a list of items he needed to order for the inn to avoid having to respond.

“Boss?”

Dane suppressed a sigh and raised his head, turning in his chair to face his friend.

“You know the numbers aren’t good, brah.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He turned back around and bent his head over the paper before him. The list of expenses wasn’t long, but it felt exorbitant in the face of the other bills piling up.

“The numbers don’t lie,” Keahi pressed. “Maybe you should cut your losses. Take the pretty lady’s offer. Go back home.”

“This is my home,” Dane snapped. “I’m not going to abandon it. Besides, what would happen to you? And Pele? And Leilani? Leilani’s practically a kid. If I left, she’d fall right back into the same sort of trouble we fished her out of last year.”

Keahi clicked his tongue in disagreement. “Give the girl some credit, boss. She’s cleaned herself up real good in the last few months, especially now that she’s seeing Sam. She’d land on her feet.”

“No.” Dane shook his head. “I’m not taking the easy way out. We’ve got a good product, Keahi, and you know it. We just need some capital to get it out there.”

“And what about this Miss Reid? You gonna kick her out?”

Dane leaned back in his chair and grimaced. “I don’t think I can. She paid for her week in advance, and we can’t afford to refund her deposit.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from voicing the rest of his thought aloud. Ophelia Reid was a pleasant addition to the inn with her honey-blond hair and startling green eyes. All the more reason, however, to keep his guard up around her. The inn and plantation’s rising debt left him vulnerable to whatever tactics Ms. Reid possessed.

“Do you know who her mother is?” Dane looked over his shoulder and made a dramatic pretense of shuddering. “Lillian Reid, founder and executive CEO for Reid Recruiting. That woman is merciless in her pursuits, and I’m sure she raised her daughter in the same manner.”

Dane felt a twinge of guilt after uttering these words. Ophelia may have been a headhunter, but he hadn’t sensed she was as ruthless as her mother. Then again, perhaps her lean form and pretty face had swayed him more than he wanted to admit.

“You know her mother?” Keahi questioned.

“Mostly by reputation. I met her a time or two at various fund-raisers, though.” He shrugged. “She had sharp teeth, as I recall. Like a vampire. And they say she runs her firm with the same sort of bloodthirsty fierceness.”

Keahi clicked his tongue. “Maybe you gotta feel sorry for this girl, then. With a mother like that?” He shook his head. “Maybe she’s just doing what she has to, coming here and making you this offer.”

Dane clenched his jaw before unhinging it to speak. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any contract. Ophelia Reid is wasting her time.”

Keahi sighed. “Then you best run those numbers again, boss. Because unless you can start pulling in a whole lot of customers like this Miss Reid, you might have to.”