“Hopefully it won’t come to that. Start with housekeeping and see how far we can get.”
“Sure will. Some of the maids are refusing to go in, though. Poor Shirley, the one who tossed her cookies, had to go home to recover. I said we’d cover her lost hours.”
Maddox leaned forward in his chair. “Of course. And offer the maids who will go in to clean double their usual wage. I presume you’re charging the Indonesians a fee for the cleaning?”
“Already on it. The head of the delegation was told this morning and said they will cover any necessary expenses.”
“So, problem handled.”
“Of course,” Oscar agreed smoothly. “I told you it was nothing major.”
“Any other small disasters I should know about?”
“One little dustup courtesy of Mrs. Russo’s Pomeranian.”
Mrs. Russo was a longtime guest, a seventy-year-old widow with a quirky sense of humor and an unwavering devotion to her furry little “pookie-ookie.” She took the dog everywhere she went, carried inside a small shoulder tote.
“Who’d Miss Wiggles snap at this time?”
“An eight-year-old who wanted to pet her. Reached out before anyone could say a word. But the kid’s okay. Didn’t break the skin and Mrs. R. apologized to the parents. All’s well.”
“God, let’s just hope that dog never actually takes a chunk out of anyone. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Oscar smiled. “Which is precisely why you have all those high-priced lawyers on retainer.”
Quite true.
At the reminder, his thoughts went instantly to Brie.
She’d looked like an angel this morning when he’d left her sleeping in bed, faint dawn light poking its way past the curtains, her short blond hair tousled around her face in a halo of gold.
He’d been tempted to switch off her alarm and let her sleep in for once, but knew she’d be angry at his interference. She was a professional just like him and had appointments to keep. So he’d brushed his mouth softly over hers, smiling when she’d murmured his name in her sleep. Then, he’d moved quietly through her apartment and let himself out the door.
He saw Oscar glance at his watch. Nine a.m. Time for his GM to get busy with his other duties.
“Before you go,” Maddox said, “I need an extra passkey for the penthouse.”
“Sure thing. Trouble with your current one?”
“No. It’s for Brie Grayson. She’s to have full access to my suite, the premium lounge, rooftop bar, pool, exercise and sauna facilities, and any other recreational areas I may have overlooked. Oh, and code it in so she can use my private street entrance as well.”
Oscar stared for a few seconds, eyes wide with surprise, before his face rearranged itself back into its usual expression of imperturbable professionalism. In all the years Oscar had worked for him, this was the first time Maddox had ever given one of his lovers a key to his penthouse and free run of the hotel.
But Brie was different. There hadn’t been anyone like her when she was twelve, and there most definitely wasn’t anyone who could match her now. She was, and always had been, brilliantly and uniquely one of a kind.
Maddox smiled inside at the thought, then tapped a couple of keys on his computer. “Have security put her on the access list and also inform the kitchen to fix her anything she likes, day or night. No charge and no restrictions.”
Oscar blinked again. “Of course. I’ll make all the necessary arrangements right away. Anything else you need me to handle?”
“No, I’m sure your plate is full enough already. See you later.”
Oscar nodded, then left the office.
As soon as he’d gone, Maddox leaned back in his chair again. With a sigh, he dragged his fingers through his hair, his mind still on Brie. Still on their holiday weekend together and everything that had transpired during those far-too-brief yet magical hours.
Honestly, it was as if he’d been put under some kind of spell. What the hell had he been thinking, blurting out a suggestion that they exchange keys? Usually it was the other way around, some latest fling asking him to take their relationship to the next level and let her start moving her stuff in—along with the expectation of a key.
But he’d never handed one out before. Whenever things got to the let’s-live-together stage, he would always break it off.
So how surprised had he been when the words had come buzzing off his tongue? How strange to be the one wanting to get more intimate rather than less.
If either of them was reluctant to move things forward in this relationship, it was Brie. She’d been wounded and didn’t trust easily. She guarded her heart like it was encased in titanium.
He’d felt that way himself for years. He’d tried marriage and quickly realized what a disaster that was. He wasn’t cut out for a lifelong commitment and had closed himself off to the possibility ages ago.
Of course he still wasn’t ready and as he’d told Brie, trading keys didn’t mean forever. She was having fun and so was he. This would just make the logistics easier.
His eyes narrowed as he thought again of Stephen Jeffries—Brie’s ex-lover that they’d run into on the beach. He wished he could have decked the guy, or at least kicked sand in his smug, blandly handsome face. He deserved it for whatever he’d done to hurt Brie.
She’d refused to furnish Maddox with any details and he hadn’t forced the issue. Of course that didn’t mean he couldn’t do a little looking on his own. Just to check the prick out and see what was what.
I shouldn’t, he thought.
Then he tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard.
* * *
Brie glanced at the clock and saw that the afternoon had zoomed past. She’d been busy-busy from the instant she’d walked off the elevator and straight into her paralegal Trish’s waiting grasp.
The three-day weekend had played havoc with her workload, particularly since she hadn’t checked her e-mail or logged on to her computer once while she’d been away. She’d told herself that one of the associates could handle any problems that cropped up over the holiday. And it wasn’t as if she’d turned off her phone. If there’d been a real emergency, they could have reached her.
Even so, Maddox was turning out to be a bad influence—although her mother and sisters would likely feel the opposite. They were always harping on her to take a break and relax every once in a while.
Well, boy oh boy, had she ever.
The beach weekend had been nothing short of idyllic, assuming she didn’t count the encounter with Stephen, and she’d decided not to.
Truly, she was over him. Now and for good.
If only she could say the same about Maddox.
Every time she saw him, she dug herself in deeper. And now she’d promised him a key to her apartment!
What was I thinking?
But strangely enough, she decided as she took a sip of the now lukewarm cup of English breakfast tea Gina had deposited on her desk several minutes ago, she didn’t regret it.
The frightened part of her—and there most definitely was a frightened part—told her to break things off now, while she still could. To run the other way and never look back.
But another part of her, a bigger part, knew it was already too late. However long this relationship with Maddox might last and however much deeper she might get in emotionally, she had to take the chance. She’d always been a risk taker, willing to stick her neck out in hopes of achieving her goals and dreams.
Was Maddox Monroe—the boy who’d once been the bane of her existence, the man who seemed determined to keep her off-balance at every turn—was he her newest dream?
Was a life with him what she really wanted?
But it was too soon to think about anything permanent. Just because she was going to let him come and go at will from her apartme
nt was no reason to think he wanted anything more than fun, convenient sex.
That’s what she ought to want as well. What she did want, she told herself.
She wasn’t in love with him yet and she planned to keep it that way.
She hoped.
It was a relief when her cell phone rang.
Then it wasn’t when she saw who was calling.
Maddox.
Jitters of nervous excitement beat their tiny wings inside her stomach. Jeez, you’d think she was fifteen years old. But when it came to Maddox, she always felt a little like an overly emotional teenager rather than the mature, confident, sophisticated woman she was.
Or liked to think she was anyway.
She hit “answer.” “Hello.”
“Hey, it’s me.” His deep voice sent a fresh round of quivers through her, but of a more adult variety this time.
“Hey, me,” she teased. “How’s your day?”
“Good. Yours?”
“Busy. But then, I’m usually busy.”
“Same here, but never too busy for you.”
A warm sensation grew like a little sun in her chest; she only barely kept from sighing with pleasure.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. Monroe, or is this a business call?”
“No. I trust that you’re working on everything for me, including the suit. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got meetings lined up here at the hotel tonight.”
“Oh.” Some of her playful happiness fizzled. “So don’t expect you for dinner—is that what you’re saying? What about later? Will you be over?”
“Actually, I was thinking you could come here tonight. We can have dinner in the penthouse around seven. Then I’ll have to head downstairs for a while. But I’ll be all yours afterward. What do you say? I have your key ready. I only have to give it to you.”
The warmth returned. “I have yours ready too. Are we really doing this, Monroe?”
“We are, Grayson.” His voice was low and husky. “We most definitely are.”
The flutters in her stomach turned into pinwheels, exploding ones.
“Ask for Oscar Johannas,” he told her. “He’s got everything arranged for you. From now on, you’ll be able to just breeze in and out at will.”
“Sounds good.”
Sounded great.
“Gotta go. See you at seven,” he said.
“Seven, it is.”
He hung up; it took her a few extra seconds to disconnect.
With a sigh, she went back to work, a secret little smile on her lips.
* * *
“Here is your elevator passkey, key card, and entry code for the private back entrance that Mr. Monroe and senior staff use,” Oscar Johannas explained. “Everything has been tested, so you should have no problems, but if you do run into trouble, just tell me or the head of security, Mr. Baxley. We’ll get it straightened out right away.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johannas,” Brie said.
“Oscar,” he corrected with a polite smile.
The pair of them were standing in the entry hall of the penthouse. Mr. Johannas, or rather Oscar, had insisted on escorting her upstairs to make sure she was settled in while she waited for Maddox. Apparently, he was still sequestered in one of his many meetings.
Oscar had been waiting for her to arrive, welcoming her by name only seconds after she’d walked into the elegant lobby. She remembered him from the first time she’d come to the hotel; he’d been the one to show her upstairs that time too. But whatever thoughts he might be having about the change in her relationship with Maddox, he didn’t say. Too well trained, no doubt.
Oscar proceeded to rattle off a list of the hotel amenities to which she was now entitled. Her eyes widened at the extent of Maddox’s generosity, including free foraging rights in his hotel kitchen. Lobster tails with drawn butter and beluga caviar at three a.m.—just ring room service.
At the end of the GM’s speech, she found herself unable to decide if she felt more like a VIP guest or a pampered mistress.
One thing was for sure—she didn’t feel like a girlfriend having a sleepover at her boyfriend’s place. It was a peculiar sensation for a modern businesswoman to have, to say the least.
“Is there anything I’ve forgotten to explain or any other way I may be of service to you, Ms. Grayson?”
“Brie. And hey, if I’m supposed to call you Oscar, then I insist you call me Brie.”
Oscar relaxed, a warm, genuine smile on his face. “Brie, it is. So, anything more I can do?”
“There is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know how to work the coffeemaker in this place? I’ve got briefs to review tonight and I may need the caffeinated support to make it through.”
His smile got wider. “Sure. Follow me to the kitchen and I’ll get you set up.”
Once the lesson was over—Maddox’s ultrasophisticated stainless steel coffee/latte/cappuccino steam machine wasn’t nearly as daunting as it looked—she asked the question that she just couldn’t get out of her mind.
“So, do you do this often?”
“Do what?”
“Show Maddox’s girlfriends around the place?”
His dark eyes gleamed; he shook his head. “No, Brie. I can truthfully say you’re the first.”
“Oh.” A satisfied glow formed in her chest as it had earlier that day.
“We’re a family here, so once again, welcome. Everyone is pleased to see Maddox so happy.”
“Is he?”
“Yes, and now that we’ve become further acquainted, I can understand why.”
She smiled, far more flattered than she wished to admit.
“Good evening, Brie. Paul will be up any minute with your meal. Maddox should be finished with his meeting and on his way up shortly.”
“Good night.”
Quietly, Oscar saw himself out.
* * *
It was nearly midnight when Maddox returned to his penthouse for the second time that evening.
The first time had been to enjoy a delicious but far-too-brief meal with Brie; then he’d been off for another round of discussions with some investors interested in his overseas expansion plans. Quite legitimately, he could have included Brie in the conversation, but at this early stage, he’d found that it was better to leave the lawyers out of the equation, even if Brie did happen to be more than a hired adviser.
He locked the door behind him and walked through the darkened apartment toward the main source of illumination.
He found Brie in the dining room. Her laptop screen saver displayed a picture of a herd of black-and-white striped zebras, while stacks of papers and reports were spread everywhere around her. A half-empty cappuccino in a white china cup had grown cold near her elbow and she was sound asleep, one cheek pillowed atop a lined yellow legal pad, a pen slack between the fingers of her right hand.
A low, delicately ladylike snore escaped from her lips. He grinned at the sound, knowing he would once have relished it as prime fodder for teasing. But now he thought it was one of the most adorable things he’d ever heard and luckily not something she did as a rule. He would keep it to himself, knowing better than to mention it to her when she was awake.
If she’d been resting in a more comfortable position, he would have left her to sleep. But if she stayed this way for long, she would end up with a crick in her neck. She would get a far better night’s sleep in bed.
He snapped off the overhead light, leaving only a single lamp on in the adjacent living room to ward off the darkness. Bending over her, he pressed his lips ever so softly against her cheek.
“Brie-Brie,” he whispered. “Sweetheart, time to go to bed.”
Her eyelids fluttered slightly and she mumbled something unintelligible under her breath, then sighed
and went on sleeping.
He chuckled softly. “Hey, sleepyhead, wakey, wakey.”
This time she roused a little more. “Wha—Maddox? Is that you?”
“Yes. Come on. Let’s get you up out of that chair so you can go to bed.”
“’S your meeting over? What time is it?”
“About midnight. I just got in.”
She blinked and sat up, pushing her tousled hair out of her face. “Hmm, sorry. Guess I conked out on you.”
“You were tired. Why didn’t you just go ahead and go to bed?”
“I had work.” She yawned widely, blinked again. “Still do. Wow, I really dropped off.” She glanced sleepily around at all the papers and her notes. “Let me heat this coffee up again and I’ll finish up.”
“No, no more coffee and no more work. Not tonight anyway.” He took the pen out of her hand, then reached out to shut off her computer.
“Hey, I was using that.”
“You can use it again tomorrow. Everything will be waiting for you in the morning.”
“I know, but . . .”
“You’re about to drop.” He urged her to her feet. “You’ll function better with a solid eight hours under your belt.”
“But I’ve got to be up by five so I can run home and change and get into the office by seven thirty.”
“You’re a partner now. You can go in late every once in a while and no one will say a word.”
“Yes, but—”
“I already asked Oscar to pick up a few suits for you in your size. They should be hanging in the closet. And he’s arranged for all your favorite bath products, toothbrush, brush, comb, and other essentials. You’ll need an extra set of everything for the nights you’ll be spending here, so I thought I’d get you started.”
She scowled, trying to rouse the requisite outrage over his high-handed actions, but as he could see, she was just too tired. “You’re . . . you’re . . .”
“Yes? What am I?” Bending, he scooped her into his arms.
She gasped.
Mad About the Man Page 19
