rel="nofollow" href="#u9baccbf6-5e7b-512a-b931-b00d6ee90c5e">Chapter 7
The luscious, exotic island of St. James boasted white sand beaches, towering coconut and breadfruit trees and water so blue it put the sky to shame. Red Beacon Villa Resorts sat on the far north side, away from the island’s bustling capital and other major cities. The resort was an international destination that catered to an array of guests and had done so for the past fifty years. Its majestic main house stood proud and welcoming. But while outside a soft Caribbean breeze toyed with the palm trees that surrounded the house’s tall pillars and gleaming windows, a storm raged within.
“She said what?” Aaron Wethers asked, glaring at the man who faced him. A little green lizard sat outside on the windowsill, seeming to look at the two men who sat in the office. One man sat behind a large oak desk decorated with intricate, inlaid gold trim. He was considerably younger than the second man and nearly twice his size, and his steady gaze seemed to make the second man sink lower in his chair.
The second man was Harvey Clark, a name he’d hated since he was a boy, but he’d never had the courage to change it, so he preferred to go by the initials H.C. Harvey wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and fought not to chew his nails. It was a nervous habit he’d finally conquered in his late forties. The room wasn’t hot, but under Wethers’s stare, he felt like an ant under a microscope. He’d practiced what he was going to say all yesterday and even this morning before the meeting, but nothing could have prepared him for the anger that flashed in his boss’s penetrating dark gaze.
Wethers was a man both respected and, at times, feared. He was the kind of man who could make anyone feel small with just a glance. Not due to arrogance, although as a child of privilege it was almost expected, or because he was a bully—he was a fair man and loyal to his staff. Harvey liked him. He’d worked for his father and was honored to work with the son. But the younger Wethers was a man you didn’t want to disappoint, and one you certainly didn’t want to make angry. Harvey lightened his tone, attempting not to make the news sound as bad as it really was. “Your sister needs your help.”
Aaron fell silent, then slowly blinked with the ease of a lazy lion. “What the hell do I know about hosting a fashion show?” he finally asked.
“You don’t have to know anything. That’s not what she needs you for.”
“What, then?”
“She thinks someone is trying to sabotage the show. A box of props went missing.”
“And we had a new shipment sent. I know. I had a friend of mine take care of replacing the items. I’d hardly call that sabotage.”
Harvey wiped his neck, then glanced outside and saw Wethers’s son, Brandon, looking through the bushes. “But your sister is nervous because other things have gone wrong.”
“My sister tends to dramatize issues.” Wethers kept his gaze focused on the magnificent view of the ocean from his office window.
“Right now she’s in the process of leaving the island with three of her models who’ve developed rashes all over their bodies.”
“An allergic reaction?”
“She thinks someone tampered with their makeup. She’s taking several samples with her to get tested.”
“She could have had someone else do that.”
“Your mother said—”
Wethers lifted his brows. “You’re actually going to bring my mother into this, too?”
Harvey silently swore, knowing he’d made a wrong move. Hitting Wethers with both his mother and sister was not a wise strategy. “She agrees with your sister. They both think your involvement is essential.”
Aaron rubbed his chin. “And you’re just telling me this now? My sister couldn’t tell me this yesterday?”
“The makeup tampering—”
Aaron held up his hand. “Alleged tampering.”
“—really concerns her. She wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise,” Harvey finished, then glanced outside again, unable to hold Wethers’s steady gaze, and saw Brandon talking to one of the groundskeepers, who listened to something he said, then shook his head. What was the boy looking for?
“H.C.?”
Harvey turned sharply to him. “Yes?”
“What are you looking at?”
“Your son.”
Wethers’s tone sharpened. “What about my son?”
Harvey shook his head, sorry he’d mentioned it. Wethers had enough to think about, and Harvey didn’t want to worry him needlessly. It was probably nothing. Brandon was a good kid and didn’t usually get into trouble. “Nothing. Sorry, I—I just saw him run past.” He folded his damp handkerchief and pressed it to his forehead again.
Wethers narrowed his eyes. “What’s got you so nervous?”
Harvey shrugged. “I’m not nervous.” He adjusted his position in the large overstuffed chair.
Wethers
