Between the CEO's Sheets / House Calls: Between the CEO's Sheets / House Calls. Michelle Celmer

before falling to the floor, but it was enough to satisfy Gina’s frustration.

      “There, now I feel better,” she muttered, wishing she had a burlap sack in her wardrobe. Because if she had one, she would surely have worn it just to spite Wade Beaumont.

      A little later, Gina unpacked her bag, making sure to hang all of her clothes up carefully. She’d only brought one suitcase, packing enough clothes for the week, but she could make her wardrobe last two, if need be. She knew how to accessorize, how to mix and match and stretch out her clothes for maximum versatility. She prided herself on that. She loved design. She loved to create and one day, she vowed, her creativity would pay off.

      A cooling breeze lifted her hair and she strolled to the wide French door Wade had opened, but instead of closing the door, she stepped outside. On a breath, she leaned against the balcony railing and gazed out at the ocean, tamping down shivers of fear, realizing that she’d crossed this ocean today with Wade by her side. She’d spent the better part of the trip below deck, but regardless of that, it was a first step to overcoming her fear.

      Here she was on a small stretch of land, completely surrounded by water, working for Wade Beaumont. “Who would have guessed,” she whispered into the breeze. She was living through the two scenarios she dreaded most. And the one man she hoped to never see again had orchestrated both.

      Gina decided on taking a leisurely shower, luxuriating in the scented soaps, oils and body washes provided. Feeling rejuvenated, she sat down at the dressing table and brushed her long hair, deciding on another upswept do, this time leaving strands of hair down to frame her face. She used a little mascara on her eyes, highlighted the lids and put on a light shade of lipstick.

      She decided on a conservative black pencil skirt and white-linen cuffed blouse to wear for the lunch meeting. Gazing in the mirror, she nodded in approval. This was business and, despite Wade’s cutting remark, she wanted to appear every bit the professional.

      An hour later when Wade knocked on her door, she was more than ready. “I’m all set,” she said, opening the door.

      Holding a briefcase in one hand and wearing equally professional dark trousers and a white shirt, he had a no-nonsense appearance: tall, dark, imposing. Handsome.

      He made a quick sweep of her attire and she bit back a comment about burlap as he glanced down at her black-heeled sandals. “We have some walking to do.”

      Gina lifted one leg and twirled her foot. “These are the most comfortable shoes I own.”

      Wade arched a brow, taking time to stare at her toes. “Tell me that once we’re back and I might believe you. Let’s go.”

      She grabbed her purse, locked up her suite and Wade guided her downstairs with a hand to her back. “We’ll go over the details once again about the Santa Catalina Island Company,” he said as they walked along the streets.

      Gina had read much about it in the reports, but Wade insisted on going over all pertinent information, more to reaffirm his knowledge, she believed, than to clue her in. He would do all the talking. Gina was there to take notes and provide any assistance Wade needed.

      Wade explained once again how important this lunch was. The island company had been granted more than forty-thousand acres dedicated to conservation. Rarely did they agree to any building on the island. Anything proposed had to be in tune with the land and provide sanctuary for the wildlife and flora. The developer had sealed the deal, but Mr. Robinique needed to hear the plans directly from each contractor—whoever convinced him that the land would be best protected would gain the upper hand and have the best chance at winning the contract. Robinique’s influence over the final proposal couldn’t be discounted. Wade had three competitors, he reminded her, but only John Wheatley of Creekside Construction could truly compete with Triple B.

      They climbed a hilly street to reach the snug Harbor Inn and, once inside, Mr. James Robinique rose from his table to greet them. He shook hands with Wade and then smiled at Gina.

      “This is my assistant, Miss Grady,” Wade said.

      Gina offered her hand and Robinique took it, clasping both of his over hers. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, his blue eyes never wavering.

      Gina smiled at the good-looking Frenchman, taken aback by how young he appeared. From Wade’s accounting, she’d expected a more mature man. But James Robinique appeared no older than her. He clasped her hand a little longer than she deemed necessary and slowly removed it from his. When she took her seat, the two men also sat down.

      Once the meals had been ordered and served, the two men enjoyed healthy portions of halibut sautéed in wine sauce and conversed while Gina nibbled on her chicken salad. Wade drank beer on tap and Mr. Robinique sipped on pinot grigio. Gina opted for iced tea. She was on the clock and taking copious notes.

      “Let me assure you that we have every intention of preserving the environment on the island. As you can see from the architectural layouts, there’s a bird sanctuary on the grounds, not one tree will be downed and we have enhanced the outer perimeters with ponds and streams that will add to the island’s beauty and invite the natural inhabitants.”

      With the layouts spread across the table, Robinique looked over the designs, making mental notes, nodding his head as Wade continued to make his case.

      Gina jotted down his comments and questions, something Wade had asked her to do. Wade was nothing if not thorough and he wanted no stone left unturned.

      Gina had to admire Wade’s tenacity. He went after what he wanted without compromise. To hear him talk, you’d never guess that the resort—which would house seventy-five rooms, forty deluxe suites, six eloquent cottages, a horse-filled stable, three pools, tennis courts and a golf course—would disrupt the land in any way.

      Yet, Mr. Robinique wasn’t a pushover. He didn’t appear completely convinced. He had specific, detailed concerns pertaining to the ninety acres in question. Wade admitted that he must do one more survey of the land before he could satisfy those questions.

      Robinique agreed to meet with him later in the week, suggesting that Wade make use of the nearby stables to go over the entire acreage.

      When Wade nodded in agreement, Robinique glanced at Gina. She had stopped writing and he spoke directly to her with just a hint of a French accent. “What do you think of all this, Miss Grady?” With a wave of his hands, he gestured to the plans.

      “I think Mr. Beaumont and the staff at Triple B have worked diligently to try to satisfy both the developer and your company.”

      He kept his focus on her and smiled. “And I think Mr. Beaumont has a loyal employee.”

      Gina lifted her lips.

      Wade kept his gaze tightly fastened to Robinique.

      “Tell me, Miss Grady, are you through now, taking all those notes?”

      Gina glanced at Wade. He nodded and she slipped the notepad into the briefcase. “Yes, I think so.”

      “Then your work is done for the day?”

      “I’m not sure.” She looked at Wade.

      “If you are satisfied with the presentation, then I would say that our work is done for now,” Wade offered. “But we will meet again later in the week.”

      “Then, we are finished,” Robinique said, “unless you would care for coffee and dessert?”

      Wade shook his head and looked at Gina. She too, shook her head. “No, thank you.”

      When Robinique stood, Wade took his cue and the two men shook hands. “I’ll call you soon,” Wade said, lifting his briefcase.

      “I will expect your call,” James Robinique replied, then turned to Gina. “Excuse me, Miss Grady” he began, his eyes a striking blue when focused solely on her, “but I cannot let you go without offering you our island hospitality. Would you care to join me for a drink later this evening?”

      Gina