LITMIR.BIZ

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      Jeff let out a slow breath. The small digital slice encircling the internet was bad enough. If the rest went public, there would be no coming back. “What does he want?”

      “I bet you can guess.”

      Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. “The recording I made of his hotel.”

      “Bingo. And a televised statement that his hotel is above reproach. The best damned hotel you’ve ever seen.” RW paused. “Xander wants you to grovel.”

      “I’m not doing that. It was one of the worst I’ve ever seen. Think about the people who save for years to vacation at his fancy hotel. No. It’s unacceptable. No one can bully me anymore, Dad.”

      “Then we have a problem,” RW said.

      “We?”

      “Harper Industries has a reputation to uphold and stockholders to please. We can’t go around hiring a sex-crazed—”

      “Dad! I was set up.”

      “Blackmail only works because you were caught on tape. You screwed up.” There. That was the father he’d expected when he picked up the phone. The superior tone and words dripping with condemnation were signature RW Harper.

      “Blackmail only works if I roll over. I won’t do that,” Jeff snapped.

      “Think carefully,” RW said. “He’s threatening to release bits and pieces of your damned sex video for eternity unless you agree to his terms. With a constant stream of bad press, you’ll never work in New York’s hotel industry again. Or anywhere else for that matter. Not even for me.”

      Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then he’s got me.”

      “Not if we stop him with good PR. It must be done quickly to keep your train wreck from derailing the entire Plunder Cove project. I promised the townspeople their percentage of resort profits and I intend to keep my word.”

      “The people in Pueblicito not getting their share. That’s what bothers you the most about what happened to me?”

      “The Harpers owe them, son.”

      Jeff shook his head. Harpers were pirates—takers, and users. The family tree included buccaneers and land barons who’d once owned the people in Pueblicito. RW was just as bad as past generations because he only cared about increasing profits for Harper Industries.

      Greed had destroyed his family.

       And now Dad wants to donate profit to strangers? What’s the catch?

      Jeff didn’t believe the mean oil tycoon had grown a charitable heart. It wasn’t possible.

      “Why now?” Jeff pressed.

      “I have my reasons. They’re none of your concern.”

      Deflection. Secrets. Now that was more like the father Jeff remembered, which probably meant the old man was stringing the townspeople along in an elaborate con. The RW Jeff knew was a master schemer who fought dirty and stole what he wanted.

      “You have a choice. Agree to Xander’s terms or agree to mine.” RW paused for effect. “Together we can beat him at his own game.”

      “I’m listening.”

      “We offer the public a respectable Jeffrey Harper, an upstanding successful hotel developer. You’ll again be a businessman everyone looks up to. The shareholders will have undeniable proof that you’ve settled down and are prepared to represent Harper Industries in this new venture.”

      “How?”

      “With a legal contract signed in front of witnesses.”

      Jeff frowned. “What sort of contract?”

      “The long-lasting, ‘until death do you part’ sort.”

       Oh, hell no.

      Jeff sat heavily on his couch. “I’m not getting married.”

      “You can’t be a playboy forever. It’s time you settled down. Started a family.”

      “Like you did? How’d that work out for you, Dad?”

      It was a low blow, thrown with force. Jeff would never forgive his parents for the hell they’d put him and his brother and sister through.

      RW didn’t respond. Not that Jeff had thought he would. The silence was a hammer pounding all the nails into the bitter wall lodged between them.

      After a long minute RW said, “I’m hiring a project manager at the end of the week. When the hotel is ready, I’ll hire a manager for that, too. You agree with my terms and you’ve got both jobs. Don’t agree and you’ll be scrounging on your own in New York.”

       I’ve been scrounging since I turned sixteen and you kicked me out of the house, old man.

      “Think this through.” RW’s voice grew softer. “The hotel you create on Plunder Cove will be a family legacy. I don’t trust easily, but I have faith you’ll do it right.”

      Those words floored him.

      He’d never heard anything like them before.

      Jeff stared at his size twelve loafers. He wanted to believe what his dad said, but the reality of who RW had always been was too hard to forget—as was the “one condition.” “Come on, Dad. You can’t expect me to get married.”

      “I’ll give you a few days to think about it,” RW said.

      In a few days, another million people would share those damned GIFs and memes. The social media attack would never stop—unless he fought back.

      Dad’s ridiculous plan was the only thing that made a lick of sense.

      It pissed him off, but still he growled, “Have your people start the search for a chef. A great one.”

      “You want to marry a chef?”

      “No, I want to hire one. An exclusive resort needs a five-star restaurant. That’s how we’ll get the ball rolling. A restaurant is faster to get up and running than a hotel and the best ones get the word out fast. Find me a group of chefs to choose from. Lure them from the world’s top restaurants and offer them deals they can’t refuse. I’ll assess their culinary skills and choose a winner.”

      “A contest? You’d pit them against each other?”

      “Call it part of the cooking interview. We’ll see which one can handle the heat. My chef has to be capable of rising above stress.”

      RW produced a sharp whistle through his nose, the one he used when he was not pleased. “You must marry, Jeffrey. That’s my only stipulation. I don’t care who as long as she makes you look respectable.”

      Jeff didn’t want a wife. He wanted a hotel.

      He needed to make Plunder Cove the best locale in the world, and then he’d have his dignity back. And a touch of something that might resemble a survivor’s victory.

      A plan started to form.

      The producer of Secrets and Sheets had hounded Jeff for years to do a segment on the Spanish mansion and its pirate past. He’d always said no. Why glorify a place that still gave him nightmares? But now, his childhood home could be the only thing that would help him reboot his career.

      “Fine. My crew can film the ceremony in one of the gardens or down on the beach. The reception will be filmed inside the new restaurant. You can’t buy better advertising for the resort.” The press would eat it up.

      “Now that’s thinking big. I like it,” RW said.

       Yeah? Well, hold on because it’s only the first part of the plan.

      Dad didn’t have to know that Jeff was going

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