“Why did you do that?”
“Jesus, Simon, what is wrong with you?” She finally pushed against him, trying to get him out of her personal space. He didn’t move. “I knew you’d ignore my emails and forget our conversation. I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” he growled at her.
Her eyes flared, the surprise quickly being overwhelmed by irritation. “Actually, you did when you hired me,” she snapped.
For the first time Simon realized he was towering above her, his tall body curled over hers. Anyone else probably would have bowed backward under the intimidation tactic. Not Marcy. Sometimes it was easy to forget how tiny she was. Her confidence and competence more than made up for her size.
“Move back,” she said and then waited patiently for him to do exactly what she’d ordered. Everyone always seemed to fall in line for Marcy. It was irritating.
Just once he wished she’d do him a favor and fall in line for him.
Instead, he slowly stepped away. She glared at him, her eyes sharp and hurt. He refused to apologize or explain his reaction.
And yet somehow the words fell from his lips anyway. “Look, I’m sorry, Marcy. I need you here during the break. I have something important that requires all my attention. I don’t have time to handle the resort, too.”
“Bullshit.”
His molars clanked together. “Excuse me?”
“Only a few of the staff will be left. I’m interviewing the candidates for head of security tomorrow before I leave. The construction crew is here, their materials will be tomorrow. Before I leave, I’ll make sure they have a clear agenda for the two weeks. These—” she waved the damn papers again “—contain every possible scenario that could come up and how to handle it. It’s the perfect time for me to take a vacation. You can’t afford for me to be gone while the resort is full.”
She had a point there. Although in a couple weeks he should be done with this book and could probably handle things for a little while.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said, flashing her one of his patented grins in the hope that it might soften her up a little. It had always worked on women in the past, although somehow Marcy seemed immune. “Next month you can take as much time off as you want.” Within reason, but they’d cross that bridge only when she forced him to the edge of it.
“No, Simon. You can’t charm your way into getting what you want with me. I have plans.”
“Change them.”
“Nonrefundable travel plans.”
“I’ll pay the difference.”
“And people waiting on me to show up. Simon, I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon. Short of you kidnapping me—and not even you are that stupid—you’re going to have to find a way to deal without me for the next two weeks.”
His hands clenched again and a headache began to pound behind his eyes. She didn’t understand and he couldn’t explain it to her, not without revealing his secret. Or telling her why his privacy was so important to him that he would hide his identity in the first place. And he just wasn’t willing to make himself that vulnerable, not even with Marcy.
She was leaving, huh? Well, they’d just have to see about that.
2
THE RESORT WAS QUIET. Disturbingly silent without guests. There was no one splashing or yelling at the pool as she dragged her three matching pieces of luggage behind her. No couples strolling hand-in-hand across the warm sand. No painted-up thirtysomethings in string bikinis sipping drinks beneath cabanas and waiting to pick up whatever hot guy strolled past.
She was used to the hustle and bustle, and the place seemed almost eerie without it. As if the island itself were sad that no one was there to play and frolic.
The locals had a legend about Île du Coeur, something about finding your heart’s desire—whether it was what you’d come looking for or not. She’d never really paid that much attention to it because she didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, but at this moment the island felt almost alive.
As if maybe anything was possible.
The caws and whistles of the birds deep in the jungle and the ringing of hammers as the work crew repaired the restaurant roof broke through the moment. Their supplies had arrived on the morning ferry, and the last of the staff and the two candidates she hadn’t hired for head of security had left. She’d been surprised when Xavier, the man she’d hired, said he was prepared to stay and start immediately. She wondered briefly what kind of person could pack their entire life into a single suitcase, but decided she didn’t have time to find out. He was more than qualified for the position.
The repair of the roof was the first in a long list of upgrades and maintenance the crew would be handling over the next two weeks. Hurricane season was upon them and the last thing they needed was leaky roofs or unstable buildings. Marcy seriously hoped for their sake that everything went smoothly. She’d never actually seen Simon lose his temper, but something told her that between the distraction, the length of the list she’d left and her departure, he was precariously close to the deep end.
Too bad.
Served him right for not appreciating the long hours, detailed work and effort she’d put into this place for him. Instead of praise, she got snarky remarks and needling innuendos. Instead of understanding, she got exasperation and a locked door in her face.
Hopefully, no more. She was going to charm the socks off whomever she had to in order to get the hell off this island and back to the big city. Cramped apartments, twenty-four-hour Chinese food, men in suits, museums, shows, culture … that was her idea of paradise.
Her suitcases bumped across the raised boards of the dock. Normally she was a light traveler, preferring to fit as much as possible into one carry-on bag. The thought of losing all her luggage made her chest ache. But during her time at Escape, she’d collected more stuff than she’d realized. And hoping that she’d be able to tender her resignation from New York, she’d packed everything she owned. Well, at least anything she’d wanted to take with her. Her father had taught her that some things just weren’t worth the trouble.
Arranging her luggage in descending order, Marcy lined them up perpendicular to the boards, stared out across the vacant water and then looked at her watch. She was a little early. With a shrug, she plopped her butt onto the top of her largest suitcase and prepared to wait. She thought about pulling out the novel she’d packed into her carry-on but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. She had ten, fifteen minutes at the most.
But, oh, it called to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to crack open the spine of a good thriller. She loved them, a holdover from the days when her father would pass along his finished books to her. They’d shared that excitement, spending hours discussing the finer points of their favorite books over dinner.
Her love of thrillers wasn’t the only thing she’d inherited from her dad. His workaholic, detail-oriented, high-expectation requirements had also come with the genes. A familiar sadness crept up on her. He’d been gone for almost five years, but it still hadn’t gotten any easier.
Although she supposed there was a silver lining. He’d have been so disappointed in her over the New York debacle. Tears stung her eyes, but Marcy refused to let them fall. It had been two and a half years, and still it upset her.
She’d been so lonely. Looking for companionship and support and someone to share her life with. Marcy thought she’d found that in Christoph Fischer. Yes, she knew better than to sleep with someone she worked with—her boss, no less. But he’d swept