Just Another Day in Paradise. Justine Davis
A burst of cheers and whistles greeted that.
“That said, anyone have any problems that need to be dealt with before opening day?”
“We need a new movie service,” somebody called out. “This one just runs the same old stuff over and over.”
Rider grinned. “Just so happens I brought along a really big satellite dish. Anybody know how to set one of those puppies up?”
Laughter and cheers met that as well. When no other complaints arose, he nodded in satisfaction.
On some other level of his mind, beneath the part that was handling the speaking task, he registered that there was a redhead in the back row. She snagged his attention, as any woman with hair of that particular rich, autumn-leaves shade did. Even after five years.
It wasn’t that he thought about it a lot. It was not, after all, his finest hour, and he didn’t like dwelling on it. In fact, in a life that held few regrets, that one woman stood as an eternal torch of reproach.
He shook off the memory and began again, scanning the room, trying to make eye contact with everyone. “I hope to meet with you all over the next ten days, and I want you to feel free to bring up anything you want. Some of the best ideas come from you, out on the front line, and that’s what I’m here for.”
It was a motivational statement, Rider knew, but it was also true, and Redstone believed in it. And the staff responded, nodding as they turned and glanced at each other. There was a reason Redstone was consistently in the top ten on lists of best places to work.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s business or personal, I—”
Rider was only vaguely aware he’d stopped talking. Or that he was staring. A beefy, broad-shouldered man had shifted in his seat, giving Rider a full view of the woman with the coppery hair.
It can’t be.
She sat there at the very back table, staring down at folders in front of her. He silently urged her to look up, to face him so he could be sure. But she didn’t. Or wouldn’t. And he was sure, anyway. He knew he couldn’t mistake the long, thick braid of hair, the line of her cheekbones, the tilt of her nose. He knew if she looked up, her eyes would be that rich, cinnamon-brown. He knew it.
But it can’t be.
He lifted the now-forgotten page of statistics and grabbed at the personnel roster Barry had given him. He scanned it quickly and let out a sigh of relief; her name wasn’t there. It was a fluke, just a resemblance. He’d reacted out of guilt, that’s all.
Steady again, he moved to slip the roster back beneath his page of notes. It snagged on something, and he reached to free it from the small piece of paper stapled to the back of the roster.
He glimpsed the last few words on the note before his page pulled clear. He grabbed at it, tearing it loose from the staple. And there it was, immutable and real. The news that the teacher had arrived nearly a month ago to get the island school up and running before the opening. The teacher. Paige Cooper.
He’d hoped never to see her again. He’d hungered to see her again. He’d never resolved the contradiction. And now the contradiction was sitting in front of him.
The only woman who had ever made him throw whatever decency and common sense he had out the window.
The only woman who could shame him with just a look.
The only woman who had ever made him ache for her in so many ways he couldn’t even count them all.
Paige Cooper, sitting there, refusing to look at him, reminding him all the more of what he’d done the last time he’d seen her. He remembered his earlier assessment, and decided he must have really ticked off whatever god was in charge of his fate at the moment.
The ship he’d thought was going to have a smooth sailing had just encountered a reef.
Chapter 2
He had a roomful of people staring at him, and Rider couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been going to say. He wasn’t at a total loss often enough to have learned how to deal with it well, so he knew he was fumbling now. He took refuge in the numbers and details he could spout without thought and began the rundown while his mind raced.
He shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was a very Joshua-like thing to do, to hire the widow of one of his people. Especially since Phil Cooper had been killed while working for Redstone. Even though the man hadn’t been one of Redstone’s hires originally—he’d been a vice president of a purchased company—Josh didn’t make a habit of wholesale firings at new acquisitions.
I would have fired him, Rider thought, anger spiking even after all this time. But he knew his feelings were biased. The Redstone investigation into Cooper’s death had been, as usual, thorough and deep. In fact, the deepest one he’d ever seen, because the plane had been brought down over Portugal by a terrorist bomb. After five years they still didn’t know exactly who had done it, they’d only succeeded in narrowing down the possibilities. And discovering that Cooper had left his widow in unpleasant, if not dire, straits.
Rider knew the truth about why Phil Cooper had been on that plane. If he hadn’t, he would have felt only a vague sorrow at the death of a man he’d hardly known. And only a pity-tinged sympathy for his wife.
But instead…
With an effort he shoved his thoughts aside. He finished acknowledging the impressive list of things accomplished since construction had started. And finally remembered where he’d been before he’d gotten derailed.
“As I was saying before jet lag caught up with me,” he joked, “whatever you have to say, I’m here to listen. Those of you who have worked for Redstone, you know I mean it. Those of you who are just starting out, welcome.”
He started to move away from the podium, then turned back. “Oh, did I mention the party? We’ll be having it two days before the opening.” He managed a grin. “Two days, because we expect you to enjoy it so much it’ll take that long to clean up for the opening.”
A rather raucous round of applause greeted that statement, loudest from those who had worked at a Redstone resort before and knew that they definitely knew how to throw a party.
Rider waved in recognition of the good cheer and left the small lectern. The moment his mind was freed from the task of conducting the meeting, it leaped back to the subject he’d tried to suppress.
Paige Cooper. Here. Unavoidably here.
He let out a compressed breath. He’d long ago given up trying to convince himself that what he’d felt five years before was just sympathy. He’d felt a lot more than that. And what he’d felt had led him to actions so uncharacteristic that he’d shocked himself. He still couldn’t quite believe it.
And if his reaction just now was any indication, those feelings had only been in hibernation.
His smooth-sailing ship, he thought grimly, had just run aground.
I should have known, Paige moaned inwardly. How could it not have even occurred to me that it would be him?
She barely managed to gather up her papers, and nearly dropped the tote bag in her haste. She dodged out of the dining room and headed for the outer door at the fastest pace she could manage without running and drawing attention. Once outside she slowed, pressing her fingers to her face, wishing for an icy-cold breeze. Her fingers were cooler than her overheated cheeks, but not cool enough. Ice, she thought. Ice would be good.
“You idiot,” she muttered to herself. “You’re such a fool.”
She knew, had known even back then, that Noah Rider was one of Redstone’s premiere point men. That he ran all over the world, setting up new operations, finalizing things. So why on earth hadn’t she realized there was a good chance the exec sent to oversee the final stages of Redstone Bay would be him? True, she’d