Alfred POV

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Oh my God! Someone call 9-1-1!"

"Can you hear me? Can you see what's around you?"

"Stabilize his head. There we go. On three, turn him over. One, two-"

"This is idiotic."

"Mr. Lowell, we know this isn't what-"

"No, this isn't how this is going to work. We were approved for this project months ago. Why isn't it off the ground yet?" I asked.

"We keep running into licensing issues. Building permits we didn't know we needed."

"Well that's not my problem now, is it? That's your problem. I pay you six figures a year and cover all your medical costs so you fix this type of shit for me. Am I going to have to find someone who can do this job more competently than you? Because I've enjoyed working with you for the past decade."

"Sir, it won't happen again. I'm looking into the problem as we speak."

"Really? Because it looks like you're making excuses while standing in my office."

My head was pounding. Our newest luxury hotel chain was expanding into the Caribbean, and everywhere we turned something else was going wrong. A permit we didn't know we needed, apparently. Or water mains bursting because of the weather coming through. Or the wrong adapter outlets being installed into all the rooms. Or the fucking tubs going in backwards.

Tubs.

Backwards!

It was like I was working with toddlers.

My investors were pissed. They were supposed to start seeing some sort of return a month ago. But instead, we were still building. Still draining them of money they didn't expect to fork over. I was digging into my own damn pockets to get the fucking project done, and that wasn't even my responsibility!

I was going to have to fire someone.

This could never happen again.

"When's he going to wake up?"

"And when he does, where do we go from there?"

"I can't take him home. Do you think he would let one of us move in?"

"Into his perfect little mansion? Not likely."

"I'm going to need a flight out to the Caribbean as soon as you can get me booked."

"Alfred. You can't go out there."

"John. I'm have to. For some reason, we've employed people who can't get this damn job finished. I'm going to have to go out there myself and figure out what the hell's going on," I said.

"You're needed here. The moment your feet leave this soil, your investors are going to freak," he said.

"So do you want to take a trip to the Caribbean? Because the last time I checked, you didn't like flying."

"That's what happens when a damn plane crashes, Alfred. But that still doesn't mean you can jet off to the Caribbean. We can handle things from here."

"We've been handling things from here. And look where it's put us!"

Everywhere I turned, someone was questioning my moves. My motives. My want for doing something. My company needed boots on the ground. We were being swindled out of hundreds of thousands of dollars for this project and no one around me seemed to care. Yes, the Caribbean was being battered with storms, but that was why this project had insurance. Capable contractors. An entire team of investors ready to jump whenever I gave the damn command.

But we were supposed to be finished three fucking months ago. What the hell was going on out there?

I needed to know. And I was going to find out.

"Book me a flight," I said.

"I'm not your damn secretary. I'm your COO," John said.

"Then do your damn job and stop fussing about shit. I'm on the first flight out."

"Fine. But you call me the moment you land. I want to know you're safe."

"My plane isn't going to crash, John. And yours didn't either. You had an emergency landing in a field because you weren't near an airport."

"That's still scary!"

I rolled my eyes as I walked out of his office.

I needed to hire more competent people. And some with bigger balls.

"We need to get him into the O.R. Now. You have to leave."

"I'm not leaving my son. That's my boy!"

"Mom, he's going to be okay if you let the doctors do what they need to do."

"Alfred. Wake up for me, baby. Wake up!"

"Mr. Lowell, I've got you scheduled on a 4:37 flight out of JFK International. Straight shot to your destination if the weather stays nice."

"Thanks, Jennifer. I'm glad there's someone in this company I can count on."

"Sir, if I may?" she asked.

I slowly panned my gaze up from my phone and paused the email I was sending.

"Yes?" I asked.

"I know it's not my place, but you might want to check with the original contracting company we checked out."

"Why?" I asked. "What do you know?"

"I don't know anything. But I got an invoice a couple of hours ago from a contracting company that isn't the one we originally looked at. I think I know what they're doing."

"Talk to me then."

"I think they took our contract, then subcontracted out the work for cheaper than we're paying them. Subleasing, but for companies," she said.

"Can I see that invoice?" I asked.

"Sure thing."

I watched Jennifer dig around in her paperwork as I furrowed my brow. In some ways, it was a smart business move. If the business could pull it off right. Take a contract, do none of the work, and still take a percentage of the top. It was a lazy business, but it was a cunning business.

But it was screwing me over, and I wasn't going to have it.

My family's hotel company had been operating for over one hundred years. Passed on to every son in the family for generations. I was bred for the damn job from the time I was young. Obtained my business degree from Cambridge and was thrown straight into the belly of the beast. My father gave me a month to learn the ropes, and if I couldn't take it on then the business would be passed to my sister.

Cara.