He took the file and flipped it open.
“Is there something in particular you’re looking for?” she asked.
There sure was. Dirt. Problems. Issues. Anything that could get rid of the half sister who’d just been named his equal partner at Garrison, Inc. “Just want to see how the business is doing.”
“Last quarter’s financials are on the left side, including occupancy rates and banquet revenue,” she told him. “On the right, you’ll see information about new resort programs and key employee files. The manager of the resort, Cassie Sinclair, seems to be running things quite smoothly.”
At the mention of her name, Parker sucked in a slow and disgusted breath. He flipped through the pages, immaculately ordered and filed, frowning at the excellent revenue stream and the strong outlook for the next season based on advance reservations.
“Is something wrong?”
Yes, something was very, very wrong. He wanted the property to be a disaster. Wanted something he could hang on Cassie Sinclair to prove she couldn’t be a Garrison.
“No,” he assured her.
“Oh, I thought I might have misfiled something.”
“Have you ever misfiled anything, Anna?” he asked with a teasing smile.
A soft blush rose in her cheeks. “If you’re asking if I ever make mistakes, I think you, of all people, know that I do.”
Mistakes like lingering in his shower a little too long? He held her gaze, still hoping for a spark of connection, but she looked away—as she always did—just as Christine returned with the drinks, some fruit and freshly baked muffins.
Parker returned his attention to the file. “The place is turning a nice profit,” he said, half to himself.
“You make it sound like that’s a problem.”
Should he confide in his assistant? Maybe a little shared confidence would loosen her up. At least get her to slide out of that straitjacket she wore. Plus, he needed someone to talk to. Someone he trusted.
He lifted his tomato juice and took a long drink before he dove in. “Cassie Sinclair, it seems, is more than just the manager of the Garrison Grand-Bahamas.”
“She is?”
“She’s my half sister.”
Anna’s jaw dropped an inch. “No way.”
He gave her a bittersweet smile. “Evidently there is a way. It’s called an affair and my father had one for a long time, resulting in the birth of a woman who is now, according to his will, my equal partner in Garrison, Inc. and—” he held the file up “—the owner of this hotel.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said, dropping back into her seat.
“Neither do I. But that’s why God invented lawyers,” he said with a shrug. “And why I have to make an appearance in London this weekend.”
“Will she be there?”
“Oh, I doubt it. But it’s only a matter of time until this gets out to the very small and incestuous hospitality industry. It can’t help my business. I’m attending this event for visibility and positioning. More of a PR move than one that will impact the bottom line.”
“So that’s why you were talking about DNA testing and contesting the will,” she said. “Oh, and why…your mother…” Her voice drifted off.
So the rumor mill had already started churning.
“My mother has her way of coping.” He picked up the drink again. “And I’m afraid it’s not Tabasco in her tomato juice.”
She gave him a sympathetic look. “Your family is strong. You’ll weather this storm.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“You just have to stay focused and keep running everything the way you have. You can’t let this distract you.”
The unsolicited—and amazingly accurate—advice took him by surprise. “You’re right, Anna. Very astute.” He smiled and leaned forward, inexplicably drawn to her. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
She held his gaze just long enough to give him hope that the cue he wanted was right around the corner. But she just handed him another file.
“When you’re ready to go over the agenda for the marketing-firm meeting, it’s all in here. And I’m able to take any e-mail dictation now,” she added, tapping the open laptop. “I’ll download it and send it when we arrive in London.”
Oh, yeah. Anna Cross was all business today, and being a smart CEO, he ignored the urge to reach across the space that separated them and unclip her hair just to see what she’d do. She was way too valuable an asset to him to let hormones screw it up.
So he took the cue—even if it wasn’t the one he wanted—along with the file, and worked for a solid nine hours, through breakfast, lunch and almost no small talk, until they landed.
Through it all, she never tired, never complained and never even took the damn jacket off. Maybe that was the real reason he didn’t make the move to seduce her: they were kindred spirits. Workaholics, both of them, with a bone-deep love for control over their respective worlds.
Sex, in fact, could really screw that up.
By the time they landed and took a late-night cab ride through the still-vibrating streets of London, Parker was entirely comfortable with keeping the weekend on the level of strictly business. He abandoned the idea of taking her sightseeing the next day; they—or at least, he—would work, grilling Brandon Washington on the situation in the Bahamas and tracking the progress of several high-power land deals he had in the works.
Tomorrow night, he would introduce Anna as his assistant and she would no doubt wear her hair in a bun, don a conservative dress and stay stone-cold sober.
“Wow!” Anna froze midstep as they followed the cheerful old doorman into the smothering luxury that was the Ritz-Carlton London.
“Yeah, it’s not exactly the Miami Beach hip of the Garrison Grand,” Parker agreed. “This is pure old-world sophistication. You either like it or you feel suffocated. I, personally, love it.”
“It’s fantastic,” she said, her voice a little hushed as she took in the three-story rotunda that capped the lobby, trimmed by ornate gilded woodwork.
Smiling at her enthusiasm, he stepped away to check in. But after a few keystrokes and frowns, the formally dressed clerk informed Parker that there’d been an error in the system and Ms. Cross’s room was not available.
“Not ready or not available?” Parker asked.
“We are so very, deeply sorry, Mr. Garrison,” the solicitous clerk, who obviously had not been in the hotel business long enough to recognize Parker’s last name, crooned softly. “We are booked, overbooked and double booked with several very large events this weekend.”
Parker knew, without the slightest doubt, that a single word with a manager would get a room. He’d been raised in this business and “no rooms” meant there were a half dozen on reserve.
“Your suite has three bedrooms, Mr. Garrison, and it’s quite lovely and spacious,” the clerk added. “And perhaps something will become available tomorrow.”
Parker squeezed the bridge of his nose, fighting the exhaustion that came with trans-Atlantic travel. He turned to see Anna, who still scanned the lobby with a little bit of wonder in her eyes. There really was plenty of room in that suite. She’d love the decor.
And if it got a little cozy…
He