Free One Week in Your Arms by Patricia Preston Page B

real. Not to her. It was like a stage where a farce was set to unfold, and she had the starring role.
    With a sigh, she headed to the guest room.
    It was time to unpack and get ready for her first performance.

Chapter 7
    C arson strolled inside the Flamingo, the hotel’s bar and lounge. Like most lounges, there was no overhead lighting. Spotlights cast a glow on the wall where recessed digital photographs featured the waterfalls, the beaches, and the caves of Kauai. Definitely paradise for island lovers.
    He walked over to the glossy black bar and motioned for the bartender. He ordered a margarita to drink while he waited for Truman. Due to the early hour, the bar was quiet. A group of golfers had staked out a couple of tables, and three guys were watching a baseball game on the eighty-inch television screen attached to the rear wall.
    Carson selected a table in a quiet corner. Sitting at the table, he took a sip of his margarita and considered his objectives. So far, so good. He thought he’d handled things well. She knew what he expected from her and what he didn’t.
    He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked his email. He had a couple of business emails he needed to answer when he got back to the penthouse. Nothing else was urgent. While scrolling through the latest figures from the stock market, his phone chirped and a text message from someone named Kristen appeared.
    Leaving London tomorrow. Just wanted to let U know I broke up with Justin.
    Carson thought a moment and he recalled a girl he’d gone out with a couple of months ago. She hadn’t told him until after dinner that she was living with a guy. Shit, he’d forgotten to delete her number.
    He answered her message. I’m seeing someone now.
    Oh. If U break up, U have my number.
    â€œSure,” he muttered. He deleted Kristen’s phone number and lifted his glass in a mock toast to himself and his fake girlfriend, Marla, before taking a drink.
    â€œHey, Carson.” Truman walked over to the table. Truman was one of those self-made men, who had been tough in his youth, but he’d mellowed out with time. He loved hearty meals, which had put extra pounds on him. His white hair was still thick and his skin had been permanently darkened by the Texas sun.
    Carson stood and greeted Truman with a handshake and a hug. “It’s great to see you.”
    Truman embraced Carson. “It’s been too long, son.”
    â€œYou know how it is. I’m always on the go,” Carson said as they seated themselves. “I just got back from Japan. I was in Italy before that. I’ve got several projects in the works.”
    â€œYou work too much,” Truman said. “Your daddy left you more money than you could ever spend in your lifetime. You could slow down.”
    â€œI love my work.” That was true, and he had ambitious plans for Blackwell Designs. Besides, what else did he have to do?
    â€œSometimes, a man needs more than work in his life.”
    Let’s not go there . Carson folded his arms on the table. “Speaking of work, what do you think of my proposal for the art center?”
    â€œOutstanding.”
    He smiled, pleased by the compliment.
    â€œThe Kathleen Blackwell Center for Fine Arts is a beautiful tribute to your mother. The concept is flawless, and the design is perfection. I showed the images you emailed me to Julia. She thinks Kathleen would be so thrilled.”
    â€œI wish she were here to see it. Dad, too. I think he’d approve.”
    â€œGerald was always proud of you. After Kathleen was killed, I don’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t had you,” Truman said. “Raising you was what kept him going.”
    â€œI still miss him.” Eight years had passed since Gerald Blackwell had died suddenly from a massive heart attack, but time hadn’t altered Carson’s fond memories of his robust father.
    Truman motioned for a server. He