wrapped around one another in the Atlantic today had shifted the dynamic between them. She’d never been uneasy around him before.
“We can make it a working dinner, if you wish.” He reached for his phone and began to type out a text. “I’m requesting that the meal be served in here.”
“That’s not necessary,” she protested.
“I insist.” He needed them to clear away an important piece of business. To remove any barrier there was to being together. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to discuss something you brought up in the water today.”
“I...” Her eyes went wide. She swallowed visibly. If she were any other woman, he wouldn’t hesitate to end the suspense and kiss her.
But he wouldn’t rush this.
“You mentioned needing a raise?” he reminded her, clearing a place for their plates on the rattan chest by moving aside a fresh flower arrangement of spiky red blooms he recognized as native to the island.
Already, a uniformed server hesitated at the office door, a tray in hand. He waved the young woman in.
“Sir?” The woman’s starched gray uniform was cinched tight by apron strings. She carefully set the tray down where he indicated. “Chef said to tell you there is a visitor at the gate.”
“There is?” Delia tugged her phone out of a long brown leather wallet that she’d deposited on the chair beside her. The call button at the gate on the main road was hooked up to an app Delia and Jager could access. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear the bell. I turned off notifications for our meeting.”
Curious, Jager spun his own phone toward him and clicked on the icon for the security system while the server went to retrieve another tray from a rolling cart in the hallway.
Before Jager pulled up the video feed from the front gate, Delia gasped.
“What is it?” Jager asked.
She lost color in her face, her fingers hovering above her lips as if to hold in the rest of her reaction.
“It’s not your ex, is it?” Jager shot to his feet, moving behind her chair to view her screen.
“No.” Delia lifted the phone to show him. “It’s your brother. Damon.”
Steel-blue eyes stared up into the security camera. McNeill eyes. Delia had seen the three brothers together often enough to appreciate the family resemblance. The striking blue eyes and dark hair. The strong jaw and athletic build. Damon was the tallest of the three. He looked a bit thinner than she recalled, which was no surprise given the year he’d had.
“That’s not Damon.” The cold harshness of Jager’s voice stunned her as he tugged her phone from her grip, his strong hands brushing over her fingers. “Let me speak to him.”
Confused, she let go of the device while Jager pressed the talk button. Her skin was still humming from his touch as he straightened.
“I’ve made it clear I don’t want to see anyone from your family,” he barked into the speaker while he gently closed the office doors to keep their conversation private from the staff. “If you need accommodations in town, I can send someone out to the gate with a list of recommendations.”
“Jager!” Appalled, Delia leaped from her seat and reached to take her phone back. “What are you doing?”
The voice of the man at the gate rumbled through the speaker. “You’re not getting rid of us, dude. Now that my grandfather knows about you, the old man is insistent that you and your brothers join the fold.”
Delia froze as she absorbed the words. After hearing him speak, she questioned her own eyes. The man didn’t have Damon’s voice. Or his reserved, deliberate manner. The voice was bolder, more casual, even a bit brash.
Her gaze found Jager’s, searching for answers. The air sparked between them, making her realize how close she was standing to her boss. She was painfully aware of how handsome he was in a pair of khakis and a long-sleeved dark tee that showed off his toned body. She caught a hint of his aftershave: pine and musk. Her heartbeat quickened before she stepped back fast.
“Not going to happen, Cam.” Jager spoke softly, but there was an edge to his voice she couldn’t recall hearing before. Clearly, he knew the man. “You can tell your grandfather that your father made the best possible decision when he walked out on my mother. We’re better off without him.”
Delia backed up another step, processing. The men looked so much alike. The man at the gate wanted Jager and his brothers to join the fold and said his grandfather knew about them now.
The man was Jager’s brother. Just not the brother that Delia had assumed he was. This was a relation she’d never known about—a half brother.
“We have a lead on Damon,” the visitor countered in a more guarded tone. “My brother Ian knows an excellent private investigator—”
“Damon is not your concern,” Jager told him shortly, still studying Delia with that watchful gaze. “Goodbye.”
He lowered the phone and pressed the button to end the connection and shut down the security app. Sudden silence echoed in Jager’s office.
“You have more family than just Damon and Gabriel,” she observed, feeling shaken from the encounter. From the whole day that had left her exposed in more ways than one.
It seemed as if Jager had whole facets of his life that she knew nothing about. If he didn’t trust her with that information, how well did she even know him? Her former fiancé had left her more than a little wary of men who kept secrets.
“My father was a sporadic part of my childhood at best, and I haven’t seen him once since my thirteenth birthday.” Jager set her phone on the sofa table next to a platter of food covered with a silver dome.
She’d forgotten about the dinner, but the spices of island cooking—French Creole dishes that were Jager’s favorite—scented the air.
“He had other children?” She felt she was owed an answer because of their friendship but she also needed to know about this to do her job. “This can have an impact on all your businesses. You’ll want to protect yourself from outside legal claims.”
“And so we will.” His lips twisted in a wry expression. “But the Manhattan branch of the McNeill family is far wealthier than we can imagine thanks to their global resort empire, so they certainly don’t need to alienate their own relatives by forcing their way into our businesses.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please sit. We should eat before the meal is cold.”
“McNeill Resorts? Oh, wow.” The name was as familiar as Hilton. Ritz-Carlton. It was too much to process. She sank down onto the soft twill chair cushion.
Jager took the opportunity to lift the domes from the serving platters and pass her a plate and silverware. The scent of accras, the delectable fritters the McNeills’ chef made so well, tempted her, rousing an appetite after all.
“Yes.
