Emma lingered for a moment more, scanning the view across the marina. The welcome center’s coral roof gleamed beneath its palm-frond awning, the cliffside rising in verdant tiers above. The eastern face held ruins barely visible from this angle—weathered arches and moss-covered carvings clinging stubbornly to the rock. The stories said they belonged to an ancient people who once vanished in a storm. Some said the sea took them. Others said something else.
The breeze shifted again—cooler this time, sharper. Emma rubbed her arms without meaning to as goosebumps rose. A cool breeze in summer was unheard of.
The low growl of an approaching engine rolled across the water, catching her attention. She shielded her eyes from the sun glaring off a seaplane.
She frowned for a second before memory kicked in. Zach Steele, Chief Security Officer, was due to arrive today. That must be him: only the C-suite arrived by seaplane.
Tucking the pencil back behind her ear, she made her way toward the customs-style building at the edge of the sand. Built from coral stone and reclaimed teak, it looked more like a trading post from another century than a modern HR outpost—which was the vibe the Ivory Tower architects had aimed for. Beauty built from memory.
It would be the marina office in only days; the HR team was in the process of moving into their permanent offices.
Pausing at the door, she glanced back over her shoulder at the docks. Despite the distance, the man exiting the plane was unmistakable. Zach carried himself with the contained stillness he brought to every security briefing. Quietly controlled, authority radiated off him.
He swept the area in a quick, practiced assessment before turning and climbing the hillside toward the lookout point.Figures he’d head there first.
Inside, the air conditioning was bliss. Emma paused for a moment on the threshold, letting the chill ease the heat from her cheeks as scents of sandalwood, lemon oil, and fresh paper—comforting, orderly things—wafted out.
She crossed to the check-in desk, where her assistant was finishing up the intake packets.
“Smooth arrival?” Morgan asked, arching a brow.
“No one fell in the water or had a meltdown, so yes. So far, so good.”
“Lucky streak continues.”
Emma smiled and scanned the staff arrival board. One name still blinked red.
“Javier Ramos hasn’t checked in?”
Morgan shook her head. “He radioed from the mainland. Missed the boat, but he should be on the next run."
“Let me guess. First day nerves and a long night in Havana.”
Morgan hesitated a moment. “Normally, I’d say yes, but his duffle arrived.”
Emma scribbled a note to follow up.He’d better not be drunk.
The thought didn’t sit quite right.
“Hmm. That’s odd. Did he radio himself? What else did he say?”
“Actually, no. The dockmaster radioed in. Javier dropped his bag, said he’d forgotten something, and was running back to get it.” Morgan frowned. “He didn’t make it back by departure.”
Emma’s stomach twisted with concern.
The door slammed open, and Chef Adina stormed in. “Where is my staff? I can’t run a prep line with two people!”
“I know,” Emma replied calmly.
The chef paused in his stomping.
“Which is why I reassigned three banquet servers to help you tonight. The remainder of your staff is due to arrive tomorrow. They had a flight delay.”
Chef Adina’s expression softened, and his footsteps lightened. “Emma, I should have known you had it handled. I’m sorry for barging in here. I owe you a special dinner. Claim it anytime.” The door closed quietly behind him, a sharp contrast to his arrival.
A soft chime signaled a message from the staff portal. Emma tapped the screen, reviewing a new personnel issue: one of the assistant managers requested a schedule shift due to childcare. She approved the request with a brief note of encouragement.
It was challenging to juggle work and family—she’d grown up watching it. It was one reason she didn’t bother trying.
