The Saint's Devilish Deal (3 page)

After a long bath, and a sandwich that she snuck into the kitchen to make, Esme pushed back from Constance’s desk in the private suite still thinking about Santiago in her room.

Santiago winking at her. Winking. Sanctimonious jerk.

Only it wasn’t the wink heating her skin just now. It was the memory of that almost-kiss at the front desk. He hadn’t even touched her and already she couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t concentrate. She had thought she was well and truly over The Saint’s touch and the next few months working with him would be cake. What an idiot she had been. Her mind might realize he was poison to her but her heart didn’t quite believe it.

A cool breeze carried the salty tang of surf into the room and, for a moment, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to be taken back in time. She was nine, darting in and out of the waves along Las Caletas Beach as the tide came in, watching the fishing boats return to port down the shore, and feeling so incredibly grown up because Aunt Constance wasn’t watching her every move, dissecting the strength of the current compared to the strength of her small legs. Then she opened her eyes and she was back. In this room where her pile of problems wouldn’t be taken away by the incoming tide.

Where, if she were brutally honest, she wanted Aunt Con’s cut-to-the-quick dissection to show her which direction to go.

She should feel confident here. She really should. Constance welcomed her into the suite often enough when she was a small child, afraid of bumps in the night, summer storms, and strange noises. Then, the sheer white curtains had allowed cool breezes into the room, but never monsters, and the pale yellow walls seemed to hold on to sunlight long after dark. But now, rather than comfort, she felt claustrophobic. As if she were suffocating in the sumptuous surroundings. Instead of snuggling into the large brass bed, she felt smothered by the blue-and-white striped comforter. As if she was drowning in the waters of the freshly painted, pale blue walls.

She could run the resort; it was larger than the B&B in Bristol Bay but small inns like these worked basically the same. She knew the staff. But she had no idea how Santiago fit into the scheme of things. A tiny piece of her heart wanted to believe him when he said he wasn't in league with his family. And, if she were totally honest, she had no idea if she could resist him for the next six months. She felt the brush of his words against her cheek again and smiled.

Esme slammed the lid of her computer shut on those thoughts. She could fix everything by saving the villa. Forget about the past with Santiago. Fix the villa, fix Constance. Show she was good enough for this job.

She would do what it took to bring this place back to the way it used to be, starting with avoiding any of his toe-curling kisses. Esme left a short message on Aunt Con’s voicemail, pacing the room, wondering how she was supposed to run an inn for an absentee owner who hadn’t left so much as a To Do list.

She wasn’t angry at Constance’s silence. Annoyed, maybe. Frustrated, definitely. Not angry. She couldn’t be angry with Constance. Esme wanted to crawl under the covers in her childhood room and hide from the uncertainty that Constance’s disappearance put into her life.

Only Santiago was currently occupying said childhood room and the two rooms adjoining it. Esme knew winding up in his bed would definitely not be on Constance’s list of things to do while running the villa. He shouldn’t be on Esme’s To Do list, either.

She crossed from the desk under the eaves to the French doors leading to a rooftop terrace. The best view for miles around, at least to Esme. Focused on the Bay of Banderas, Esme took five slow breaths, breathing in the comfort of the salty sea air for two counts before exhaling the claustrophobia of the closed off room for two counts. It’s a vacation villa, E, not rocket science. She felt the weight of Constance’s absence leave her shoulders for the first time since her plane touched down.

She pushed the niggling feelings of doubt from her mind. No, Constance hadn’t left her instructions. No, it wouldn’t be easy to watch Santiago run her beloved villa for the next three months. Yes, she could beat him at whatever game he was playing.

Mind made up, Esme grabbed a notebook and settled into a chaise lounge on the terrace to make notes. Chewing on the pen tip as she thought over her options, Esme gazed at the clear, blue water. A windsurfer on the bay canted left and splashed down into the calm water. She wouldn’t fall, not this time.

Chapter Two

The next morning Santiago slammed down the phone at the front desk and stalked into the office. Two more cancellations. He wasn’t sure which was more debilitating: his failure at a job which should be second nature or the thought Esme might do a better job once she was in charge. He needed to get control of the situation long before then, so it was time to up the ante.

He ran his fingers over the massive oak desk Constance rescued from an old mission, restoring it on the lawn the summer he turned ten. It would stay. The piece added texture to the open floor plan. Esme had been seven then, tagging along after him when all he wanted was to play on the beach with his friends. The matching Louis XIV wing-backed chairs before the fireplace came from an estate auction in San Diego and Constance designed the low table between them the winter he turned twelve. The year his life went sideways. Beautiful things or not, they had to go.

Leaning against the desk he critically eyed the dull red walls, the dark floorboards, and cracked pottery. Everything had to go if he were to win. Esme would hate that. So would Con. The thought made his chest twinge but he called a storage company and ordered a crew to come in anyway. Rehab started today, he decided, studying a crock filled with lilies and a stack of magazines inviting guests to sit and relax. Esmerelda’s touch. He’d seen her early this morning with flower cuttings in an oversized wicker basket, doing her utmost to look innocent and hard working. It was time for a meeting of the minds. Since she avoided him and the front desk area like the plague, he texted her, ordering her into the office.

He turned up the sleeves of his Oxford shirt, blowing out a breath. Santiago looked around the office and made his decision. He wouldn’t ask for her permission to save this place from Eduardo. Santiago picked up the phone and dialed another number from memory.

“Charlie, I need an advertising crew,” he said without identifying himself.

“Thank God you’ve come to your senses, Saint,” Charlie Bascombe, Santiago’s former agent, said. “It’s about time you came out from under that Puerto Vallartan rock. I can get you a meeting with the best guys in New York, just give me a few minutes. I’ll call you right back.”

“No, I can’t come to them. They need to come to me. And I need them here yesterday. A creative type and a photographer, tell them I’ll supply the props.” He crossed to Constance’s office and booted up her computer.

“This isn’t about going back on the circuit, is it?” Censure rang out in Charlie’s voice as his gum popped across the line. He still didn’t get it, not that it mattered to Santiago. His reasons for ending his surfing career didn’t have to be understood by anyone.

“Charlie, you’re a great agent, and you’ve made me a lot of money. You can’t change what happened in the water. Just get the crew here, money is no object.”

At twenty-nine, he had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes. Santiago could pay the villa debts and not even feel the loss in his bank account. Whom was he going to pass all of that on to? He had zero intention of starting a family of his own. With Eduardo Cruz as his main parental role model, Santiago had no business going into the business of parenthood.

There were ways to bring more guests into the villa. To fill it to capacity for the next six months. Those ways cost money and needed promotion. He’d been used by advertisers for years and now he would use them.

He had already transferred enough money to zero out the first and second mortgages and made an appointment with Constance’s banker to finalize the transactions. With a few computer keystrokes several thousand more dollars landed in the villa’s accounts—enough to pay for advertising and start upgrading the rooms. Esme might hate him for it later, but they were now one step back into the black. He was one step closer to winning. His iPhone bleeped.

“Figured you were busy. Crew arrives Wednesday. Gave them villa address, call when you return to sanity.”

Santiago smiled. He was fully sane and in control. He logged off the villa computer and pushed away from the desk. He’d promised to help Jack replace the pool filter. Time to get out of the suit and back into normal clothes.

“You summoned, Mr. Cruz,” Esme said from the doorway, raising one eyebrow and pointing her finger to the antique clock in the corner. “Just a tip: A good manager doesn’t just arrange and rearrange paperwork until quitting time. He doesn’t summon guests via text—” she waved her cell at him “—and he certainly doesn’t dress as if there was a sale at the beach-side Good Will store.” And with that his promise not to annoy Esme further disintegrated.

He pretended to inspect his Hugo Boss shirt and tie. “I wasn’t aware Hugo ever visited Good Will, but you reminded me—I’m on surfer hours today,” he replied, resting his left hip on one desk corner. “You just can’t beat the water when the temperature soars. You used to know that. Why don’t you grab a very small bikini and join me?”

Esme clenched her jaw but not before he saw a flash of heat light her gaze. So what if that flash barely lasted a moment?

“Because you have a business to run, for the next three months at least. Or are you giving up already?”

“Just prioritizing.”

“Like you prioritized yesterday’s staff meeting?” She straightened from the door, taking a small step into the office.

“Actually, my plan for today was to find a new bakery for the morning sweets.” He barely held back his smile when Esme blanched, guilt written all over her face. So, she was behind the bakery’s increased prices. “By the way, convincing already-scheduled guests to postpone their visit until your three month stint as boss arrives won’t help me pay this month’s bills. You do want there to be a villa to run in three months, don’t you?” She said nothing but her creamy skin stretched taut over her sculpted cheekbones. Dios, he really had to get over this attraction to her.

Or hurry up and get her back in his bed.

“Are you blaming me for guests canceling their registrations?” she asked sweetly. When Santiago only raised an eyebrow in response, she continued. “Do you really think I’m that stupid, Santiago? I may not have been born into the Cruz Resorts family, but I do know how to run a business. If you’d like a reference, call Dana in Bristol Bay.”

“Six couples have canceled, Esmerelda. That isn’t a coincidence.”

“Let me get this straight. You blamed Tobias for the Napa deal four years ago. Now you’re blaming me for canceling reservations I knew nothing about? Get a grip, Saint.” He frowned at her use of the old nickname. He'd hated the English-version of his name since they were children, insisting he was no saint and proving it with countless pranks. But the name stuck, no matter how un-saintly his actions. She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, in another sexy, stiletto number, against the hardwood floor. The metallic pink sucked him in for a minute before he pushed his mind out of her shoe and back to the conversation.

“Fine, I advised Cori to raise her rates, but that was months ago, and it was across the board. All of the resorts in Vallarta probably received the same notice. The fact that she waited until now to do it isn’t my fault, but if you’d like I’ll pay the extra fee until we start making more money.”

Santiago ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t want your money, pequeña.”

“No, you want my villa. Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here?”

His phone bleeped. Santiago glanced at the display and hit the ignore key, sending the call to voicemail. Playing resort manager was one thing. Answering that particular call quite another.

He needed to change tactics. Santiago needed Esme’s support for the rest of the staff to fall in line; it was the only way he would win. “Don’t you think, in light of the cancellations, that the smart thing would be running the villa as a team, no matter who is in charge?”

She clenched her hands into fists. “Easy to say when you’re the one running things and making accusations, isn’t it? Why don’t we stick with what Constance wanted? You run things for three months and then I’ll clean up your mess.”

Santiago bit back a smile. Working closely with Esme was the best way to keep tabs on everything she planned. With the added benefit of having a sexy office partner to look at when things got boring. He took a step forward and she immediately backed up to the wall. Nervous, was she?

“Since you’re so interested in my plans for the day, this afternoon I’ll make a few phone calls to friends on the circuit to get some guests in the door. A few radio and magazine ads in San Diego and Mexico City should fill out the rest of my three-month calendar nicely.” He ticked ideas off on his fingers as they came to him. Why was it that his brain only fired on all cylinders when he was arguing with Esme? “Since we’re talking about teamwork, however, Cori is the best confectioner in Vallarta, so maybe you could have one more conversation with her about her prices?”

“And what do I get if I help you now? Run out of town once this ridiculous six-month arrangement is over?” She cocked her head to the side as if figuring him out was as hard as an advanced math placement test. “Yesterday, if you can think back that far, you told the chef to change the menu to cold sandwiches and beer, instructed housekeeping to spend less time in the rooms, and ignored Jack’s request for a new pool filter.” She ticked his perceived slights off on her fingers. “What are you planning for today? Turning guests away rather than checking them in?”

“As far as the pool is concerned, the new filter arrived this morning.” He took a step toward her but she sidestepped, keeping a chair between them. Fine by him. He’d probably throttle her if she let him too close to her now. “By decreasing the amount of time the maids spend in our guests’ rooms we are forcing them to be more efficient—”