wasn’t our understanding from the last meeting.”
“How can you all of a sudden change the numbers midperiod?”
Emilie tried explaining that a major increase of sales was needed in order to keep the hotel open and the bills paid.
“We face another challenge,” she said. “I’ve just learned that there are plans to build a casino and resort across town, which means we’ll have to fight that much harder to keep occupancy levels up.”
The business development group uttered a collective groan.
“Isn’t Rowan James, your good friend, the developer heading up that effort?” someone asked.
There were titters. The “good friend” bit was meant to be a dig. She chose to ignore it. Earlier when she walked into the room she’d overheard the mumblings about the “sistah selling out.” They’d quickly shushed when she took her position at the front.
Emilie kept a straight face when she answered. “James Morse, Inc., is one of many being considered.”
Flamingo Beach was still provincial in so many ways. The vast majority of the population was African-American and although they coexisted with other ethnicities, people for the most part didn’t date outside their race.
She’d not hidden her friendship with Rowan. The assumption was that theirs was a budding relationship, and she’d known that would not necessarily go over well with a fiercely proud African-American demographic. Not that it was anyone’s business whom she dated, and certainly not the business of her employees. But Emilie was certain that there was gossip since most made it their business to keep informed.
“Here’s the deal,” Emilie continued. “You are going to have to increase your sales calls to meet the new goal. I’m expecting each of you to do your part to get us there.”
Another audible groan resonated then the reps began whispering amongst themselves. Emilie clapped her hands, bringing the group back to order.
“We can do it. Your incentive is that very attractive trip to Europe that the Knight Corporation offers its top performers. Let’s use the next few days to brainstorm. You’ll break into six groups and select a leader. That leader will e-mail me your collective ideas and plans to execute them by Monday at the latest. The meeting is now officially over,” Emilie said.
This conversation had left Emilie mentally drained and feeling that Tom Burke should have at least been there to give her his support. She stopped to answer questions and clarify points for the sales force. They were panicked and feeling overwhelmed. Tourists did not normally flock to Florida during the summer months and each salesperson knew they had a big job ahead. It was another fifteen minutes before she was able to leave the meeting room.
When Emilie returned to her office she found Rowan, eyes closed, sprawled in a chair across from Zoe. She shook her head and groaned out loud.
“How long has he been here?”
“Maybe a half an hour or so,” Zoe whispered.
“Where did you tell him I was?” she asked, attempting to tiptoe by.
“In a meeting. I thought you’d be done sooner so he decided to wait.”
Emilie groaned again and Rowan opened his eyes.
“I thought you’d be a lot more excited to see me,” his gruff, wide-awake voice called. “I’m here to take you to lunch.”
“Lunch? I may not have time.”
“Sure you do. Your calendar is wide-open until—What did you tell me, Zoe?”
Rowan’s dreamy blue eyes focused on her assistant, who was all of a sudden engrossed in her typing.
Emilie was going to kill Zoe. She’d warned her time and time again not to share her schedule with anyone outside of the corporation. And Rowan was so nervy assuming that because he showed up she would go waltzing off to lunch with him.
“So what do you say?” he asked in his usual cocky manner.
“I say you’re used to getting your way.”
Rowan’s laughter rang out.
He was brash and overconfident, and although they’d slept together she’d had no expectations beyond that. Rowan James was not relationship material, at least not in her book. But her reaction to him now was very confusing, and even more confusing was her suddenly dry mouth. Maybe she should go to lunch and put it on the table.
“Okay, as long as lunch isn’t one of those three-hour deals,” Emilie said grudgingly.
Rowan eyed her high-heeled pumps with the open toes. “You’ll need to change your shoes.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“On a boat.”
“I don’t have the whole afternoon,” she reminded him, sliding by and heading into her office.
Emilie kept a change of clothing and sneakers in her desk drawer. It was a habit she’d picked up earlier in her career. In the hospitality business you had to remain flexible since client meetings could be poolside or on a golf course. However, Rowan James was not a client.
“Do I pass inspection?” Emilie emerged from her office and twirled around.
“You always do. Nice sneakers.”
She ignored Zoe’s slightly raised eyebrows as they headed out.
Within five minutes they’d pulled up in front of a marina on one of the more isolated canals in town.
“Lunch is here?”
“I take it you haven’t been to Davey’s Locker before.” Rowan led the way across the parking lot. Colorful pontoons were docked in the back.
“I guess I’ve missed this experience,” Emilie said.
“Lunch cruises, they’re called. The marina showcases their boats for sale while their passengers have a pleasant experience. Some days it’s fishing vessels, others, sailboats or cabin cruisers. Today looks to be pontoon day. It’s a pretty innovative idea, don’t you think?”
Emilie had to admit it was quite novel. She was already thinking how to partner with the outfit and increase the resort’s business.
Rowan purchased their tickets, and they were handed box lunches as they boarded. They quickly found seats in the back. Emilie noted that the passengers were mostly families on vacation, but she did spot a few locals who looked at her curiously trying to assess the situation.
As they floated down the canal, Emilie shed her jacket and bit into her fish sandwich. She took a swig of delicious orange juice and decided to enjoy the time. However, relaxing was somewhat difficult when she was so close to Rowan. She could smell his uniquely masculine scent, and feel the brush of a muscular arm. She decided to focus on the water and the homes being renovated along the shore. Being away from the hotel was exactly what she needed after that stressful sales meeting.
“Let me be the first to tell you the good news,” Rowan said, breaking into her thoughts, his arm grazing hers again. He swigged his orange juice while Emilie tried not stare at his hands. Those very large hands were capable of magic.
“I’m all for good news.” Emilie tossed a mass of curls back and took a rubber band out of her purse. She bunched her hair into a ponytail and gave him her full attention. “What?”
“Stephen Priddy should be calling you.”
“Who’s he?”
“The Seminoles’ chief financial officer”
One of Emilie’s shapely eyebrows rose. She couldn’t help being suspicious. “Why would he call me?”
“Because I put in a good word for you. Stephen is going to need two hundred of