couldn’t leave her villa to the likes of Eduardo Cruz. Another wave crashed in on the sandcastle, flattening the last lump of wall into nothing more than a few hundred grains of sand the pipers scavenged. One bird frayed the corner of a left-behind flag, unraveling it as it flew to the clouds.
Santiago wanted three hours of her time. Her skin heated at the thought. Three hours was too long; she would negotiate to two. Two hours away from the villa, but two hours when Santiago would not be there, either. And she would make sure those two hours were so filled with adventure—the kind not found in a bed—that she would keep her heart safe, too. She could make this work in her favor.
Esme stood, gathered her suit jacket and sandals, and took a deep breath.
Nothing mattered except holding on to Constance’s villa.
Not even a re-broken heart.
*
Santiago sat perfectly still behind the massive desk in Constance’s office. He’d expected every reaction to his plan. Except the reaction Esme gave. She'd run from the office as if her feet were on fire but not before he saw her expression. The same defeated look he'd seen in Napa when Tobias arrived at the bank.
Dios, you’re a bastard.
Just like his father. This was how Eduardo’s plans to have Casa began all those years ago. He’d offered the world to Magdalena’s father so he would approve of their marriage. Once gained, he’d done his best to destroy Magdalena so he could have this small piece of the Mexican Riviera. Magdalena thwarted him and from that moment Eduardo did his level best to ruin her. Ruin Casa and Constance, too. And now Santiago was doing the same thing, pretending to give Esme everything she wanted. In reality he would snatch it from her.
Marquez, dressed in green and blue board shorts and a tee shirt, knocked on the door, dropped a stack of mail on the desk, and exited just as quickly. His appearance shocked Santiago.
“Why are you here?” Santiago asked as he caught up with Marquez at the front desk. The older man was tanned from the summer sun, his black hair was highlighted from time spent outdoors, and wrinkles fanned out from his eyes. Veins stood out from his skinny arms and the Birkenstocks on his feet were well worn, nearly falling apart. Santiago couldn’t remember ever seeing him dressed so casually, not even when he taught Santiago to surf all those years ago.
“The light on the hill is tremendous today and I wanted to take advantage. I saw the mail at the front desk and decided to save a few steps for Con. . .” The older man shook his head. “I used to do that a lot for her. It is so strange that she is no longer here.” Marquez picked up an oblong, leather satchel leaning against the side of the gleaming mahogany. “Should I leave the mail now that you and Esmerelda are running the business?”
Santiago waved his hand. “Of course not. Thank you.”
He glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. Motioning the other man back into the office, Santiago turned away. “We’re only beginning to see the problems that Constance’s illness has caused the villa,” he began. Marquez frowned as he sat, putting the portfolio of art supplies beside him on the floor. “Constance valued your hard work, but with Esmerelda and me in the office during the daytime hours, we don’t need a full time reception worker as well.”
Marquez nodded, sadness filling his features. Santiago’s stomach clenched. This was why he didn’t like traditional business settings. Why he preferred working alone to working in crowded office buildings. Because sooner or later the boss had to be The Boss.
“I feared a change would come once Constance left.” The older man shifted in his seat.
Santiago was shocked by the graciousness of the man. He knew he shouldn’t be. This was Marquez, who took time to play catch when Santiago was a boy. Who taught Santiago to surf. And now he was being sacked by the very kid he’d been so kind to over the years. Santiago
Santiago wanted three hours of her time. Her skin heated at the thought. Three hours was too long; she would negotiate to two. Two hours away from the villa, but two hours when Santiago would not be there, either. And she would make sure those two hours were so filled with adventure—the kind not found in a bed—that she would keep her heart safe, too. She could make this work in her favor.
Esme stood, gathered her suit jacket and sandals, and took a deep breath.
Nothing mattered except holding on to Constance’s villa.
Not even a re-broken heart.
*
Santiago sat perfectly still behind the massive desk in Constance’s office. He’d expected every reaction to his plan. Except the reaction Esme gave. She'd run from the office as if her feet were on fire but not before he saw her expression. The same defeated look he'd seen in Napa when Tobias arrived at the bank.
Dios, you’re a bastard.
Just like his father. This was how Eduardo’s plans to have Casa began all those years ago. He’d offered the world to Magdalena’s father so he would approve of their marriage. Once gained, he’d done his best to destroy Magdalena so he could have this small piece of the Mexican Riviera. Magdalena thwarted him and from that moment Eduardo did his level best to ruin her. Ruin Casa and Constance, too. And now Santiago was doing the same thing, pretending to give Esme everything she wanted. In reality he would snatch it from her.
Marquez, dressed in green and blue board shorts and a tee shirt, knocked on the door, dropped a stack of mail on the desk, and exited just as quickly. His appearance shocked Santiago.
“Why are you here?” Santiago asked as he caught up with Marquez at the front desk. The older man was tanned from the summer sun, his black hair was highlighted from time spent outdoors, and wrinkles fanned out from his eyes. Veins stood out from his skinny arms and the Birkenstocks on his feet were well worn, nearly falling apart. Santiago couldn’t remember ever seeing him dressed so casually, not even when he taught Santiago to surf all those years ago.
“The light on the hill is tremendous today and I wanted to take advantage. I saw the mail at the front desk and decided to save a few steps for Con. . .” The older man shook his head. “I used to do that a lot for her. It is so strange that she is no longer here.” Marquez picked up an oblong, leather satchel leaning against the side of the gleaming mahogany. “Should I leave the mail now that you and Esmerelda are running the business?”
Santiago waved his hand. “Of course not. Thank you.”
He glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. Motioning the other man back into the office, Santiago turned away. “We’re only beginning to see the problems that Constance’s illness has caused the villa,” he began. Marquez frowned as he sat, putting the portfolio of art supplies beside him on the floor. “Constance valued your hard work, but with Esmerelda and me in the office during the daytime hours, we don’t need a full time reception worker as well.”
Marquez nodded, sadness filling his features. Santiago’s stomach clenched. This was why he didn’t like traditional business settings. Why he preferred working alone to working in crowded office buildings. Because sooner or later the boss had to be The Boss.
“I feared a change would come once Constance left.” The older man shifted in his seat.
Santiago was shocked by the graciousness of the man. He knew he shouldn’t be. This was Marquez, who took time to play catch when Santiago was a boy. Who taught Santiago to surf. And now he was being sacked by the very kid he’d been so kind to over the years. Santiago
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