Gentle Persuasion. Cerella Sechrist

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      Dane grimaced. “I pay attention, Keahi. I just don’t pursue them.” After all, there had been no end to the beautiful women in his life—both those on the mainland, before his retirement, as well as the ones who came and went on the islands. But Dane had learned that most of them were still too interested in the successes of his past to appreciate the commitment to his new life in Kona.

      Keahi rolled his eyes and reached for another stack of papers. “Leilani says you spend too much time alone.”

      “Leilani is young and full of romantic notions about love,” Dane reminded and swiveled to face his own desk. “She thinks if I fall in love it will solve all my problems.”

      “Ah, she just cares about you,” Keahi said. “She appreciates all you’ve done for her and Pele. She wants you to be happy.” Dane heard the squeak of his friend’s chair as he turned in it. “She knows you deserve it.”

      Dane pretended to study a list of items he needed to order for the inn to avoid having to respond.

      “Boss?”

      Dane suppressed a sigh and raised his head, turning in his chair to face his friend.

      “You know the numbers aren’t good, brah.”

      “We’ll figure it out.” He turned back around and bent his head over the paper before him. The list of expenses wasn’t long, but it felt exorbitant in the face of the other bills piling up.

      “The numbers don’t lie,” Keahi pressed. “Maybe you should cut your losses. Take the pretty lady’s offer. Go back home.”

      “This is my home,” Dane snapped. “I’m not going to abandon it. Besides, what would happen to you? And Pele? And Leilani? Leilani’s practically a kid. If I left, she’d fall right back into the same sort of trouble we fished her out of last year.”

      Keahi clicked his tongue in disagreement. “Give the girl some credit, boss. She’s cleaned herself up real good in the last few months, especially now that she’s seeing Sam. She’d land on her feet.”

      “No.” Dane shook his head. “I’m not taking the easy way out. We’ve got a good product, Keahi, and you know it. We just need some capital to get it out there.”

      “And what about this Miss Reid? You gonna kick her out?”

      Dane leaned back in his chair and grimaced. “I don’t think I can. She paid for her week in advance, and we can’t afford to refund her deposit.”

      He chewed the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from voicing the rest of his thought aloud. Ophelia Reid was a pleasant addition to the inn with her honey-blond hair and startling green eyes. All the more reason, however, to keep his guard up around her. The inn and plantation’s rising debt left him vulnerable to whatever tactics Ms. Reid possessed.

      “Do you know who her mother is?” Dane looked over his shoulder and made a dramatic pretense of shuddering. “Lillian Reid, founder and executive CEO for Reid Recruiting. That woman is merciless in her pursuits, and I’m sure she raised her daughter in the same manner.”

      Dane felt a twinge of guilt after uttering these words. Ophelia may have been a headhunter, but he hadn’t sensed she was as ruthless as her mother. Then again, perhaps her lean form and pretty face had swayed him more than he wanted to admit.

      “You know her mother?” Keahi questioned.

      “Mostly by reputation. I met her a time or two at various fund-raisers, though.” He shrugged. “She had sharp teeth, as I recall. Like a vampire. And they say she runs her firm with the same sort of bloodthirsty fierceness.”

      Keahi clicked his tongue. “Maybe you gotta feel sorry for this girl, then. With a mother like that?” He shook his head. “Maybe she’s just doing what she has to, coming here and making you this offer.”

      Dane clenched his jaw before unhinging it to speak. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any contract. Ophelia Reid is wasting her time.”

      Keahi sighed. “Then you best run those numbers again, boss. Because unless you can start pulling in a whole lot of customers like this Miss Reid, you might have to.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      AN HOUR AFTER her arrival at the inn, Ophelia lay in the center of an enormous bed, eyes fixed on the circling ceiling fan. Dane had brought her bags up from the car, and now they rested on the floor as she counted the rotations of the fan blades above her, willing her weariness to ease her into slumber.

      She had drawn the suite’s shades, dimmed the lights and turned on her traveling white-noise machine, but the chatter in her brain wouldn’t allow for rest. Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, instead. In. Out. In. Out. In...

      It was no good. She was too distracted by the task at hand.

      You can do this, Ophelia. You can do it.

      She had made this her mantra for the past forty-eight hours—ever since her mother had drawn Ophelia into her private office and commissioned her with this task. Even now, recalling the conversation, Ophelia felt her stomach churning anxiously.

      She had just finished wrapping up negotiations for a CFO in an investment group when her assistant, Holly, had stuck her head through the door.

      She’d looked up with a grin. “Dinner at Le Petite Renard to celebrate? It’s on me.”

      The fact that her assistant didn’t jump at this invitation was Ophelia’s first clue something was up.

      “Your mother’s back from her meeting with Bianca Towers.”

      Ophelia’s relaxed posture tightened up at Holly’s warning tone. She waited.

      “She wants to see you in her private office.” Holly paused and then added, “Now.”

      Ophelia swallowed and instantly rose to her feet.

      She, of all the people in this city, knew better than to keep Lillian Reid waiting. Quickly, she headed out into the main office area of her floor. She brushed by Holly on her way, catching her commiserating glance before moving toward the elevators.

      The digital reading blipped all too slowly as she counted the floors until the elevator car reached her. She nodded politely at her coworkers, stepped inside and asked for the senior-executive floor.

      Her mother’s floor.

      Was it her imagination, or were they nudging and sharing glances behind her? It felt as if several sets of eyes were drilling pointed stares into her shoulder blades. She squared her posture and kept her expression impassive.

      The wait for the elevator had been far longer than the ride. As the doors pinged open, Ophelia barely resisted the urge to chew her lip with nervousness. She tried to keep her face professionally neutral as she stepped toward the reception desk and was waved through to the inner sanctum of Reid Recruiting Agency.

      She caved to insecurity as she passed the black marble awards wall and paused to try and assess herself in the shiny reflection of a plaque.

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