Quinn wanted to keep their half siblings out of Manhattan and out of the family business as much as Cameron did. They’d worked too hard to hand over their company to people who’d never lifted a finger to grow McNeill Resorts.
“Ah.” Cam stood to stretch his legs, surprised to realize it was almost noon according to the slim dive watch he’d worn for his morning laps. “But since I’m on the front line meeting them, I’m going to leave it up to you or Ian to be the diplomatic peacemakers.”
Quinn only half smothered a laugh. “No one expected you of all people to be the diplomat. Dad’s still recovering from the punch you gave him last week when he dropped the I-have-another-family bombshell on us.”
Definitely not one of his finer moments. “It seemed like he could have broached the topic with some more tact.”
“No kidding. I kept waiting for Sofia to break the engagement after the latest family soap opera.” The background noise on Quinn’s call faded. “Look, Cam, I just arrived at Lincoln Center to take her out to lunch. I’ll text you the contact details for a local pilot.”
Cam grinned at the thought of his stodgy older brother so head over heels for his ballerina fiancée. The same ballerina fiancée Cam had impulsively proposed to last winter when a matchmaker set them up. But even if Cam and Sofia hadn’t worked out, the meeting had been a stroke of luck for Quinn, who’d promptly stepped in to woo the dancer.
“Thanks. And give our girl a kiss from me, okay?” It was too fun to resist needling Quinn. Especially since Cameron was two thousand miles away from a retaliatory beat-down.
A string of curses peppered his ear before Quinn growled, “It’s not too late to take the plane back.”
“Sorry.” Cameron wasn’t sorry. He was genuinely happy for his brother. “I’ll let you know if the faux McNeills are every bit as awful as we imagine.”
Disconnecting the call, Cameron texted a message to the dog groomer to give Poppy some primp time. He’d use that window of freedom to follow up on a few leads around the Carib Grand. He wanted to find out what the hotel director thought about Rafe Delphine, for one thing. The director was the only person on-site who knew Cameron’s true identity and mission at the hotel. Aldo Ricci had been successful at McNeill properties in the Mediterranean and Malcolm McNeill had personally appointed the guy to make the expansion program a success.
With the McNeill patriarch’s health so uncertain, Cameron wanted to respect his grandfather’s choices. All the more so since he still hadn’t married the way his granddad wanted.
Cameron would start by speaking to his grandfather’s personally chosen manager. Cam had a lot of questions about the day-to-day operations and a few key personnel. Most especially the hotel’s new concierge, who kept too many secrets behind her beautiful and efficient facade.
Seated in the hotel director’s office shortly after noon, Cameron listened to Aldo Ricci discuss his plans for making the Carib Grand more profitable over the next two quarters. Unlike Cameron, the celebrated hotel director with a crammed résumé of successes did not seem concerned about the dip in the Carib Grand’s performance.
“All perfectly normal,” the impeccably dressed director insisted, prowling around his lavish office on the ground floor of the property. A collector of investment-grade wines, Aldo incorporated a few rare vintages into his office decor. A Bordeaux from Moulin de La Lagune rested casually on a shelf beside some antique corkscrews and a framed invitation from a private tasting at Château Grand Corbin. “We are only beginning to notice the minute fluctuations now that our capacity for data is greater than ever. But those irregularities will not even be noticeable by the time we hit our performance and profit goals for the end of the year.”
The heavyset man tugged on his perfectly straight suit cuffs. The fanciness of the dark silk jacket he wore reminded Cameron how many times the guy had taken a property out of the red and into the ranks of the most prestigious places in the world. To have enticed him to McNeill Resorts had been a coup, according to Cameron’s grandfather.
“Nevertheless, I’d like to know more about Maresa Delphine.” Cameron didn’t reveal his reasons. He could see her now through the blinds in the director’s office. She strode along the pool patio outside, hurrying past the patrons in her creamy linen blazer with an orchid at the lapel. Her sun-splashed brown hair gleamed in the bright light, but something about her posture conveyed her tension. Worry.
Was she thinking about Isla?
He made a mental note to check on the sitter and be sure she was doing a good job with the baby. Little Isla had tugged at his heartstrings this morning with her tiny, restless hands and her expressive face. That feeling—the warmth for the baby—shocked him. Not that he was an ogre or anything, but he’d decided long ago not to have kids of his own.
He was too much like his father—impulsive, fun-loving, easily distracted—to be a parent. After all, Liam McNeill had turfed out responsibility for his sons at the first possible opportunity, letting the boys’ grandfather raise them the moment Liam’s Brazilian wife got tired of his globe-trotting, daredevil antics. Cameron had always known his father had shirked the biggest responsibility of his life and that, coupled with his own tendency to follow his own drummer, had been enough to convince Cam that kids weren’t for him. And that had been before discovering his dad had fathered a whole other set of kids with someone else.
Before an accident that had compromised Cameron’s ability to have a family anyhow.
“Maresa Delphine is a wonderful asset to the hotel,” the director assured him, coming around to the front of his desk to sit beside Cameron in the leather club chairs facing the windows. “If you seek answers about the hotel workings, I urge you to reveal your identity to her. I know you want to remain incognito, but I assure you, Ms. Delphine is as discreet and professional as they come.”
“Yet you’ve only known her for...what? Two months?”
“Far longer than that. She worked at another property in Saint Thomas where I supervised her three years ago. I personally recommended her to a five-star property in Paris because I was impressed with her work and she was eager to...escape her hometown for a while. I had no reservations about helping her win the spot. She makes her service her top priority.” The director crossed one leg over the other and pointed to a crystal decanter on the low game table between them. “Are you sure I can’t offer you anything to drink?”
“No. Thank you.” He wanted a clear head for deciding his next move with Maresa. Revealing himself to her was tempting considering the attraction simmering just beneath the surface. But he couldn’t forget about the gut instinct that told him she was hiding something. “What can you tell me about her brother?”
“Rafe is a fine young man. I would have gladly hired him even without Maresa’s assurances she would watch over him.”
“Why would she need to?” He was genuinely curious about the extent of Rafe’s condition. Not only because she seemed protective of him, but also because Maresa hadn’t argued Trina’s depiction of her brother as “brain damaged.”
“Rafe has a traumatic brain injury. He’s the reason Maresa gave up the job in Paris. She rushed home to take care of her family. The young man is much better now. Although he can become agitated or confused easily, he has good character, and we haven’t put him in a position where he will have much contact with guests.” Aldo smiled as he smoothed his tie. “Maresa feels a strong sense of responsibility for him. But I’ve seen no reason to regret hiring her sibling. She knows, however, that Rafe’s employment is on a trial basis.”
Aldo Ricci seemed like the kind of man to trust his gut, which might be fine for someone who’d been in the business for as long as he had, but Cameron still wondered if he was overlooking things.
Maybe he should confide