clenched his fists, his heart telling him not to fire Marquez but his head reminding him everyone would be out of a job in six months one way or another.
He couldn’t do it. Not while Marquez was sitting across the desk from him. It was cowardly, Santiago knew, but there it was. “We still have a few hours for you, if you’d like to run the place while I teach Esme how to para-sail and take her on a canopy tour.” The words were out before Santiago could stop them. Relief crossed the older man’s face.
“I would like that.” He picked up his bag and stood. “And I would like to paint on the hill in the mornings, when the light is good, if that is acceptable?”
Santiago nodded and Marquez left. Well, that went better than I imagined.
“It will get harder, you know,” Esme said from the doorway, pushing Santiago’s senses into full alert. She was here for one of two reasons: to accept his proposal or continue their minor war. He refused to acknowledge just how important her return was and instead lounged back in his chair as if he fully expected her to be at his office door.
“I realize this was one of the simpler boss exercises,” he said. Dios, but she looked good. Only three days in Puerto Vallarta and already those irresistible freckles across her nose were deepening. Her sandals dangled from her fingertips, and her jacket was draped across the other arm leaving her creamy shoulders sunkissed. She should look disheveled but instead appeared completely put together.
“Going forward we may have to fire more employees to cut our budget and I expect none of them to be as easygoing as Marquez,” Esme said, as if he hadn’t the slightest notion how to run a business. He supposed he deserved that since nine-tenths of the world, his family included, believed he’d immersed himself in the no worries, no work, no pressure life of a professional surfer. They didn't know the pain of getting caught under a wave, the training it took to stand up on a board in the middle of a crashing ocean. He'd never cared what anyone thought of his decision.
Until now.
He nodded at her assumption as Esme placed her suit jacket just so on the back of a chair before sitting to pull on her strappy sandals. Her shell pink toes wiggled and despite the fact that he preferred his women to be bold with their makeup, he felt his groin tighten. Tiny grains of sand slid from the bottom of her feet as she secured the straps. So she’d gone to the beach. Maybe there was more of the old Esmerelda hiding under those power suits than he originally thought. She finally sat back, crossed her legs, and tapped her fingers against the chair arm.
“Your proposal is ridiculous.”
He raised an eyebrow. Another unexpected reply. He waited a beat and the pulse at the base of her throat thrummed harder beneath her skin. Esme chewed on her lower lip for a second, and Santiago could see her mental armor being placed one piece at a time. Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t change his plans for Casa.
“Ridiculous or not, my offer is all you have to work with,” he said, hating himself as she twisted the ring on her finger. He closed down his emotions. Esme couldn’t want the hassle that a small-time resort brought. He would buy her another place, a better place, far away from his interfering family. Returning the villa to Magdalena, giving her a refuge safe from Eduardo Cruz, might also return her strength. That must be his priority. “Unless you want my contacts with the rich and famous and their willingness to be parted from their money to squash your innkeeper’s hopes.” It was mean-spirited, but a little reminder of his sphere of influence was never a bad thing.
She took a deep breath. “Two hours.”
Santiago clenched his jaw. He would accept her offer, but it irked him.
“Well then, Ms. Quinn, why don’t we have dinner to seal our fates?”
“Dinner isn’t part of our deal, Santiago, we have plans to make.” She turned
He couldn’t do it. Not while Marquez was sitting across the desk from him. It was cowardly, Santiago knew, but there it was. “We still have a few hours for you, if you’d like to run the place while I teach Esme how to para-sail and take her on a canopy tour.” The words were out before Santiago could stop them. Relief crossed the older man’s face.
“I would like that.” He picked up his bag and stood. “And I would like to paint on the hill in the mornings, when the light is good, if that is acceptable?”
Santiago nodded and Marquez left. Well, that went better than I imagined.
“It will get harder, you know,” Esme said from the doorway, pushing Santiago’s senses into full alert. She was here for one of two reasons: to accept his proposal or continue their minor war. He refused to acknowledge just how important her return was and instead lounged back in his chair as if he fully expected her to be at his office door.
“I realize this was one of the simpler boss exercises,” he said. Dios, but she looked good. Only three days in Puerto Vallarta and already those irresistible freckles across her nose were deepening. Her sandals dangled from her fingertips, and her jacket was draped across the other arm leaving her creamy shoulders sunkissed. She should look disheveled but instead appeared completely put together.
“Going forward we may have to fire more employees to cut our budget and I expect none of them to be as easygoing as Marquez,” Esme said, as if he hadn’t the slightest notion how to run a business. He supposed he deserved that since nine-tenths of the world, his family included, believed he’d immersed himself in the no worries, no work, no pressure life of a professional surfer. They didn't know the pain of getting caught under a wave, the training it took to stand up on a board in the middle of a crashing ocean. He'd never cared what anyone thought of his decision.
Until now.
He nodded at her assumption as Esme placed her suit jacket just so on the back of a chair before sitting to pull on her strappy sandals. Her shell pink toes wiggled and despite the fact that he preferred his women to be bold with their makeup, he felt his groin tighten. Tiny grains of sand slid from the bottom of her feet as she secured the straps. So she’d gone to the beach. Maybe there was more of the old Esmerelda hiding under those power suits than he originally thought. She finally sat back, crossed her legs, and tapped her fingers against the chair arm.
“Your proposal is ridiculous.”
He raised an eyebrow. Another unexpected reply. He waited a beat and the pulse at the base of her throat thrummed harder beneath her skin. Esme chewed on her lower lip for a second, and Santiago could see her mental armor being placed one piece at a time. Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t change his plans for Casa.
“Ridiculous or not, my offer is all you have to work with,” he said, hating himself as she twisted the ring on her finger. He closed down his emotions. Esme couldn’t want the hassle that a small-time resort brought. He would buy her another place, a better place, far away from his interfering family. Returning the villa to Magdalena, giving her a refuge safe from Eduardo Cruz, might also return her strength. That must be his priority. “Unless you want my contacts with the rich and famous and their willingness to be parted from their money to squash your innkeeper’s hopes.” It was mean-spirited, but a little reminder of his sphere of influence was never a bad thing.
She took a deep breath. “Two hours.”
Santiago clenched his jaw. He would accept her offer, but it irked him.
“Well then, Ms. Quinn, why don’t we have dinner to seal our fates?”
“Dinner isn’t part of our deal, Santiago, we have plans to make.” She turned
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