His mouth turned down and sadness touched his eyes. “Yeah, he died eight years ago from a stroke.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Sean gave me a small smile. “Thanks.”
I backed up the bench a little and rose. “Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable, and you can finish your story.”
Sean rested his forehead against mine and ran his hands down my back to cup my ass. “My office has a comfy couch and the door locks.”
I smiled in wonder. I could not remember any man I had been with wanting me like this. I closed the small space between us. “Sounds promising.”
Sean kissed me, then took my hand and led me through the dining room and bar area to a back hallway leading to the hotel's other side. Sean’s office overlooked a quiet side street lined with well-kept homes that showcased beautifully landscaped yards. The room was paneled with rich red mahogany and had coffered ceilings. Built-in bookcases lined one full wall, while the aforementioned comfy couch sat below the large window overlooking the street. A huge wooden desk dominated one end of the room, and the laptop that rested on it seemed out of place with the rest of the décor. “Wow,” I breathed. “This room is gorgeous.”
He smiled proudly. “Thanks. I helped my dad renovate this room and the dining room.”
I perused the wall behind his desk and saw several framed photographs and a university degree. I looked a little closer, and my eyes widened. I turned to face Sean. “You got your MBA at Columbia?”
“Yeah,” he replied with a small smile. “I guess you could say that’s part of the strange story I was telling you.”
“There’s nothing strange about you being smart,” I retorted.
His cheeks turned pink, and it was really cute. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “The strange part is that Mr. Whitaker paid for the whole thing.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah.” He picked up a framed photo from his desk and turned it to show me. It was of an elderly man standing between Sean and someone who was most likely his brother. “That’s him with Liam and me.” He put the picture back on the desk. “Like I said, my dad did Victorian renovations, and fifteen years ago, Mr. Whitaker hired him to do this place. He’d just bought it from the previous owner, and it needed a lot of work. The other guy had let it get run-down because he planned to sell it to developers who were going to tear it down to build who the heck knows what. Mr. Whitaker loved this place, so he gave the guy twice his asking price to buy it.”
“Whoa. That had to have been millions,” I said.
Sean nodded. “It was. But Mr. Whitaker had a soft spot for this place and lots of money. Anyway,” he continued, “I worked with my dad after school and in the summers. I got to know Mr. Whitaker, and for whatever reason, we hit it off. We would talk while I was working, and he would tell me about his plans for the hotel and why he loved the place so much.”
He took my hand and led me to the couch, pulling me with him as he sat. He propped himself up in the corner, and I leaned against him. “So he got you interested in hotel management?”
“Sort of. I mean, I liked working with my dad, but I didn’t have the passion for the work that he did. When Mr. Whitaker talked to me about running the hotel, I got all kinds of ideas. I decided to get my bachelor's in hospitality management and started working here the summer after I graduated from high school.”
“Was your father upset?” I asked.
Sean shrugged. “He was disappointed, but I think he knew I wasn’t completely invested in the business like he was.” He pulled me closer and nuzzled into my neck. “After he died, I felt so guilty. I told my mother I’d give up working here and take over Dad’s business. She wouldn’t hear of it. She told me that was my dad’s dream, not mine. She sold the business to my dad’s foreman. He’s really good, so he does the name proud.” Sean tightened his hold on me. “About a year after my dad died, Mr. Whitaker suggested I get my MBA. I’d been thinking about it anyway, so I took the GREs and applied to Rutgers and a few other schools. He insisted that I apply to Columbia—his alma mater. I did it just to make him happy. I didn’t think I’d get in.”
“But you did,” I said.
“Yeah. I was shocked, but apparently, Mr. Whitaker wasn’t. I think that’s when he started planning to leave the hotel to me. Well, me and Liam, but it’s really my baby.”
“So your brother is part owner with you? Does he live nearby?”
Sean rubbed his thumb over the top of my hand like a nervous habit. He sighed softly. “I told you that my brother is a nurse practitioner. Well, he got it in his head that he was going to save the world, so he joined Doctors Without Borders. He’s somewhere outside of Syria.”
I could feel the tension in his body. I turned so I could see his face. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?”
His voice was a little hoarse when he answered. “Yeah. Even though he’s four years younger than me, we were always close. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”
“That must be so hard for you.” I kissed his cheek. “But they have protection, don’t they?”
“Some,” he replied. “But I probably won’t stop worrying until he’s back home.”
“I can understand that,” I said. I rested my head against his shoulder, more than a little surprised at how comfortable this was—like we’d been doing it for years instead of one day.
Without warning, Sean put his arm around my waist and pulled me around so I was straddling his lap. He grinned up at me and cupped my ass with his strong hands. “It seems a shame to waste a perfectly good comfy couch.”
