Chapter 4
Cara
I would’ve done anything to get my breakthrough story, and since I didn’t get to interview Beau, I was about to write an exposé about Calvin and his troubled reputation in his hometown, despite my promise. But when the Sweet Bay gossip chain got to me and I found out what all he was going through, I couldn’t bring myself to kick a man when he was down.
I stopped at the florist to pick up a bouquet of flowers, even though I wasn’t sure if that was the appropriate thing to do for a guy. I got the most manly-looking thing they had — a peace lily in a woven planter. Then I headed to the hospital. A quick stop at the receptionist’s desk told me what room Calvin’s brother was in.
Turns out, he wasn’t just drunk when he showed up at the party and made a scene; he had a brain tumor. Calvin might not have liked his brother much more than anybody else did, but he was his family, so I knew he had to be hurting.
I’d also heard that Calvin had a fight with Layla, and their relationship crashed before it got off the ground. Calvin had been stuck in the hospital for a few days, waiting to find out if his brother would live or die. I figured I could at least give Calvin some flowers and offer my sympathies.
As I approached the door to Steven’s room, I heard Calvin answer his cellphone. I didn’t want to interrupt him, so I waited out of sight outside the door for him to finish. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t stop myself when I heard who he was talking to.
Beau Bennett.
I couldn’t hear what Beau was saying, but he must’ve apologized for not showing up to the party, because Calvin said, “It’s all right. I’m glad you’re okay now.”
Calvin stayed quiet for several more seconds while Beau spoke. Then he replied, “Sure, you can stay at the resort. I can’t promise no one will find out, but we’re not fully open yet, so hardly anyone will be there. You can have the penthouse suite. The official opening is supposed to be next Monday, but we may have to delay that.”
Beau didn’t bother asking Calvin about the delay; he was obviously wrapped up in his own issues. And Calvin didn’t tell him about the crisis he was going through. It made me feel sorrier for Calvin and even more irritated with Beau.
But anticipation fizzed up in my bloodstream like carbonation. I had to clamp my mouth shut to keep it from bubbling out of me. If Beau was going to stay at the resort, that meant I had another chance to write my breakout story. I just had to find a way to get close to him without him knowing I was a reporter.
As soon as Calvin hung up the phone, I took a deep breath to calm my shakiness then forced myself to act sad and sympathetic instead of wired with excitement as I entered.
The hospital room stank like body odor, engine grease, and nervous sweat. Steven lay on the bed, looking half dead, tubes coming out of him. A monitor flashing with red and green lights was the only sign he was still alive. His younger brother, Jeremy, played video games on his phone in one corner, the loud beeps and chimes breaking the silence. Their father snoozed in a chair in the other corner, resting his head on his arms which were folded over his large belly. Calvin gave me a gentle smile. He had on the same suit he wore to the party, and he looked like he hadn’t slept, eaten, or showered since then.
“Hi Calvin.” I held out the plant, and he took it with a grateful nod.
“Hey Cara. I’m sorry you weren’t able to get that interview at the party.”
I held my breath for a moment, wondering if he’d offer me another shot since Beau was coming to stay at the resort, but no, he was trying to protect him.
“Maybe I can give you an interview some other time?” I wasn’t sure if he was trying to help me or help himself, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I wasn’t interested in writing a nice but boring story about him and his resort.
“Yeah, sure, maybe later. How’s your brother doing?”
Calvin looked at Steven with pain and uncertainty clouding his eyes. “He’s in a coma. We’re hoping to hear the doctor’s plan today.”
I gave Steven my own look of sympathy. I didn’t know him well, and what I did know about him wasn’t good, but no one deserved that. Then I turned my sympathy towards Calvin. Steven was sick, but at least he wasn’t suffering at the moment. Calvin definitely was.
“I’m so sorry, Calvin.” There wasn’t anything else to say. I didn’t want to offer platitudes that probably weren’t true.
Calvin nodded grimly. We stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments. We weren’t close enough to have much to say to each other, but I didn’t want to leave so soon after arriving. Finally, I settled on the one thing we had in common.
“I thought your party went well. Everything looked great, and you had a nice turn out. Did you get a lot of applicants?”
“Thanks, yeah. I think so. To be honest, I’ve been too focused on Steven to think about it.”
He didn’t mention it, but I was sure he was upset about Layla, too, and she was his assistant, so he was left dealing with things on his own. I felt so sorry for him, I decided it wouldn’t kill me to write a positive story about him and the resort for the newspaper instead of a sensational one to submit to the tabloids. At least I could help his business, if not his personal life.
But I didn’t change my mind about Beau. Ideas gurgled in my brain, ways I could get the scoop on him. Calvin had said he would see him tomorrow, so that gave me one day to think of a plan. After a bit more stilted conversation, I made an excuse and left the hospital, eager to start brainstorming.
By the next day, I hadn’t come up with any great ideas, and I was starting to doubt my competency for celebrity journalism. How did the tabloid reporters get their stories? They must keep their eyes peeled and their ears to the ground.
All I could think of to do was to go to the resort and stake out his room, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Maybe if he went somewhere, I could follow him. If I knew how to wiretap, and if it wasn’t illegal, I’d bug his room, but my detective skills were more along the lines of holding a glass up to a door to eavesdrop.
I knew the key to getting away with being places you weren’t supposed to be was confidence, so I headed to the resort like I had a perfectly valid reason for being there. I just hoped nobody asked me what it was. I couldn’t even tell people I was there to interview Calvin since he was probably still at the hospital.
Michael, the valet, chuckled under his breath when I handed him my scooter keys, but, thankfully, he didn’t ask me what I was doing there. I wished I could just park by the curb instead. What if I needed to make a quick escape? I decided I should watch more James Bond movies to figure out some espionage tricks.
The place was a lot emptier than it had been during the party. Now I could actually see all the way across the lobby. Of course, that meant I was more noticeable, too. The perky woman at the check-in desk made eye contact and smiled at me. My stomach clenched up, and I cracked my stiff face into a smile. My first instinct was to hide behind a plant, but I was being Bond, not Johnny English.
Should I approach her? Give her some excuse why I was there? Or should I just keep walking? The only excuse I’d come up with was to say I’d left something there at the party, but what if she took it upon herself to help me look for it? I might not be able to get away from her to go upstairs.
Thankfully, someone else stepped up to her desk, distracting her for a moment. I resisted the urge to run and strolled casually towards the elevators, ignoring her, hoping she’d buy my confidence as belonging. I didn’t feel confident, though. On the inside, I was shaking like a pan of half-set Jell-O.
The time between when I pushed the button on the elevator and when the doors finally spread open was the longest ten seconds of my life. When it finally came, the little chime felt like the bell they ring at the end of a boxing match. I’d survived to fight another round.
With one last glance behind me to make sure the receptionist wasn’t stalking after me, I slipped into the elevator and hit the butto
n for the top floor. My lungs expelled the breath I’d been holding, and my body flopped around like an untied balloon. Was being a spy always this draining?
I used the short elevator ride to calm myself, taking several deep breaths. By the time the doors opened again, I’d bolstered my strength enough to puff up my chest and hold my head high as I exited. But the metal plaque right outside the elevator immediately told me I wasn’t where I thought I was.
The top floor should’ve been the penthouse suite, but the sign gave directions to a dozen different rooms. Were there a dozen penthouse suites, or was I not on the top floor? I walked to the end of the hallway where there was a door with a staircase sign. Sure enough, one look revealed stairs going both ways.
I slipped out the door and climbed the stairs one last level. When I peeked around the door at the top of the stairs, I discovered a luxurious, secret floor. All the halls in the resort were nice, with elegant, tropical-themed wallpaper and carpeting, but this floor upped the opulence even more, with thick crown molding and pretty, pineapple-shaped sconces mounted on glossy, teak wall panels. The carpet was so thick, it could pass for soundproofing.
Another elevator sat at the other end of the hall. It must be a secret elevator, just for penthouse guests! Maybe there was a secret entrance for them, too. I’d have to do more snooping to find out. Another set of stairs was at that end, too.
Suddenly, the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. I panicked and flung myself through the door to the stairwell, yanking it almost closed behind me but holding it open a crack so it wouldn’t make noise. I hadn’t picked any locks or snuck in the window, but I knew I didn’t belong there. I couldn’t afford to draw any attention to myself if I wanted the chance to snoop on Beau.
I pressed my ear to the crack, but I could barely hear over the pounding of my heart and my labored breathing. I held my breath, and that allowed me to make out a male voice I didn’t recognize. When he was far enough away that I thought it was safe, I poked my head out enough so I could see.
Beau Bennett was fifteen feet in front of me! The thick, dark, finger-tousled hair and chiseled, stubbly jawline looked exactly like they did in the movies, only more real. He wore loose, faded jeans, and a tee shirt, like any normal guy, but he filled them out just right. They were probably designer, and that’s why they looked so much better.
The guy beside him wore black slacks and a white dress shirt with a pearl tone tie. The logo embroidered on his shirt told me he was a staff member. He guided Beau towards the door in the middle of the hall. “This is your suite, Mr. Bennett. You should have complete privacy up here.”
He swiped his card in the door and swung it open, and the two disappeared into the suite. Several minutes later, the employee came out alone and headed back for the elevator. I pulled back from the door so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of me, although I was sure he could hear my heart thumping.
As soon as he was gone, my heart rate settled down a bit. I sat there for a long time, till my heart slowed down so much I thought I might fall asleep. How long would I have to sit there, waiting for something to happen?
Beau had just arrived, so he probably wouldn’t leave any time soon. In fact, he could stay in there for days if he wanted to. I was sure room service would deliver all his meals. The space was probably bigger than my whole house and had every luxury he could want.
Except for company, of course. He’d gone in alone, so I assumed he was staying there by himself. He had a reputation as a playboy, and the tabloids linked him with a different celebrity every week, it seemed. I cringed at the thought of watching a stream of women flowing in and out of his room. Would he have women visiting him?
When two hours went by and no one had come in or out of Beau’s room, I stood up to stretch my cramped legs. My butt was getting cold and sore from sitting on the concrete. My job at the newspaper didn’t require me to sit in the office for eight hours a day; as long as I turned in my articles on time, I could come and go as I pleased. So, I had the time to watch Beau’s room, but even if he came out, what was I going to do? Jump out and stick a notepad under his nose, demanding an interview?
I couldn’t even pretend I was staying on the same floor and use the elevator at the same time. All I could do was try to follow him once he got downstairs. Maybe he’d go to the pool or the beach. But there was no story in that! The best I could do would be to reveal his hiding spot.
No, if I was going to get a good story on Beau Bennett, I needed to get up close and personal. But how was I going to do that? The only person who had any reason to go near his room was the room service guy and the maid.
Suddenly, a brilliant plan popped into my head. It was daring and risky, and just attempting it might ruin my chances, and my reputation, but if it worked, I’d have more insider information about Beau Bennett than anyone.
I stayed in the stairwell the rest of the evening on the off chance that Beau might decide to go somewhere. I was hoping he’d head into town and look for a bar where he might get drunk and do something crazy, but his door stayed closed except for the few moments when room service brought him his dinner.
Exhausted even though I’d done nothing, I headed home around ten, taking the stairs down a floor so I could catch the elevator. I couldn’t try to execute my plan until morning. I slept restlessly, tossing and turning as I debated my sanity. How could I ever pull this off without getting caught?
The next morning, my eagerness woke me up at the crack of dawn, even before my alarm went off. I quickly dressed and motored down to the resort, but I didn’t want to risk anyone knowing I was there, so instead of pulling into the driveway, I left my scooter in a parking lot a few blocks away and walked down to the beach.
It was early enough, the stretch of golden sand was mostly empty, tempting me to take a stroll on the beach to calm my racing nerves. But I didn’t have time for that, even though gentle waves lapped at the shore, beckoning me like a siren call, and the bright, morning sun sparkled on the teal blue water. I ignored their lure and headed up the wooden walkway to the resort.
From there, I was able to slip in one of the back doors. I trolled the hallways, ducking around corners and into alcoves whenever I heard someone coming over the sound of my own pulse, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible. Eventually, I found the stairwell I’d hidden in yesterday, in a quiet niche with a door leading out to a driveway along the side of the resort. It would be easy for a high-profile guest to enter there without being spotted.
Sure enough, there was an elevator next to it, with a sign that said, “Private Penthouse Access Only.” Beside it was a place to swipe a keycard. I pushed the button anyway, but it didn’t open. It didn’t matter. If my plan worked, soon enough I’d have my own pass.
I took the stairs up a level so I wouldn’t have to go into the lobby and risk drawing the attention of the receptionist. Then I rode the main elevator up as far as it would go and climbed the stairs to the penthouse level. I took my familiar hiding spot again and settled in to wait.
My anxiousness cooled as I sat there for several hours, staring at the plain, white stairwell walls and wondering if my plan was doomed to failure. It was almost 11 by the time the elevator opened and a girl wearing a white smock over street clothes, her sandy brown hair in a long ponytail, pushed a cart full of cleaning supplies into the hallway. I guess I should’ve expected she wouldn’t come around until checkout time.
I jumped up, stumbling a bit on my numb legs, then pushed the stairwell door open. The maid whipped her head around at the sound. I grinned at the familiar face of a girl I’d gone to high school with. Sometimes, it was helpful to know most everyone in town. “Emma.”
“Cara? What are you doing here?” Her ponytail swung as she looked over her shoulder like she was the one in a place she didn’t belong.
I kept my voice low, and my eyes darted back and forth between the hall and the elevator. My body was coiled like a spring, ready to bounce if I saw anyone. “Trying
to make my own opportunities. I have a proposition for you.”
She wrinkled her brow and nodded slowly, leaning on her cart. “Go on.”
“I want to do your job for you, for free.”
Her face twisted up in disbelief, and she pulled herself upright again. “Why would you do that?”
I glanced down the hall at Beau’s room. Did she know who was in there? “Let’s just say the person staying in the penthouse suite is of special interest to me. I want to collect some intel on him. If you give me your keycard and let me be his maid, you can relax while I do your work for you.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Who’s staying in there?”
“I can’t tell you, but it’s nobody you’d care about. Just some businessman I’d like to write an article about. Come on, Emma, please?” It worried me a little how easy the lie rolled off my tongue.
She crossed her arms and shook her head, flicking her ponytail. “You’re crazy, you know that, right? You’re gonna get caught. This is Sweet Bay. There’s no such thing as a secret here.”
Her words twisted the spring of tension inside me even tighter. “I know, but I’m willing to risk it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Emma put her hands on her trim hips and pursed her lips. “What about my risk? I could get fired. I need some compensation.”
I sighed. I hadn’t planned on having to pay her, but I suppose she was right. I couldn’t really afford it, but this was my only chance. I had to consider it an investment in my future. “Okay, how much?”
“A day’s pay for every day.”
She was already going to collect her paycheck without having to do the work; now she wanted to make double? I opened my mouth to protest but then shut it. Quickly calculating how much that was, based on the wage I assumed she was making, I decided I could afford a few days. If I hadn’t gotten anywhere by then, I’d have to reevaluate.
Stalking the Billionaire Celebrity (Sweet Bay Billionaires Book 2) Page 3
