Le Belle Bleu was no Paradis.
Located on the northern tip of St. Lucia, on a peninsula that boasted the island’s best beaches, Matteo could see why it had once been described as “one of the most dramatic resorts in the Caribbean” by a famous luxury hotel magazine. “A mermaid’s paradise...” Surrounded on three sides by water, each suite boasting a million-dollar ocean view with a private plunge pool that connected to the sea, its world-class restaurants weren’t just set on the water, they were in the water with glass floors, walls and ceilings immersing patrons deep into the sea with the most incredibly colored tropical fish as dining partners. And then there was the spa which was undeniably impressive with its renowned organic sea treatments favored by the globe’s elite.
As far as Matteo was concerned, that’s where the travel brochure ended and reality began. Five minutes into their walk-through with the hotel’s manager, Raymond Bernard, it had become clear the property’s ten-million-dollar face-lift was more of a disaster than a fix. If the shoddy renovations didn’t bring the kitchen falling down around Quinn’s head, the questionable wiring would. There was no way this hotel was going to be ready for its opening in two weeks. And from the scowl on Quinn’s face, she’d figured that out too.
He asked another pointed question of Raymond since Quinn seemed to be too busy fuming. No doubt wondering how she was going to host every VIP in the Caribbean in this mess in two weeks for the relaunch of a hotel that was considered a national treasure.
Raymond gave a completely inadequate answer to his question. Quinn rolled her eyes. She appeared to have exactly zero patience for the manager who was obviously struggling in his role and wasn’t trying to hide it.
They followed Raymond through the glitzy, opulent lobby. His ill-advised swim this morning had managed to knock some sense into his brain. What he’d done last night had been the height of stupidity. There were no excuses for it. But what he could do now was make sure it never happened again. Give Quinn no reason to think what had happened between them should have any bearing on her decision. He was going to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that De Campo was the right partner for Luxe. And Le Belle Bleu provided the perfect opportunity for him to do that. He’d been through restaurant construction with De Campo’s properties. Knew what to look for. Quinn’s ice cream and hamburger franchises were built on an identical blueprint that had nothing to do with this type of scale. Complexity. Right now, she looked as out of depth as he had been this morning in water way over his head, unidentifiable sea creatures lapping at his feet.
Raymond stopped in front of the new kitchens and started detailing their attributes with as much enthusiasm as a tortoise sunning himself on a rock. “So,” he summed up in that all-the-time-in-the-world West Indies drawl of his. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
Quinn stuck her hands on her hips. “Not at the moment, no,” she said sharply. “But it will be.”
Raymond paled. “I thought you would be pleased with what we’ve done.”
“I’m not exactly sure which part of this disaster you’re referring to,” she responded curtly. “We’ll deal with it later. Right now let’s review the menus so we can discuss them over lunch. That’s what Matteo and Daniel really need to see.”
They sat on the poolside terrace while Le Belle Bleu’s head chef took them through the new menus he’d designed. By the end of his presentation, Matteo was convinced the lineup showed such an abject lack of creativity it wasn’t even appropriate for a three-star hotel, let alone Luxe.
“Where is the seafood?” Quinn asked, jamming a hand on the table as if to physically restrain herself. “St. Lucia is a Caribbean island. People expect seafood.”
The chef pointed to the entrées. “There are two fish dishes here.”
“Two out of twelve?”
“W-we thought it was sufficient.... We have an international clientele.”
“Who don’t eat appetizers?”
“Well, there is some crab in this one...”
Quinn dropped her head in her hands.
“Quinn?” Raymond’s placid tone was filled with apprehension. “Any other comments?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “But since it’s way past time for lunch, let’s do it over that.”
She sliced a look at Matteo and Daniel. “Consider this a work in progress.”
They ate by the sea. When Quinn attempted to sit on the other side of the table from him, Matteo deftly presented the chair beside him with a gallant flourish.