Designing Paradise

Suite Surprises

Draping my jacket over the back of my office chair, I run a hand over my face, feeling the weight of the day settle in. Jillian Michaels certainly left an impression, one that lingers in the air long after she's gone. There's a fire in her eyes, a determination that's hard to ignore. Despite my initial reluctance to involve a designer, I find myself intrigued by the prospect of working with her. Perhaps there's more to this collaboration than I first thought.

I shake off the inappropriate thought that crosses my mind, reminding myself to maintain a professional demeanor. Inviting her to dinner seems like a good way to extend an olive branch after today's events. After all, who could have predicted her reaction to a simple honk of the horn? A pleasant dinner and a bottle of wine might help smooth things over, at least it's a start. I'll wait for her to settle into her room before I give her a call.

But first, I have to handle another call with my PR Manager.

I scowl, pressing the office phone against my ear as Monica's voice rises to an irritated pitch. "Justus, listen to me. Jillian is one of the top designers in the country. Her presence at Almeida Resorts could boost our image immeasurably."

I shake my head, though she can't see it. "Monica, I've told you I don't want a designer coming in, changing everything that means something to my family legacy," I mutter, feeling a pang of protectiveness for the cherished memories embedded in every corner of the resort. The rich timber beams overhead, the worn-out cushions in the main hall, even the slightly outdated fixtures—all remnants of my grandfather's dream that he made come true brick by brick.

"Justus, don't be stubborn!" Monica fires back. "This isn't about your taste or your resorts. It's about making a statement. Collaborating with Jillian is a power move."

Looking down at the lobby from my office overhead, there she is, Jillian, chatting with the receptionist...

Oh, damn, they're probably talking about her reservation I canceled when Monica first mentioned her visit...out of spite.

That was before I even met her. After, I promised to roll out the red carpet when I left her downstairs. I kinda dropped the ball big time. After the day she's had, I've gone and made things more complicated. But who knew I'd find myself liking her more than I thought.

Man, I need to sort this out.

I remind myself this was a business move. Monica insisted the resort needed an update. "It's for the future of the Almeida legacy," she'd claimed. But Monica didn't understand the sentiment behind this place. The raw memories attached to every brick and tile. To her, it's about the aesthetic and the image for the public. To me, it's about preserving a piece of my history.

However, looking down at Jillian, I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. She is only here to help me. I can't leave her stranded like this, no more than I could have left her at the accident scene, no matter how reluctant I am about the changes she might bring.

"She'll be a pain in the ass to work with, Monica...I know her type," I mutter.

"Your cocky attitude will cost us, Justus," Monica warns. "You may think you know it all, but don't know Jillian. "

I clench my jaw. A stubborn streak in me has led me to success, but Monica has always known how to push my buttons. "Fine. I'll talk to her. But I'm not promising anything. That sassy attitude is intriguing, to say the least, enough for me to hear more of what she has to say...and get to know her."

I can't help but glance back down at Jillian. She's animated, gesturing emphatically as she speaks with the receptionist. The sunlight catches the shine of her black hair, accentuating the soft curls that frame her face...

Monica's voice interrupts my reverie. "What was that you said, Justus?"

I quickly mask my momentary lapse in focus. "Oh, nothing important. Just thinking out loud."

"Yeah, well, keep your thoughts focused on the bigger picture. We need this redesign to breathe new life into Almeida Resorts," Monica urges.

"Okay, I heard you..." I nod, though my mind is elsewhere. The truth is, I still don't understand why we're keeping this place at all. If we can't maintain the old vibe and nostalgia, what's the point? But for now, I'll entertain what Jillian is trying to design. It's the right thing to do for my grandfather's wishes, even if I secretly hope we can sell the place, eventually.

My attention snaps back to the present as I notice Jillian's agitation at the front desk. Something's not right. I know I canceled the reservation, but don't we have any rooms available? With a frown, I decide it's time to intervene.

Monica lets out a sigh of relief. "That's all I'm asking. Just meet her halfway. Let me call you back; her assistant is calling me again."

It's probably about the canceled reservation, but I won't tell Monica. She'll have my ass. I hang up, staring at the phone for a long moment, willing it to ring.

Right on cue, the phone on my expansive oak desk rings again. 'Front Desk' is displayed on the caller ID. They only call me if there's a problem the managers can't resolve, which is a rare occurrence. I take pride in the smooth operation of my resorts. I pick up the phone, my voice gravelly as I answer, "Hello, Justus Almeida, speaking."

"Mr. Almeida," the timid voice of the lady from the front desk pipes up.

"Yes?"

"I have a guest here, Miss Jillian Michaels." My ears immediately perk up at her name.

"Yes, go on?" I urge her to get to the point of the call.

"Sir, Miss Michaels says she has a three-day reservation with us and will be under your employment for an additional four weeks. However, I don't have any record of it. We're absolutely booked, sir. She's requested to speak with you about it."

"Put her in the Presidential Suite," I blurt out without giving it a second thought.

"Sir?" she questions. "And where will you be staying?"

Ideally, in there with her.

"I'll use the smaller room by my office for now. She's doing me a favor, and I want to ensure she's well cared for. Please have someone attend to her luggage, and I'll escort her to the suite."

"Yes, sir."

This is a perfect opportunity to make a better first...well, a great second impression, and I'm not about to let it slip through my fingers.

I head to the lobby, and as I approach Jillian, I see her looking around, no doubt taking in the design my family painstakingly crafted over the years. Despite my irritation and the interruption to the first part of my day from the accident, I can't help but feel drawn to her.

"Miss Michaels," I say, extending my hand with a half-smile. "Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot."

She looks up, her eyes bright with curiosity and something else I can't quite name. "Perhaps we did, Mr. Almeida."

Feeling a strange sense of anticipation. Maybe Monica's right. Maybe this collaboration could be something great. But I'm not about to admit that to either one of them.

Not yet.