SEDUCTION AT THE STARGRASS

By Charlee James

Single father Zale Carris has built his life around The Stargrass Resort on Martha's Vineyard. He thrives on being in control of everything and everyone, so he and his daughter are never hurt and never abandoned the way they were when the mother of his child walked away. When the largest hotel chain in the world

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlee James
• Release date: Jul 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781639440269

Book preview

Chapter 1

You can do this. Gemma Dalton’s words might’ve sounded convincing, but her reflection in the hand-carved Italian mirror showed a crease of worry between her brows, wide eyes, and flushed skin. Some might say she was hiding in the powder room of Dalton Hotel’s corporate offices located in Manhattan. She called it regrouping. And who wouldn’t need a self-pep talk before entering a board meeting to discuss the position she’d worked her whole life for? At the age of fourteen, she’d begged her grandfather to let her greet guests in the lobby of their property in Times Square. She’d washed dishes, cleaned guest rooms, rolled out banquet tables, and coordinated events. No one could say she wasn’t a team player.

Now there was talk about seeking candidates from outside the company for the position she wanted, and Gemma had heard rumblings that a man who was in the same golf league as many of the board members was being considered. Gemma had no time for haughty country clubs. Not when she was busy paving a path to her dream position of Chief Operating Officer. She blew out a breath, the puff of air tossing her angled bangs off her forehead. She smoothed her fingers over the satin lapel of her blazer and straightened her pencil skirt.

She wasn’t sure why her grandfather had called the impromptu meeting, but in exactly seven minutes and twenty-three seconds, she’d find out. Allowing herself another moment to gain control of her nerves, Gemma straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She could face the board, pretend that she actually had a shot at the COO position, when nearly the entire lot of them scoffed at her concerns for the company: lack of diversity, an archaic pay scale, meager benefits.

She gathered her notepad and leather binder from the side of the sink.

You’ve got this. Her voice was barely a whisper, but held a fierce conviction. She turned away from the mirror, walked past the ornate display of white orchids and into the hallway. Her heels clicked on the reflective marble floor as she made her way to the conference room. She paused in front of the door, touched her fingertips to the cool gold handle, and strolled in, doing her best to emanate a carefree demeanor.

She greeted the group as a whole, avoiding eye contact, and spread out her notepad and binder, physically commanding a larger presence in the male dominated room. She took stock of the men seated around her—not one female sat on the executive board. Her belly tumbled, and not just because she’d passed up a freshly baked cranberry muffin an hour ago, but because those seated beneath the glow of the Veronese gold and crystal chandelier were major players in the game of promotions, and they’d all been vocal about searching for other candidates at the last meeting. She had no champions here.

Since the COO position has been vacant for a few weeks now, the board and I have been discussing the right candidate at length, her grandfather drawled. She forced herself to focus on her grandfather’s next words. The last thing she needed was to look flighty and nervous in front of the board.

There are a few individuals within the company with the aptitude and drive to be successful in the role, including my granddaughter, Gemma. Her grandfather gave her a brief nod.

Sir, there’s no doubt that Gemma is a hard worker, said William Lovejoy, the global director of food & beverage operations. But the candidate also has to mesh with the corporate culture.

Well, thank goodness I didn’t preen over the mention of my name. It wasn’t difficult to tell where this discussion was headed. The board wanted a new golf buddy. Someone who was happy to approve anything that passed over her grandfather’s desk so long as the board requested it—and yes, being a man was also key. It was the twenty-first century for Pete’s sake, and the number of women leaders within the Dalton Empire was pitiful. She wanted to change all of that, also another strike against her. Gemma was rarely quiet when something bothered her, and she hadn’t exactly kept her feelings toward the company’s lack of diversity a secret, but why stay silent? She had a voice, and she’d damn well use it as she pleased.

The man to her right, Howard Cushing, cleared his throat impatiently. We need a candidate who will look at aspects of our brand with a keen eye and open new avenues for fiscal growth. Find new ways to slash costs so we can optimize our profitability.

She nearly rolled her eyes before she schooled her expression. Cutting costs by reducing employees, stripping away benefits, and offering less value to the guest wasn’t the right way to increase business, but it was the perfect way to deter loyal patrons who spent their hard-earned money at Dalton.

"The board might also agree that longevity and a proven track record of sound actions would lead the company into a sustainable future." It took sheer determination to keep her voice from wavering. She didn’t need to look at Cushing to know he was staring at her with a self-important smirk.

Gemma, we understand you’ve set your sights on the position. Have been working toward it for some time now. That’s why I’m proposing that the board hold off on their final decision until a round table meeting next month. Whispers and murmurs sounded around the table. Gee, good thing she had thick skin. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant feeling to be spoken about like you weren’t in the room.

Sir, we respectfully disagree. We all think it would be best to bring fresh perspective on board. Why prolong the inevitable? Howard spoke on behalf of the other members who quietly agreed. None had the decency to acknowledge that she was actually sitting amongst them. Besides, Gemma is your granddaughter. If she were promoted, some might consider it nepotism. More hushed words of agreement hung over the table. Unfortunately, there was absolutely zero favoritism helping her break the glass ceiling. Every milestone, every achievement had been hers and hers alone. She’d learned at a young age to be her own cheerleader, because no one had ever been waiting on her sidelines. Taking her talents elsewhere would be far easier, but this place was all she ever wanted. She didn’t want the title or job anywhere else—she wanted it here and only here because of memories from her childhood. Because this was her family legacy, and she wanted to leave it better than she’d found it.

William angled his chair toward the end of the table and leveled his gaze on her. The Dalton Brand needs more of a presence in the northeast. Particularly the Cape and the Islands.

And? her grandfather chimed in.

We’ve been trying to acquire a trio of luxury properties—Carris Retreats—but the owner has been resistant. Perhaps if Gemma could sway him to sell, the board would feel more comfortable reconsidering.

Her grandfather tapped his pen against the table a few times, brow furrowed. She didn’t hold her breath—her grandfather hated conflict, especially with his goodtime pals. Close the deal, Gemma, and prove to the board beyond a doubt that you’re the correct fit for the position.

Yellow spots erupted in her vision, and suddenly the room seemed too small. Suffocating. They were giving her an impossible task, making her jump through hoops while waiting for her to return empty handed. Let them wait. Her move into the corner office would be even sweeter when she presented the slack-jawed board with a closed agreement.

Gemma leaned forward, resting her forearms against the table. Consider it done.

Chapter 2

Gauzy white curtains swayed in the frame of Zale Carris’s private patio overlooking the harbor. His apartment on the top floor of The Stargrass Resort was filled with the scent of salt air fresh off the water. Barefoot and clutching a mug of steaming coffee, he padded across the cool tile floor then stepped outside. With one hand braced on the rail, he looked out at the sweeping view. Morning sun reflected against the water—crushed crystal tossed over quiet ripples. Zale held the mug to his lips, breathed in the hazelnut roast, and took a sip. His skin tingled as his cellphone vibrated inside his pocket. Zale sighed. There weren’t enough peaceful moments like this as the private owner of New England’s three most luxurious seaside resorts—but this wasn’t his most important job, not by a long shot. Raising Mila was.

Good morning. With one last look out at the small sailboats playfully rocking in the water, he turned and retreated into the living room. He’d expected to hear from his Front Desk Manager. Just not so soon.

Ms. Dalton’s car just left the ferry, she said in a low tone. Corporate visitors who sought to purchase his resorts always made the staff edgy.

All right. Thank you for the update. He tucked the phone into his pocket, then balancing his coffee mug in one hand, crouched down to pick up a stray doll with the other. Zale carried the plaything over to the sparkly toy chest tucked at the corner of the couch.

Dad, Bernadette was about to have her morning tea. Mila slipped off the breakfast stool, abandoning what was left of her scrambled eggs.

Zale put a hand over his heart and turned to the doll his mother, Helia, had made. When Mila was born, Helia found a hidden talent in stitching pretty playthings. My sincere apologies, miss. May I offer you a breakfast voucher for your trouble?

A grin split over Mila’s face, showing off two dimples. She accepts—as long as breakfast is served with a slice of chocolate cake.

Zale chuckled. His daughter had a vibrant imagination and a sweet tooth. Then Bernadette can enjoy her cake while you’re getting your hair done.

Ugh. Not hair. Her lips turned into a pout even as she hopped up on the side of the couch with her back facing him. Zale walked to the bathroom for a brush, an elastic, and a blue bow that matched with her navy-and-white school uniform, then returned to his daughter. He ran the soft-bristled brush through her shiny black hair, set it to the side, and separated the strands into three parts. It slipped through his hands as he braided it down her back before securing it with an elastic and bow at the base. When Mila’s hair had begun to grow beyond the soft baby fuzz that covered her head, his mother taught him to how to braid and style it. At first his fingers had been clumsy and stiff, but now it was routine and he enjoyed the quiet moments with her.

That visitor is coming today. Mila mused. She wants our hotels.

He frowned. Mila picked up a lot of information and always had her ear to the ground. Yes. But that doesn’t mean she’ll get them. The corner of his lips twitched as his daughter’s nose wrinkled.

Her or anyone else. Mila crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. Zale laughed. Truthfully, there weren’t many quiet moments with Mila, but he appreciated her spirited nature. She was a sprite, smart and agile, beautiful and bold. His child. His treasure. Being a single father was difficult at times, but also rewarding.

After packing her snack and lunch into her backpack, he slipped on his sport coat, fastened the top button, and straightened the silken wool lapels. He wore a pressed, collared shirt beneath the jacket, but left the tie off. This might be a business meeting, but his resort had an upscale island feel, lending to refined yet casual dress.

He worked with a designer on a yearly basis to create new attire options for his team members. Uniforms lent to a cohesive look and leveled the playing field for all workers, yet he wanted them to be comfortable and able to choose a variety of cuts and styles. The hand-me-down suit gifted to him by the hotel’s former owner, Mr. Howe, still hung in his closet, a reminder of where he’d come from. He fought up the ranks from dishwasher to the front desk to sales, a driven boy with an empty wallet and a head full of dreams.

Time to go, Mila. He held the door and her backpack for her. After one last satisfied glance to ensure they hadn’t forgotten anything, they strode hand in hand out the door to their personal elevator.

Remind me what you’re going to say to the visitor. Mila swung his arm back and forth as the elevator descended.

Ms. Dalton, my director of operations, Mila Carris, has advised against this sale. He looked down at her and smiled. Her eyes twinkled, and she laughed.

Perfect. She giggled. The elevator pinged, and the doors opened. Mila strutted out in front of him. Good morning, George, she called to their houseman, who was mopping a section of tile. She knew every name and treated them all with respect. He took a satisfied breath, lungs expanding to their fullest with the clean scent of the lobby. He told Mila often that nothing could make him prouder than kindness, and she followed through in spades. At first, he wasn’t sure if he could raise a child on his own. The most terrifying prospect he had ever faced was tending to a fragile baby.

And good morning to you, Ms. Mila. George did a little bow that made his daughter giggle again, and they continued through the lobby, greeting each team member they passed.

They stepped outside right in time to see the private school’s charter bus circling around the parking lot. Zale crouched down to give his daughter a kiss on the forehead. Mila, you are important, smart, and special. He repeated the affirmation daily. I love you to the moon and back.

To infinity and beyond. She quoted Buzz Lightyear from her favorite movie Toy Story, gave him a hug, and walked to the open door of the bus. One last wave and she disappeared inside and went off to start her day. He smiled to himself and returned to the lobby for a quick scan to make sure everything looked as it should.

There wasn’t anything Ms. Dalton could offer him that would sway him to sell the business. The original