Gentle Persuasion

* * *

WHILE OPHELIA REID waited for her rooms to be readied, Dane found himself struggling to explain his dilemma to Keahi.

“She is not the first haole to try and lure you away from the islands,” Keahi, his plantation manager, pointed out as he flipped through a sheaf of paperwork in their shared office.

“No,” he conceded, “but she may be the prettiest.”

Keahi looked up from his task with sudden interest, and Dane wished he could withdraw his offhand remark. He’d meant to make a joke of it, as much to convince himself that Ophelia Reid’s unexpected beauty was of no consequence as to prepare Keahi for it.

“Pretty, eh, boss?” A wide grin split the older man’s face. “You don’t pay no attention to the pretty ones.”

Dane grimaced. “I pay attention, Keahi. I just don’t pursue them.” After all, there had been no end to the beautiful women in his life—both those on the mainland, before his retirement, as well as the ones who came and went on the islands. But Dane had learned that most of them were still too interested in the successes of his past to appreciate the commitment to his new life in Kona.

Keahi rolled his eyes and reached for another stack of papers. “Leilani says you spend too much time alone.”

“Leilani is young and full of romantic notions about love,” Dane reminded and swiveled to face his own desk. “She thinks if I fall in love it will solve all my problems.”

“Ah, she just cares about you,” Keahi said. “She appreciates all you’ve done for her and Pele. She wants you to be happy.” Dane heard the squeak of his friend’s chair as he turned in it. “She knows you deserve it.”

Dane pretended to study a list of items he needed to order for the inn to avoid having to respond.

“Boss?”

Dane suppressed a sigh and raised his head, turning in his chair to face his friend.

“You know the numbers aren’t good, brah.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He turned back around and bent his head over the paper before him. The list of expenses wasn’t long, but it felt exorbitant in the face of the other bills piling up.

“The numbers don’t lie,” Keahi pressed. “Maybe you should cut your losses. Take the pretty lady’s offer. Go back home.”

“This is my home,” Dane snapped. “I’m not going to abandon it. Besides, what would happen to you? And Pele? And Leilani? Leilani’s practically a kid. If I left, she’d fall right back into the same sort of trouble we fished her out of last year.”

Keahi clicked his tongue in disagreement. “Give the girl some credit, boss. She’s cleaned herself up real good in the last few months, especially now that she’s seeing Sam. She’d land on her feet.”

“No.” Dane shook his head. “I’m not taking the easy way out. We’ve got a good product, Keahi, and you know it. We just need some capital to get it out there.”

“And what about this Miss Reid? You gonna kick her out?”

Dane leaned back in his chair and grimaced. “I don’t think I can. She paid for her week in advance, and we can’t afford to refund her deposit.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from voicing the rest of his thought aloud. Ophelia Reid was a pleasant addition to the inn with her honey-blond hair and startling green eyes. All the more reason, however, to keep his guard up around her. The inn and plantation’s rising debt left him vulnerable to whatever tactics Ms. Reid possessed.

“Do you know who her mother is?” Dane looked over his shoulder and made a dramatic pretense of shuddering. “Lillian Reid, founder and executive CEO for Reid Recruiting. That woman is merciless in her pursuits, and I’m sure she raised her daughter in the same manner.”

Dane felt a twinge of guilt after uttering these words. Ophelia may have been a headhunter, but he hadn’t sensed she was as ruthless as her mother. Then again, perhaps her lean form and pretty face had swayed him more than he wanted to admit.

“You know her mother?” Keahi questioned.

“Mostly by reputation. I met her a time or two at various fund-raisers, though.” He shrugged. “She had sharp teeth, as I recall. Like a vampire. And they say she runs her firm with the same sort of bloodthirsty fierceness.”

Keahi clicked his tongue. “Maybe you gotta feel sorry for this girl, then. With a mother like that?” He shook his head. “Maybe she’s just doing what she has to, coming here and making you this offer.”

Dane clenched his jaw before unhinging it to speak. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any contract. Ophelia Reid is wasting her time.”

Keahi sighed. “Then you best run those numbers again, boss. Because unless you can start pulling in a whole lot of customers like this Miss Reid, you might have to.”

CHAPTER TWO

AN HOUR AFTER her arrival at the inn, Ophelia lay in the center of an enormous bed, eyes fixed on the circling ceiling fan. Dane had brought her bags up from the car, and now they rested on the floor as she counted the rotations of the fan blades above her, willing her weariness to ease her into slumber.

She had drawn the suite’s shades, dimmed the lights and turned on her traveling white-noise machine, but the chatter in her brain wouldn’t allow for rest. Rolling onto her side, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, instead. In. Out. In. Out. In...

It was no good. She was too distracted by the task at hand.

You can do this, Ophelia. You can do it.

She had made this her mantra for the past forty-eight hours—ever since her mother had drawn Ophelia into her private office and commissioned her with this task. Even now, recalling the conversation, Ophelia felt her stomach churning anxiously.

She had just finished wrapping up negotiations for a CFO in an investment group when her assistant, Holly, had stuck her head through the door.

She’d looked up with a grin. “Dinner at Le Petite Renard to celebrate? It’s on me.”

The fact that her assistant didn’t jump at this invitation was Ophelia’s first clue something was up.

“Your mother’s back from her meeting with Bianca Towers.”

Ophelia’s relaxed posture tightened up at Holly’s warning tone. She waited.

“She wants to see you in her private office.” Holly paused and then added, “Now.”

Ophelia swallowed and instantly rose to her feet.

She, of all the people in this city, knew better than to keep Lillian Reid waiting. Quickly, she headed out into the main office area of her floor. She brushed by Holly on her way, catching her commiserating glance before moving toward the elevators.

The digital reading blipped all too slowly as she counted the floors until the elevator car reached her. She nodded politely at her coworkers, stepped inside and asked for the senior-executive floor.

Her mother’s floor.

Was it her imagination, or were they nudging and sharing glances behind her? It felt as if several sets of eyes were drilling pointed stares into her shoulder blades. She squared her posture and kept her expression impassive.

The wait for the elevator had been far longer than the ride. As the doors pinged open, Ophelia barely resisted the urge to chew her lip with nervousness. She tried to keep her face professionally neutral as she stepped toward the reception desk and was waved through to the inner sanctum of Reid Recruiting Agency.

She caved to insecurity as she passed the black marble awards wall and paused to try and assess herself in the shiny reflection of a plaque.

Everything was perfect, every blond hair in place. She straightened her spine, just as her comportment lessons had instilled in her, and smoothed the designer suit that hugged her thin, five-foot-nine-inch frame. She tried to smile.

Nothing happened.

Her eyes were blinking rapidly, a sign of her distress. This would not do. Lillian expected a placid pool, no matter what sort of emotions raged underneath. Emotional displays were for lesser people. The face you presented to the world must be...flawless.

Ophelia slid her eyes closed, willing a neatness of composure. When she opened them again, the hunted look was still evident.

She prayed her mother would not notice.

Knowing she had wasted precious seconds on this perusal, she hurried toward the glass doors and greeted Tamara, her mother’s assistant.

“You can go on in, Ophelia,” Tamara offered. The other woman’s tone sounded almost pitying.

Ophelia swallowed as she approached her mother’s door and knocked briefly before sticking her head inside.

“Ms. Reid? You wanted to see me?”

Lillian Reid had strict rules about how her daughter addressed her. While “Mother” was appropriate at family events and in the privacy of the home, when in the office or among business associates, only Ms. Reid would do.

“Ophelia. Come in.” Lillian made a pointed show of studying her wristwatch, though she made no remark on the length of time it had taken Ophelia to reach the top floor.

Ophelia remained composed as she crossed the room and waited behind the Parisian leather chairs reserved for those summoned to sit across the desk from Lillian. She knew better than to sit immediately. Lillian enjoyed issuing commands, even ones so small as when you might seat yourself.

Lillian lifted her gaze from her watch, looked at her daughter and after a pause, gestured toward one of the chairs.

“You may take a seat.”

Ophelia gracefully brushed a hand beneath her skirt as she did. She folded one leg over the other, her spine straight and several inches away from the seat’s back. Just as she had been taught.

She did not speak, knowing Lillian preferred to take the lead in such meetings. Her mother took longer than usual, however, to voice her wishes, and so Ophelia did her best not to fidget, not even to shift her weight from one side of the chair to the other.

Lillian Reid stared down at her desk for an inordinate length of time, her eyes sharply assessing the spotless surface. The silence lingered for so long that Ophelia felt an unusual concern rise within her.

Swallowing, she broke the rules with a soft murmur. “Mother?”

It was the wrong move. Lillian’s hawklike gaze shot upward and caught her in its sights.

“Ms. Reid,” she firmly declared.

Ophelia dropped her head in shame. “I apologize, Ms. Reid.”

Her poise proved flawless in nearly every situation she found herself thrust into, but one moment beneath her mother’s—Ms. Reid’s—sharp stare, and she felt reduced to a humiliated child.

Though she ignored the apology, the exchange at least shook Lillian from her silent reverie. She smoothed her short, faded blond hair, a display of tension from her that Ophelia rarely witnessed, and then folded her neatly manicured hands before her.

“We have a situation,” she announced, her voice matter-of-fact.

Not trusting herself to speak further, Ophelia waited for her mother to continue.

“I have just come from a meeting with Bianca Towers.”

Ophelia prepared herself for potentially bad news. Bianca Towers was the heiress of an internationally renowned resort chain. With the recent passing of her uncle, the young socialite now possessed sole command of the Towers business and fortune.

Her reputation as a flighty party girl had caused a drop in revenue for the Towers name once she came into the seat of power, and Bianca seemed anything but happy about it.

Towers Resorts International had been employing Reid Recruiting Agency for years as their main source to fill top positions within their company. As one of Reid Recruiting’s most lucrative accounts, it remained imperative they keep Bianca Towers on good terms.

This was no easy task considering the temperamental, impulsive nature of the twenty-five-year-old socialite. And if anything put Lillian Reid in a bad mood, it was schmoozing the rich.

“She wants to turn the company’s image around and restore its reputation as one of the chief international resort chains.”

Ophelia remained silent, letting her mother continue at her own leisure.

“She wishes to launch a major PR campaign to draw in a diverse clientele—something that holds universal appeal.”

Ophelia tentatively cleared her throat. “She seems...ambitious.” Ophelia wouldn’t have thought that from what she’d read of the girl.

Lillian Reid did not comment on the observation. Instead, she continued, “Miss Towers believes there is only one way to make this happen.”

Ophelia braced herself. Lillian rested her eyes on her daughter’s. “She wants Dane Montgomery to head the creative marketing division and lead the campaign.”

Ophelia swallowed. “He’s retired.”

Lillian rolled her eyes, and Ophelia berated herself for having pointed out the obvious.

“He’s the best.” From Lillian’s tone, it was clear she was mocking the very words Bianca must have spoken in Dane’s regard.

“Where is he?” Ophelia asked.

“Hawaii, if what the trades said three years ago still holds true. He gave everything up to—” she waved her hand dismissively “—grow fruit on an island or some such dull venture.”

Ophelia processed this. “So, Bianca wants us to recruit Dane Montgomery for her?”

Lillian nodded. Ophelia hesitated, loath to ask the next question.

“And...if we can’t?”

Her mother’s piercing stare sliced into her once more. “She pulls the entire Towers Resorts International account.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened. “What? Everything?”

The same clipped nod.

“But that would mean—”

“Cutbacks. Layoffs.” Lillian shuddered as she uttered the dire word, “Downsizing. These actions will be interpreted as weakness, and more clients will follow in Bianca’s wake.”

“We can’t let that happen.”

For the first time in ages, Lillian bestowed a rare smile of approval upon her daughter.

“No. We cannot.” She swiveled in her desk chair, tidying a stack of paperwork. “That’s why I’m sending you to Hawaii to recruit Dane Montgomery.”

This pronouncement elicited a round of blinking from Ophelia. She fought to maintain her poise in the face of this startling statement. “You’re...sending...me?”

True, she was one of Reid Recruiting’s best. Yet, such a crucial assignment surely called for the cream of the crop.

Lillian tented her fingers and fixed the full weight of her considerably intimidating stare on her daughter.

“You started as an assistant at this company, following your graduation from college. You have worked your way up the ladder without any help from me. I have shown no favoritism toward you thus far, and yet you have still made it clear your wishes are to expand our offices into Paris, with you at their helm as Director of European Operations. Do you, or do you not, wish to see your dreams fulfilled?”

Ophelia swallowed, striving for the same cool demeanor her mother exhibited now. Paris. It had been her dream since she was a child, during the short years she and her mother had lived abroad in France with her father. Those had been the happiest times of her life, and it was the tragedy of her existence that they had been so fleeting. Her father, considerably older than her mother, had passed on, and Lillian Reid had returned to the States with her young daughter in tow to found the Reid Recruiting Agency. Ever since that time, Ophelia had wished for two things: to earn her mother’s everlasting approval by following in her footsteps and to expand the corporation’s success into the city where she had been happiest—Paris, France. Every step of her education and career had been aimed toward that one, solitary goal.

“Are you saying...if I do this, if I can convince Dane Montgomery to return to New York as the Creative Marketing Director of Towers International...you’ll help me open the Paris branch?”

Lillian gave a short nod. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, is it not? I’ve certainly listened to enough chatter from you about it.”

Lillian rotated her chair toward the expansive window overlooking the city. “Countless others have tried to bring Montgomery out of retirement. If you succeed in procuring him for Bianca Towers, a coup like that will assure your success in an overseas venture. Our client lists will triple as everyone scrambles to sign with the agency responsible for doing the impossible—bringing Dane Montgomery back into the game.”

Ophelia felt a tremble beginning deep within the center of her chest, radiating outward in a peak of adrenaline. Paris. Her dream city. Her mother was right; she had talked about this for a long time. It had been her one desire ever since she’d been old enough to understand her mother’s business. She nibbled her lip as she considered the possibilities.

The offer, however, appeared to have a limited response time, and her reply must have been taking too long.

“Of course, if you feel you’re not ready, not up to the task...I can send someone else, one of the senior recruiters...”

“No!”

This slip of decorum caused Lillian to glance at her.

“No,” Ophelia continued in a calmer voice. “I’m capable. You know that.”

Lillian nodded. “I agree. Because you see, Ophelia—” she pivoted the chair back in her daughter’s direction “—only you can truly appreciate what is at stake here. Only you, as my child, know the sacrifices that have been made, the labor that has been involved in making Reid Recruiting one of the top agencies in the field. Only you can understand.”

She paused, her gray eyes calculating as she looked at her daughter. “We cannot lose that. Do you understand me? We will not lose that.”

Lillian was right. Only Ophelia could appreciate the significance of the situation—she had to succeed at this. She had to keep Reid Recruiting on top. If she didn’t do it, they were lost. And she, along with her mother, would suffer the worst of the consequences.

Should she accomplish this, however, she would be rewarded accordingly—Paris, Director of European Operations, her mother’s stamp of approval. A dream fulfilled.

Ophelia had set her features with the same frosty determination her mother’s had exhibited. “Yes. I understand. You can count on me, Ms. Reid.”

Another rare, if somewhat deprecating, smile had been bestowed.

Now, some forty-eight hours later, and thousands of miles away from that tense scene, Ophelia could still feel the stab of her mother’s grim expression. Compelled by the memory, she slung her long legs over the bed’s edge and pulled herself from its soft foundation to head toward the bathroom.

Staring into the carved-wood-frame mirror, she ran her fingers over her features, picking out the items which possessed a similarity to Lillian Reid’s. There were only slight resemblances—very little, other than the hair color her mother now dyed—between the two. She could have been anyone’s daughter, could have belonged to anyone.

But her lips. Her mouth. This was the one characteristic linking them genetically. The soft pink lips tapering outward to a pointed edge. This was her inheritance.

She touched that feature now and willed her lips upward.

Her mother’s infrequent smile stared back at her in haunting reminder.

Only you can understand.

* * *

AFTER UNPACKING HER suitcase, Ophelia stood beneath the bathroom shower for long minutes and let the warmth of the spray ease away her tension. Changing into more casual clothes, she stretched out on the bed once more and logged on to the inn’s internet connection.

She spent the next few hours on her laptop in the Liliuokalani suite, clicking through websites and articles that mentioned Dane Montgomery. The research Holly had given her, along with her mother’s instructions and her own memory, provided the necessary framework to form a profile of Dane’s past and accomplishments. But Ophelia knew she needed to dig deeper if she was to achieve her goal.

The web was a wealth of information on the former advertising executive, highlighting awards, achievements, accolades and a sparkling career path that had sent Dane higher and higher into the echelons of the corporate world. And then, suddenly, articles dated three years previously exploded into her browser, announcing Dane’s retirement and exit from business. There were dozens of speculations on the reasons: everything from a love child with some celebrity or other to a debilitating disease eating him alive. It was all fodder for the gossips, especially when Dane’s official statement proved to be rather dull reasoning.

I plan to seek out new challenges in a different direction. While I value my time spent in this industry, I’m looking to find personal fulfillment at a less frenzied pace.

He was labeled everything from “certifiably insane” to “a groundbreaking genius.”

In the end, Ophelia sensed he simply felt tired—a feeling she could relate to after her years climbing the ladder at Reid Recruiting. But she had worked relentlessly to prove her value, and now, finally, she would be rewarded. If she could drag Dane back to the world he had left behind.

With a sigh, Ophelia logged off and closed her laptop. She reached for a pillow and curled herself around it, her mind cataloging everything she’d gleaned from her research. She mentally filed away each scrap of information on Dane as she continued to form and revise her plan to recruit him. Soon, jet lag and the six-hour time difference between Hawaii and New York caught up with her. The next thing she knew, she woke to darkness outside her window and the soft sound of island crickets filtering in on the midnight air.

Sitting up in the bed, she realized she’d slept away the rest of the afternoon and all of the evening. Annoyed with this waste of hours, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and decided to see if, by chance, anyone remained awake.

Easing open the door to her room, she glanced down the hall in both directions. A soft light illuminated the stairs, so Ophelia headed that way, her feet moving soundlessly across the carpet. She had just reached the bottom step and noted all the inn’s lights were off for the evening when she heard what sounded suspiciously like a motorcycle outside. She crept closer to the open windows. The echo of hushed dialogue and muted giggles drifted toward her as the motorcycle purred gently.

Leaning forward, she carefully parted two of the blinds’ slats and peered out. In the pale light spilling from the front porch, Ophelia saw a girl leaning against the solid form of a young man as he remained seated on the bike.

They were murmuring affectionately, their foreheads pressed together, and Ophelia felt a sudden tug of longing. She couldn’t remember Cole ever cradling her in such a way—not even in the early stages of their relationship four years ago. But then, he had never much liked public displays of affection. She suppressed a sigh and though she felt jealous of the young couple outside the inn, she experienced no such regret for ending things with Cole.

But to be held in such a way...wasn’t that every girl’s dream?

As the embrace lingered, Ophelia felt embarrassed for intruding. Straightening, she began to head back toward the stairs but stubbed her toe on the edge of a cabinet, causing her to hop around and bite back a string of curses. By the time she regained her balance, the front door had eased open, and the girl she’d been spying on stood before her. For a moment, they simply stared at each other in surprise.

Ophelia rubbed her opposite foot over her smarting toe. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“For what?” the girl asked.

“Um...” Ophelia trailed off, reluctant to admit she’d been watching the younger woman’s midnight tryst.

“Are you a guest?” The girl stepped forward, and Ophelia could only nod in acknowledgment. The younger woman’s face split into a beaming smile featuring even white teeth against the backdrop of her smooth, sun-kissed complexion. “Aloha, I’m Leilani.” She extended a hand. “I’m in charge of reception, events and bookings.”

Though the words were spoken softly in deference to the late hour, Ophelia noted the pride in them. She relaxed at the friendly introduction.