His Accidental Heir. Joanne Rock

McNeill Resorts—he would receive the most attentive service imaginable and learn absolutely nothing about the establishment’s underlying problems. But as Mr. Holmes, first-class pain in the ass, Cam would put the staff on their toes and see how they reacted.

      After reviewing the Carib Grand’s performance reports for the past two months, Cameron knew something was off in the day-to-day operations. And since he’d personally recommended that the company buy the property in the first place, he wasn’t willing to wait for an overpriced operations review by an outside agency. Not that McNeill Resorts couldn’t afford it. It simply chafed his pride that he’d missed something in his initial research. Besides, his family had just learned of a long-hidden branch of relations living on a nearby island—his father’s sons by a secret mistress. Cam would use his time here to check out the other McNeills personally.

      But for now? Business first.

      “Welcome to the Carib Grand,” an aging doorman greeted him with a deferential nod and a friendly smile.

      Cam forced a frown onto his face to keep from smiling back. That wasn’t as hard as he thought given the way Poppy’s foolishly long fur was plastering itself to his jacket when he walked too fast, her topknot and tail bobbing with his stride and tickling his chin. It wouldn’t come naturally to Cam to be the hard-to-please guest this week. He was a people-person to begin with, and appreciated those who worked for McNeill Resorts especially. But this was the fastest way he knew to find out what was going on at the hotel firsthand. He’d be damned if anyone on the board questioned his business acumen during a time when his aging grandfather was testing all his heirs for their commitment to his legacy.

      The Carib Grand lobby was welcoming, as he recalled from his tour six months ago when the property had been briefly shut down. The two wings of the hotel flanked the reception area to either side with restaurants stacked overhead. But the lobby itself drew visitors in with floor-to-ceiling windows so the sparkling Caribbean beckoned at all times. Huge hanging baskets of exotic flowers framed the view without impeding it.

      The scent of bougainvillea drifted in through the door behind him. Poppy tilted her nose in the air and took a seat on his forearm, a queen on her throne.

      The front desk attendant—only one—was busy with another guest. Cameron’s bellhop, a young guy with a long ponytail of dreadlocks, must have noticed the front desk was busy at the same time as him, because he gestured to the concierge’s tall granite counter where a stunning brunette smiled.

      “Ms. Delphine can help you check in, sir,” the bellhop informed him while whisking his luggage onto a waiting cart. “Would you like me to walk the dog while you get settled?”

      Nothing would please him more than to off-load Poppy and the miles of snow-white pet hair threading around his suit buttons. Cameron was pretty sure there was a cloud of fur floating just beneath his nose.

      “Her name is Poppy,” Cameron snapped at the helpful soul, unable to take his eyes off the very appealing concierge, who’d snagged his attention through the window the second he’d stepped out of the limo. “And I’ve requested a dog walker with references.”

      The bellhop gave a nod and backed away, no doubt glad to leave a surly guest in the hands of the bronze-skinned beauty sidling out from her counter to welcome Cameron. She seemed to have that mix of ethnicities common in the Caribbean. The burnished tint of her skin set off wide, tawny gold eyes. A natural curl and kink in her dusky brown hair ended in sun-blond tips. Perfect posture and a well-fitted linen suit made her look every inch a professional, yet her long legs drew his eye even though her skirt hit just above her knees. Even if he’d been visiting the property as her boss, he wouldn’t have acted on the flash of attraction, of course. But it was a damn shame that he’d be at odds with this enticing female for the next two weeks. The concierge position was the linchpin in the hotel staff, though, and his mission to rattle cages began with her.

      “Welcome, Mr. Holmes.” He was impressed that she’d greeted him by name. “I’m Maresa. We’re so glad to see you and Poppy, too.”

      He’d spoken to a Maresa Delphine on the phone earlier, purposely issuing a string of demands on short notice to see how she’d fare. She didn’t look nervous. Yet. He’d need to challenge her, to prod at all facets of the management and staff to pinpoint the weak links. The hotel wasn’t necessarily losing money, but it was only a matter of time before earnings followed the decline in performance reviews.

      “Poppy will be glad to meet her walker.” He came straight to the point, ignoring the eager bob of the dog’s head as Maresa offered admiring words to the pooch. Cameron could imagine what the wag of the tail was doing to the back of his jacket. “Do you have the references ready?”

      “Of course.” Maresa straightened with a sunny smile. She had a hint of an accent he couldn’t place. “They’re right here at my desk.”

      Cameron’s gaze dipped to her slim hips as she turned. He’d taken a hiatus from dating for fun over the last few months, thinking he ought to find himself a wife to fulfill his grandfather’s dictate that McNeill Resorts would only go to the grandsons who were stable and wed. But he’d botched that, too, impulsively issuing a marriage proposal to the first woman his matchmaker suggested in order to have the business settled.

      Now? Apparently the months without sex were conspiring against him. He ground his teeth against a surge of ill-timed desire.

      “Here you go.” The concierge turned with a sheet of paper in hand and passed it to him, her honey-colored gaze as potent as any caress. “I took the liberty of checking all the references myself, but I’ve included the numbers in case you’d like to talk to any of them directly.”

      “That’s why I asked,” he replied tightly, tugging the paper harder than necessary.

      He could have sworn Poppy slanted him a dirty look over one fluffy white shoulder. Her nails definitely flexed into his forearm right through the sleeve of his suit before she fixed her coal-black eyes on Maresa Delphine.

      Not that he blamed Poppy. He’d rather be staring at Maresa than scowling over dog walker references. Being the boss wasn’t always a rocking-good time. Yet he’d rather ruffle feathers today and fix the core problems than have the staff jump though the hoops of an extended performance review.

      Cameron slid the paper into his jacket pocket. “I’ll check these after I have the chance to clean up. If you can have someone show us to our room.”

      He hurried her on purpose, curious if the room extras were ready to go. The bath wasn’t a tough request, but the flowers had most likely needed to be flown in. If he hadn’t been specifically looking for it, he might have missed the smallest hesitation on her part.

      “Certainly.” She lifted a tablet from the granite countertop where she worked. “If you can just sign here to approve the information you provided over the phone, I’ll escort you myself.”

      That wasn’t protocol. Did Ms. Delphine expect additional tips this way? Cam remembered reading that the concierge had been with the company since the reopening under McNeill ownership two months ago.

      Signing his fake name on the electronic screen, he fished for information. “Are you understaffed?”

      She ran a pair of keycards through the machine and slid them into a small welcome folder.

      “Definitely not. We’ll have Rudolfo bring your bags. I just want to personally ensure the suite is to your liking.” She handed him the packet with the keys while giving a nod to the bell captain. “Can I make a dinner reservation for you this evening, Mr. Holmes?”

      Cameron juggled the restless dog, who was no doubt more travel-weary than him. They’d taken a private jet, but even with the shorter air time, there’d been limo rides to and from airports, plus a boat crossing from Charlotte Amalie to the Carib Grand since the hotel occupied a small, private island just outside the harbor area in Saint Thomas. He’d walked the dog when they hit the ground at the airfield, but Poppy’s owner had cautioned him to give the animal a certain amount of rest and play each day. So far