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“We’re going to be working together, Cara. Very closely. I suggest you get over our unfortunate history and be professional.”
The models had gone quiet behind her, but every set of eyes burned into her back.
“Honey, I didn’t have much to get over.” That was a complete lie but she grinned through it. “I was over it five minutes after you left.”
Also a lie. He didn’t call her on it, though she was pretty sure he saw right through her.
“Then we have no problem. I’ll buy you a drink later and we can catch up.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. Professionals don’t drink on the job.”
* * *
Keith left the beach pavilion with his head intact, a plus when unexpectedly confronted with an entire roomful of women in wedding dresses. God save him from brides.
He strode through the resort, noting a hundred issues requiring his attention. Tablet in hand, his admin, Alice, scurried after him, logging every sentence from his mouth in her efficient shorthand. She’d long grown accustomed to his ground-eating pace, and the ability to keep up was one of her many competencies.
He appreciated competency.
As he evaluated the construction crews’ progress, checked in with the restaurant and catering staff and worked through a minor snafu with the recreation equipment, the image of Cara in that long white dress darted along the edges of his mind.
Not just in a dress, but in charge, running a business she’d created herself.
The harder he tried to forget, the more he thought about her. It was Cara but Cara unlike he’d ever seen her before. It was as oddly compelling as it was distracting.
That had not been his intent when he’d selected her for the bridal expo. Her connections were significant and her dresses had created consumer buzz in a tight industry, particularly among the moneyed crowd. Personal feelings couldn’t interfere with what he knew this expo needed. Keith only had room for the best, and thorough research told him he’d found that in Cara Chandler-Harris Designs.
The decision to go with Cara was easy. Seeing her again was not.
Cara was a cold, scheming woman, no doubt. All women were scheming—or at least the ones he’d dated were—but Cara had proved to be the worst by trying to trap him into a marriage he didn’t want. Thankfully, her scheme hadn’t worked and he’d gotten out before it was too late.
He would never again make the mistake of agonizing over the decision to ask a woman to be his wife, only to find his effort was all for nothing. It had taken considerably longer than five minutes to get over it, but he’d moved on and rarely thought about his former fiancée...until today.
This consulting job had dominated his focus for the better part of six months. Regent Group had hired him to revive an anemic line of Caribbean resorts, and evidence of the life he’d pumped into this property’s veins bustled around him. He thrived on insurmountable challenges.
Cara wasn’t but a small, necessary cog in a larger machine and couldn’t become a further distraction, no matter how much of a surprise it was to discover he was still dangerously attracted to her.
“Alice, please send a bottle of cabernet to Miss Chandler-Harris’s room. Cara,” he clarified as he and Alice evaluated the pool area. Meredith drank martinis, with two olives. Obviously quite a few things with the sisters had changed, but not that, he’d bet.
“Yes, sir,” Alice responded.
The largest infinity pool in the Caribbean spread out between the two main buildings. The pool’s dark basin turned the water a restive navy in deliberate contrast to the turquoise ocean. Intimate concrete islands dotted the outer edge of the pool and would be set up for private dining later in the week.
A breeze picked up strength and rattled the multicolored umbrellas in their stands. Half the stands were empty, yet another in the long list of issues. Many of the thousands of resort projects he’d meticulously approved for implementation had already been done, but not enough. The work teams should be much further along.
Now that he’d arrived, his firm hand would guide the teams into executing the strategy or he’d guide the offenders into the unemployment line.
Keith Mitchell did not allow others to fail on his watch.
In three days, the grand reopening would coincide with a three-day bridal expo. Dozens of merchants, media executives and other wedding professionals composed the elite group of people invited for the resort’s relaunch as a premier wedding destination.
Cara’s fashion show was one of the highlights of the party.
The image of Cara in a wedding dress continued to compete for his attention. Those bare feet peeking out from under the hem had done a quick, sharp number on his lower half. He’d only ever seen her out of heels when she’d been out of everything else, as well. Naked Cara was a sight worthy of recalling.
They’d had chemistry to spare two years ago, and it hadn’t fizzled in the least. A slight miscalculation on his part, but manageable.
The resort manager met him in the lobby, dead center over the inlaid Carrera marble Regent emblem. Elena Moore took his hand in her firm grip. “Mr. Mitchell, welcome back. I’m pleased to see you again.”
“Likewise.” He’d hired Elena personally and their management styles meshed well. “Show me what you’ve accomplished.”
His last visit had been three weeks ago, and Elena’s staffing efforts had dramatically improved since then. Nearly all of the openings in the organizational chart now listed names, and most had received training. They discussed Elena’s biggest hurdles until Keith was satisfied with their agreed direction.
Elena showed him to the two-bedroom penthouse suite he’d requested and disappeared. Two pieces of matched luggage bearing Keith’s initials sat inside the room, though they hadn’t passed the porter. Invisibility—the mark of excellent hotel service. Keith had earned his road-warrior status traveling as many as three hundred days a year, and if he knew anything, it was hotels.
Everything in his life was temporary by design because soon enough, he’d be moving on to the next job. He preferred it that way.
The seventeen-hundred-square-foot suite had been equipped with three flat-screen TVs, a kitchenette and wireless internet connectivity, precisely according to Keith’s specifications. When the resort reopened, guests in this suite would have the services of a dedicated concierge, as well.
He tested everything twice. Satisfied, Keith unpacked his clothes and hung his suits in the walk-in closet, taking up only one of the four available racks. He traveled light and alone, always, but guests would appreciate the space.
After calling down to room service for someone to iron his shirts, he washed away the airplane stench in the enormous glass-enclosed shower. Work beckoned but he took a much-needed fifteen-minute break with a frosty Belgian white from the mini-fridge—his preferred type of beer. The staff knew his preferences, as they should and would know the same about every guest in this hotel.
He settled into a solitary chair outside and took a long pull from the bottle. The wraparound terrace offered a 180-degree view of the pristine shoreline, tinted light pink in the dying rays of the sunset. It was a slice of perfection, and those who wished to tie the knot with such unparalleled beauty surrounding them would pay handsomely because every hand-selected staff member paid attention to details.
Keith Mitchell always hit his target.
He worked until his eyes crossed, then slept a solid four hours and rose at dawn to go jogging. He’d barely finished stretching when another early riser came onto the beach a hundred yards down the shore. Normally, he’d give other people a wide berth, as he always opted to be alone whenever he could. It was the nature of consulting to be constantly on the move. Lasting attachments made zero sense and he was typically too busy to get sentimental about the lack of relationships in his life.
But his Y chromosome had absolutely no trouble recognizing Cara, and their brief exchange yesterday hadn’t satisfied his curiosity about what she’d done with her life over the past two years. And he had a perverse need to understand why she still got under his skin after all the lies she’d told him.
Keith caught up with her. “When did you start jogging?”
She shot him a sidelong glance. “I might ask you the same question.”
He shrugged. “A while back. Not getting any younger.”
“Who is?” She threaded brown hair through a ponytail holder and raised her arms in a T, swiveling at the waist. Her red tank top stretched across her torso and rode up to reveal a smooth expanse of flesh. New blond streaks in her hair gleamed against the backdrop of ocean. “Which way are you going?”
He jerked his head to the left and tore his eyes off Cara’s body. Reluctantly. “Interested in joining me?”
“No.” She curled her lip. “I’m interested in heading the opposite direction.”
“Careful. You wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. That sounded an awful lot like someone who isn’t over me yet.”
“Get your hearing checked.”
But she took off in the direction he’d planned to go, face trained straight ahead. He matched her stride and they ran in silence about three feet from the rushing surf. Not companionable silence. Too much unsaid seethed between them for friendliness, faked or otherwise.
The September weather was perfect, still cool in the morning, and later, Grace Bay would hit the mideighties. The first time Keith set foot on Regent’s Turks and Caicos resort, he’d immediately designated it the centerpiece of the corporate-wide luxury-wedding-destination renovation. No one would be disappointed with the choice.
After half a mile or so, he expected Cara to peel off or fall to the sand, gasping for air. She kept going, stretching it out to a mile. Impressive. She wasn’t even winded. The Cara he’d known had balked at anything more strenuous than painting her nails.
But then, he hadn’t really known her at all.
By mutual agreement, they turned around to head back to the resort. At the entrance marker to the private beach, they slowed and then stopped.
Cara walked in circles to cool down and Keith watched her on the sly as he peeled his damp shirt from his chest to wipe his forehead. Her skin had taken on a glow and she’d yet to slather her face with half a cosmetic store. Dressed-to-the-nines Cara he liked, especially when he took her to dinner and got to spend a whole meal fantasizing about stripping her out of all that finery.
This natural version of her hit him with a sledgehammer to the backs of his knees.
No distractions, Mitchell.
Yet, Cara had never stuck to the role he’d assigned her in his life. Why had he been daft enough to believe that might have changed?
She noticed him watching her and crossed her arms over a still-heaving chest. “Tell me one thing. Why me? Out of all the wedding dress designers out there.”
“Your name was on the short list. Much to my shock.”
“Is it that difficult to believe I can sew?” Her chin jutted out, daring him to say yes.
But it was inconceivable that she’d traded a burning desire to trap some clueless male into marrying her for a design business.
“You have a degree in marketing. Two years ago, you were a junior coffeemaker at an ad agency and then, bang. Now you’re Cara Chandler-Harris Designs, so pardon my mild cardiac arrest. Despite that, your name is highly respected in the industry and I need the best. That’s why you made the cut.”
Plus, he was curious to find out if she was merely the face of the company. Maybe she had someone else slaving away over the dresses while she took all the credit.
“For your information, bang took eighteen months of sleepless nights and several design classes to accomplish. I got an interest-bearing loan. No one handed me anything.”
Not even her father? Seemed unlikely that John Harris would have done nothing to help his daughter’s business.
“Doesn’t hurt to have Chandler-Harris on the label either.”
“It’s not a crime to have connections. If memory serves, the president of Regent Group’s board is married to a friend of my mom’s. Tell me it’s a coincidence you’re now working for Regent.”
Her gaze sliced into him and he didn’t dare grin. But he wanted to. She’d never had so much attitude. He liked it. “All successful people have connections.”
“Exactly. And I’m going to continue using mine.” The dawn light beamed across her face and caught a wicked glint in her espresso-colored eyes.
Keith filed that fact away—for later, when he might lean on their connection. Though he had no doubt she intended to use her connection to him in an entirely different way than he did. “But wedding dresses?”
“Funny story. I got left at the altar and had this useless dress I’d made myself.”
A flash of memory surfaced—Cara in a white dress with hundreds of beads sewn to the top and a stricken look on her face when she turned to see him at the door of her dressing room. He’d stayed long enough to discover the truth about his fiancée. And then left.
“You made that dress?”
With a withering glare, she plopped down in the sand and pulled on a flexed foot. “If you’d paid attention during the wedding plans, that wouldn’t be new information.”
“If you’d been reasonable about the plans, I might have paid more attention.” She’d been like bridezilla on steroids.
“It was my wedding, Keith.” She closed her eyes for a beat and muttered under her breath. All he caught was the word professional.
It had been his wedding, too, a fact she seemed to have forgotten, but in reality, he hadn’t cared about the centerpieces or the color of the cake. He’d given her free rein. Gladly, and then tuned it all out. A wedding was an event to be endured. Much like the marriage he didn’t ask for but agreed to because it was the right thing to do.
“So, you made the dress yourself. Then what happened?”
She glanced up at him, her expression composed. “Norah asked me if I could alter it to fit her. So I did and she wore it when she got married later that month. Then Lynn asked me if I could make one for her. I have yet to run out of unmarried sorority sisters and friends, so a design business was born.”
Norah and Lynn. Bridesmaids number three and four. He had a healthy bit of distance from Houston now, and perspective on his almost-marriage, but he’d been unprepared for it to feel like weakness to recall details with such clarity.
He should go back to his room and shower. Opening day loomed and nothing productive could come of continuing this conversation. “Do you like it?”
Surprise flitted across her face as she climbed to her feet, pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. “I do. It wasn’t what I envisioned for myself, but I needed...” She took a breath and he had the impression she’d changed her mind about what she’d been about to say. “It was something to occupy my time.”
Finally, something that made sense. The design business was a time killer for an aspiring trophy wife obsessed with finding a husband she’d been unable to snag thus far. Every woman Keith had ever dated wanted nothing more than a free ride and the prestige of being Mrs. Mitchell. Cara was no different.
Except for the part where she started her own business. It was as perplexing as it was fascinating. And he had the feeling she’d been telling the truth when she claimed to have done it with no help from her rich daddy. Keith was thoroughly impressed, quite against his will.
“You come highly regarded for something you fell into accidentally.”
“I prefer to think of it as providence.”
“So you’d design one-use-only dresses no matter what? Why not something more practical?”
“Ever made a cake?”
“I’ve eaten cake. Does that count?”
Her eyes rolled. “Sometimes when you bake a cake, it doesn’t cook quite right. Maybe it’s lopsided or part of it sticks to the pan. Frosting covers a multitude of baking sins. A wedding dress is like frosting. My brides feel beautiful, even if they don’t feel that way wearing anything else. I’m responsible for that, and it’s amazing.”
Frosting was one-use-only, too. Had she chosen the analogy purposefully? “You are using your marketing degree, then. It’s all false advertising in the end.”
False advertising. Her best skill.
“Lord have mercy on your cynical soul.” She jumped up and brushed sand from the backside of her formfitting jogging pants. No one could fault a man’s eyes for straying to the nicely rounded area under her fingers. “One wonders why you asked me to marry you in the first place.”
He snapped his focus away from her curves. Her frosting hid a multitude of sins, as well. “Because you were pregnant.”
Or so she’d led him to believe.
Two (#ulink_874a5701-d289-5408-9ca7-7e37228f36cd)
Cara escaped before she actually sank down into the white sand for a good cry. She slammed the door to the room she shared with Meredith. Hard. Hopefully, her devious sister was still sound asleep. “How could you do this to me?”
The blanket on Meredith’s bed moved slightly and incoherent speech rumbled from beneath it.
“Was that English?” Cara ripped the blanket off the bed. “It’s like ninety degrees in here. How can you sleep under this?”
