Kelsey’s surf lessons had become the bright spots in his days. When he’d shown up unannounced on the beach to watch, her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. He’d stood off to the side with his phone tucked into his pocket, watching Rowan guide his daughter through the water with patience and easy confidence. It hit him then, harder than expected: This was what he’d missed. Not the water. Not the sun. The feeling of beingpresent.
By late afternoon, Everett’s office felt like a pressure cooker—emails piling, approvals waiting, and the steady hum of deadlines tightening. The opening countdown board glowed from the corner like a silent dare. He should have felt triumphant. Instead, a dull ache lived behind his eyes, a constant reminder that he hadn’t slept more than four hours at a time since he’d met Rowan Delaney.
A knock tapped once. Before he answered, Matthew let himself in.
“Hope I’m not interrupting. Jessica wasn’t at her desk.”
Everett gestured to the chair across from his desk. “No problem, I sent her to put out a few fires. What do you need?”
Matthew sat, folding his long frame with the elegance of someone born into expensive furniture. Up close, the man looked even more like the archetype of a corporate general manager—silver hair perfectly combed; linen shirt immaculate; a confidence that came from decades of being the smartest man in the room, or believing he was.
“I wanted to speak to you about the community-integration procedures you’ve put in place,” Matthew said, sliding a tablet forward. “Specifically, the operations memo on scheduling and guest-facing hours.”
Everett leaned back. “Go on.”
Matthew tapped the tablet with practiced precision. “You’ve approved an additional thirty-six volunteer hours this week. Beach cleanup, reef-restoration staffing, even that youth program orientation. Important initiatives, yes, but they’re pulling housekeepers and front desk staff from their shifts.”
“They volunteered,” Everett said. “On their own time.”
Matthew’s smile was the kind a man used when he humored a child. “Yes. And on their own time, they become tired. Fatigue leads to slower response times and decreased guest satisfaction. And Purity is, first and foremost, a luxury brand.”
Everett kept his expression neutral. “Luxury and community aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Well,” Matthew said mildly, “not for now. But once you return to New York, I’ll be expected to keep this property running with the same standards the other Purity hotels maintain. I have to think ahead. Nostalgia makes lovely marketing copy, but it rarely pays the bills.”
Everett bristled. “This isn’t nostalgia. It’s identity. Guests come herebecausewe’re part of the island, not in spite of it.”
Matthew chuckled. “With all due respect, guests come for thread count and ocean views. Everything else is a bonus.”
Everett exhaled slowly, Rowan’s voice threaded through his memory.
You don’t have to fix everything, Suit. Let someone else carry the damn load.
He wanted to push back, but Purity was only a temporary assignment. He needed to keep his focus on his real goal: the promotion waiting for him back home. “Okay,” Everett said, surprising even himself. “What do you suggest?”
Matthew blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected cooperation. It threw him off his script. “Well,” he recovered, smoothing his shirt cuff, “I’d like to streamline volunteer approvals. No more last-minute requests. And I’d prefer tighter oversight on vendor relations. Some of these local suppliers are ... inconsistent.”
There it was. The real angle.
Everett resisted the urge to rub his temples. “We’re not cutting partnerships. They’re part of the foundation of this property.”
Matthew’s smile thinned. “We’ll see what the numbers say.”
Everett leaned forward, making his tone deliberate. “Here’s what we’ll do. Draft a full proposal outlining the operational changes you want. Staff impact, cost savings, guest experience projections. Bring it to me Monday.”
Matthew paused. Then lowered his chin in a slow, cool nod. “As you wish.”
But Everett didn’t miss the flicker in the man’s eyes—annoyance sliding under professionalism like a current beneath calm water. Good. Everett was done with men who only told him what he wanted to hear. Matthew needed to reveal himself in pieces, and this was the first.
“Anything else?” Everett asked.
“Yes. One more thing. Once you leave after opening, I’ll need full discretion. Authority can’t be split between two leaders. The hotel will need one voice. You’ve done well with the team, but it will be my job to keep things running smoothly.”
He wanted to push back, but swallowed his objection. “Agreed. One voice.”
He let the words hang, just long enough for Matthew to wonder who that voice would belong to. Then Everett smiled—the steady, polite, corporate smile he hadn’t used in weeks.
“Write the proposal,” he said calmly. “We’ll talk Monday.”
