Fisher felt like he put out a new fire every other second. They still had plenty of rooms in the hotel, but the time to close the doors and secure the property was minutes away. Owen worked beside him, talking into the phone while tapping on his tablet. Fisher wasn’t sure what he was dealing with, but as soon as it got solved, another problem would present itself.
Fisher regretted not flagging Stacey’s parents, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He’d ordered lasagna—completely unHawaiian, but totally reheatable—an hour ago, and the aroma of it still drifted through the suite where he and Owen worked. The general manager had decided to stay in Marshall’s suite, where the boys were currently holed up. Once they finished their work, Fisher would have this room to himself.
Two h
