Page 61 of Last Resort

Her laugh is throaty as she leans in and tugs on my earlobe with her teeth causing my balls to draw up. “I’ll let you know once it’s closed,” she whispers before she turns on her heel and leaves the bathroom.

I have to wait a second for my hard-on to abate before I leave the bathroom. When I do, Sam is sliding my shot across the bar with a smirk.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Callahan

“Some people not happy, man,” Keone says in his distinct island accent as he pours a draft beer.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Just hearing rumblings.”

“About?” I ask, already dreading this conversation and it hasn’t even really started.

“They giving raises over at some of the other resorts.”

“But we offer better medical benefits.”

“That only matters, man, if they sick. It doesn’t help pay the rent though.” He holds up a finger and walks to the other end of the bar to take an order.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

This is the last fucking thing we need here. I’d like to think we’re slowly getting shit in order. Slowly. Brady is a little kooky, but the man is a godsend when it comes to wrangling all the things Sutton is implementing while managing the staff at the same time.

It allows me to immerse myself in the bullshit numbers so I can get this over and done with. So I can walk the fuck away. From the resort and the family business.

There’s a grass shack on a beach somewhere that’s calling my name. One where cell service is scant, the surf is strong, and the days stretch forever.

I take another sip of beer and wonder what my dad would think in this situation. My brothers forcing me to be here. Their insistence that I physically manage instead of manage from afar like they do.

Don’t get your hands dirty, Callahan. That’s what you hire people for. You have to be felt but not seen, heard without having to scream, strong but not be an asshole.

Well, I’ve definitely failed that last part, haven’t I?

And the irony that Sutton threw in my face that I don’t get my hands dirty while my dad used to tell me not to isn’t lost on me.

But maybe she’s right. Maybe being made to feel like an idiot over not knowing we’d implemented ecotourism as a part of our resort portfolio is a prime example of why I don’t belong here in the first place.

And yet here I am. Trying to give life to something our father so desperately wanted. The funny thing is I thought it would hurt more being here. That being at a place he was so hell-bent on purchasing would make me sad.

It’s done just the opposite.

Sure I want the fuck out of here as soon as my time here, my penance, has been served, but it’s not so bad on the whole.

And doesn’t that have everything to do with Sutton?

Christ.

When have I ever let a woman lead me around by the balls without at least a little squeeze now and then?

Never.

Fucking never.

And yet when I leave the bar, she’s still on my mind. She’s so much easier to focus on than the constant texts from Ledger and Ford demanding status reports and updates.

If they want to really know, they’ll show up and find out the status themselves. They’ll probably dismantle every single thing we’ve done just to say I’ve done it wrong in the process.