More to Give (4 page)

CHAPTER 4

T
his should not be awkward
, or so Callie kept telling herself. They were in an unoccupied hotel room to evaluate the space for remodeling purposes. The presence of a giant bed in the middle of the room should not have had any effect on her ability to focus on the task at hand.

But it did.

If Sam was similarly afflicted, he covered it well.

“All the rooms but two are this same size,” he said, crossing to the window to the left of the bed, which put some distance between them.
Thank the
heavens.
“Did you have a plan for what we can do in here?”

The answers that flew to mind were not professional ones. Callie used the legal pad as a fan while she concentrated on finding the right answers.

“New draperies and bedding. Each room will be unique, so we’ll need several sets of every color and pattern. New paint and area rugs over newly installed hardwood floors. Industrial grade to withstand the level of traffic a hotel endures, of course.”

There. Back on track. All business.

“We’ll need new mattresses,” Sam said. “I’ll give you the name of the company we used for the Anchor. So far the guests have been happy, so I trust we made the right choice.”

“Mattresses,” Callie said, keeping her eyes on the yellow lined paper and not the man with whom she had once shared her own mattress.

“Okay,” she said, stepping toward the door. “I think that does it. I can get started on this—”

“Why are you here?” Sam asked, taking Callie completely off guard.

She stared blankly. “Excuse me?”

Sam crossed his arms, pulling the suit jacket tight over his broad shoulders. “You weren’t surprised when you walked into my office yesterday, so you knew I was the person you were coming to interview with.”

She’d forgotten how direct Sam could be.

With a brief hesitation, she considered her answer, but in the end, Callie told the truth. “I need this job. I knew any operation run by you would be top quality. I’ve worked hard since earning my degree four years ago, and have assisted in several hotel transformations, but I’ve struggled to find anyone who would let me lead a project.” Standing tall, she added, “When I found the ad for this position online, I applied immediately, hoping our previous connection wouldn’t be a problem.”

Once her full confession was out, silence filled the air around them. Tiny dust particles danced in the beam of sunlight behind Sam’s head as his eyes narrowed, boring into her as if he could see the words she hadn’t said. Then his stance loosened.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Looks like your gamble paid off. Hopefully for both of us.”

The breath Callie hadn’t realized she’d been holding whooshed out. “I really appreciate this chance, Sam. I won’t let you down.”

“I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t believe that.” Sam glanced around the room. “Back to the task at hand. You said each room will be unique. That’s forty-two rooms. What do you plan to do to make them all different?”

“Right,” she stammered, jarred again by the sudden change of subject. “In the past, I’ve created a sort of color block for the layout. A four-block of rooms in blues, the next in reds, and so on. That helps the painters keep things straight and gives the hotel a flow and consistency, even while nothing is exactly the same.”

Sam nodded. “A sound strategy. And the style?”

“Clean lines and simplicity with touches that make the rooms feel cozy and welcoming.” Callie warmed to her subject now that she was discussing the part she loved most about these renovations—the actual decorating. “Nothing too frilly or cluttered. Elegant but accessible. We want guests to explore the local attractions but feel at home enough in the room that when they make a return trip to Anchor, we’re the first place that comes to mind.”

Sam smiled, and Callie realized it was the first time he’d done so in her presence since she’d walked into his office the day before. Maybe even longer. His full lips stretched over straight white teeth, and tiny laugh lines appeared around his eyes.

He looked younger when he smiled. Though Callie knew Sam was only thirty-six, he looked much older than she’d expected him to. Older and sad. Though she hadn’t put that emotion to it before, since he covered so much with formality. But there was definitely sadness in his eyes.

“We’re clearly on the same page, Ms. Henderson,” Sam said, joining her once again at the door.

“Please,” she said, “call me Callie. Every time you say
Ms. Henderson
, I want to look behind me for my mother.”

Sam’s smile turned into a grin. “I met her once, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Callie cringed. “She shook your hand and said if only she was twenty years younger, you two could have some fun.”

His deep chuckle set butterflies loose in Callie’s midsection. “Interesting lady.”

“That’s one word for it.” But Callie didn’t experience the usual annoyance she felt when thinking about her mother. Standing this close to Sam, sharing a moment from the past, she felt lots of things, but none of them was annoyance.

Several amicable seconds passed, and then Sam’s eyes dropped the few inches to Callie’s lips. She stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Waited.

Then a door slammed down the hall and Sam stepped back.

“I think we have a good plan of attack here,” he said. “I’d like to see a full proposal by Friday.”

Callie nodded, hugging the notepad to her chest. It wasn’t much, but she needed something to hold on to.

“I’ll have it for you first thing in the morning.” Desperate for space and fresh air, she stepped into the hall and led the way to the lobby. Callie could feel more than hear Sam following behind her. She picked up the pace. “You offered to send Yvonne over to help with the office,” she said, stopping near the front desk. “When can I expect her?”

The storm-gray eyes were serious again. The grin vanished. Whatever had just happened down the hall must have been a figment of Callie’s imagination.

“I’ll send her over this afternoon.”

She’d thought he would leave immediately, but Sam lingered near the entrance. “I forgot to ask, is everything good with the cottage? Seemed the right place to put you, considering its proximity to the inn.”

Callie hadn’t expected Sam to be concerned about her comfort, but she certainly had no complaints about the cottage. “It’s wonderful. Perfect, in fact. I think I’ll be quite happy there.”

A glimpse of the smile returned. “Good,” he said. Another brief hesitation, and then, “I’ll see you Friday morning at nine.”

Callie nodded, then watched Sam walk to his car. The words she’d last spoken played on a loop in her mind. There was definitely a chance she could be happy here. Though she did hope the rest of the islanders were friendlier than the checker players outside had been. Still, Callie preferred to think positive. As her cousin Henri liked to say, you never know what might happen if you keep an open mind.

And an open heart.

Sam walked into the Anchor Inn still contemplating his encounter with Callie. She’d always been honest, but brave was not something he would have called her six years before. It had taken incredible courage for her to walk into his office, not sure what he would say or do when he realized who she was.

What astounded him more, though, was the fact that she had yet to bring up the last time they’d seen each other. Hadn’t asked him why he’d left without so much as a note the morning after they’d been together. Truth be told, after six years, Sam still didn’t have an answer, even for himself. That part of his life was a blur of anger, confusion, and hurt. He could express the anger, but Callie had given him a way to express the hurt. Or at least put a bandage over it for one night.

The next morning, he’d simply needed to get away. To start over. He’d never meant to fall into bed with Callie that night. Sam had needed a friend. Someone who would understand what he was going through. Callie had seemed like the only person on the planet who might know how he’d felt.

And she had. She’d said all the right things. Given him exactly what he’d needed. Maybe what they’d both needed. The memory, which had come back like an assault the moment he’d stood next to her in that bedroom, revived the feelings he’d long ago buried.

“Mr. Edwards?” Yvonne said, jerking Sam out of his reverie.

Sam stopped before walking into a chair. He glanced to his left to find Yvonne watching him with concern in her yellow-gold eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping up to the counter. “My mind was someplace else.” Somewhere he’d spent six years avoiding. “Are you going to lunch soon?” he asked.

Yvonne checked the clock on the wall behind her. “I planned to leave in about ten minutes. Did you need me to stay and handle something?”

“No, I need you to spend the afternoon helping Ms. Henderson organize the Sunset Harbor office.”

Yvonne nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll have Rachel cover the desk while I’m gone. Do you know if Ms. Henderson needs any sort of office supplies? File folders and the like?”

Sam didn’t know anything. He hadn’t even bothered to look in the office to assess the damage for himself.

“I’m afraid not. Give her a call and see what she needs. Take her anything she asks for.”

“Yes, sir,” Yvonne responded, though still eying him as if he might plow into a wall.

With a quick tap on the counter, Sam nodded, then headed for his office. His suit jacket hit the coat stand in the corner and his tie was loose before his ass hit the leather seat. In less than forty-eight hours, Callie Wellman—Henderson now—had surprised, debated, cajoled, and aroused him. He shuddered to think what the hell she might do next.

Callie had moved to her third pile of invoices, customer receipts, and unopened mail when Yvonne knocked on her office door. Resisting the urge to hug her would-be savior, she offered the woman a seat instead.

“I brought everything you asked for except the graph paper,” Yvonne said, setting a stack of printer paper, file folders, pens, highlighters, and labels on the only corner of the desk Callie had been able to clear. “We didn’t have any in the supply room. But I called in an order and we should have it tomorrow.”

Somewhere in her upper twenties by Callie’s guess, Yvonne was quite beautiful, with a runway-ready body and a distinct air of confidence, as if she felt completely prepared to take on the world and win.

What Callie wouldn’t give for that trait. Or that body.

“Is there an office supply store on the island?” Callie asked, noting again that she needed to take a day to explore her new surroundings.

“Not on Anchor, no. But there’s a store farther up the Outer Banks willing to deliver down here if we order enough.” Yvonne shrugged. “I put all of this on the order as well, since we’ll need it again eventually.”

“Thank you so much.” Callie indicated the stacks on the desk. “I’m not sure where to begin. The place looked as if this Cheryl person purposely threw every piece of paper into the air before she left.”

Yvonne looked as horrified about the mess as Callie had been when she’d first entered the office. “I had no idea she was this pissed off,” she said, shaking her head.

Yvonne’s combination of mocha-colored skin and amber eyes made her look like a one-of-a-kind work of art. Callie had never seen eyes that color before. They were mesmerizing.

“How about I start with the piles,” Yvonne offered, “and you assess the file drawers? Did she leave anything in them at all?”

Callie opened the desk drawer to her left. Papers were wedged in every which way, many folded or mangled completely. “She did.” Callie sighed. “Your plan sounds as good as any. Stack by year, then by expense. Was payroll handled out of this office as well?”

Yvonne shook her head. “No. All payroll for both hotels is handled from the Anchor.”

“Thank God.” The task ahead felt overwhelming, but at least she wasn’t in this alone. “Let’s get started. Once we get this mess organized, I can make sure everything is in the system before we archive. Keep your fingers crossed the database doesn’t look nearly as bad as this office.”

As the two of them went to work, Callie was tempted to ask why a woman like Yvonne was on Anchor Island, instead of gracing runways in Milan. She also wondered how Sam managed to resist his office manager’s exotic beauty.