by Serena Grey
I recognize the name even as the man blanches, involuntarily rubbing the nose in question, before turning and walking away. Evans Sinclair, the former owner of the Gold Dust Hotel.
Landon watches his retreating form with hard uncompromising eyes, and I’m reminded of Jack’s warning about his ruthlessness in business. “Well, that’s one person who doesn’t like you,” I say lightly.
“He happens to be one person whose good opinion I can do without.”
“Hey Red,” a familiar voice says from behind me. I turn around and see Cameron McDaniel’s broad smile and friendly eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still hanging out with this one,” he nods in Landon’s direction.
I smile back. “I hate to disappoint you but I still am.”
He shakes his head in an exaggerated gesture of mournfulness. “More’s the pity,” he intones.
“Shut up and stop bad mouthing me,” Landon says good-naturedly. They grin at each other and do the quick bro-hug thing, before Landon turns to the woman beside Cameron, a slightly built dark-haired woman whose tummy has a slight roundness pointing to early pregnancy.
“Hey Jules,” he says, kissing her on both cheeks, “how are you?”
“Knocked up.” She sighs and turns to me. “I’m Jules McDaniel, Cameron’s wife.”
“Rachel Foster. I’m here with Landon.”
“Okay.” She takes my hand and turns to her husband and Landon. “Where’s our table, or are you two planning to keep a pregnant woman standing all night?”
It’s almost comic the way her words galvanize them into action. They start off to find the table, engaging the help of an usher, who checks his chart and leads us to a table close to the raised podium, where a slideshow of dancers is showing on a huge screen.
The table is empty except for us. While Cameron is busy pulling out a seat for Jules, two additions show up to join us.
“I’m glad you could make it,” the distinguished looking older man with short silver hair and sparkling eyes says to Landon before his eyes skip to me. “Please introduce me to your lovely companion.”
Landon introduces us. The man is Nelson Bledsoe, a self-made cosmetics billionaire, who made his fortune developing and selling a line of men’s skin and hair care products. He’s also a sponsor of the ballet company. While Landon speaks, the man’s companion, a beautiful dark-haired girl with olive skin, sloe eyes, and a striking red mermaid gown, never takes her eyes off him.
While I’m still wondering if she’s his trophy girlfriend, Nelson turns to Landon. “I’m sure you don’t remember my daughter Davina. You met her once.”
“At my father’s funeral ten years ago,” Landon says, looking at her. “You’ve changed.”
She smiles. “So have you.”
Something about the exchange puts me on edge. Ten years ago, Landon was nineteen, and since the girl looks at least a few years younger than me, that puts her at about twelve or less, so definitely nothing could have happened between them at the time. Even so, there’s just something about the way she’s looking at him that makes me think that maybe she wants a lot more from this reunion than just hello.
“Davina served on the board for the gala this year,” her father says proudly. “She’s now a swan in her own right.”
“In San Francisco at least,” Davina says, in a tone that makes me think she’s more interested in conquering the rest of the world.
“Let’s sit.” Nelson pulls out a chair for his daughter while Landon does the same for me. I can’t help but notice that Davina is on his other side. He says something to her and she smiles, and I feel a thin sliver of jealousy slice its way through my stomach.
It’s ridiculous, I tell myself, ignoring the rich sound of Landon’s laughter as he discusses something with Nelson. I have absolutely no reason, no right to be jealous. I turn to Jules on my other side. She’s asking about my gown, while looking longingly at the glasses of champagne being consumed around the table. I answer her questions. While Cameron joins the conversation Landon is having with Nelson, Jules tells me about her work in restaurant management, through which she met her husband.
I hear Landon laugh again, and I turn to look at him, admiring the raw beauty in his profile. At that moment, he looks towards me and catches me staring. His piercing blue eyes hold mine, and he reaches for my hand under the table, squeezing it gently. In that moment, it’s just the two of us, nobody else exists, nobody else matters.
I turn away from his gaze, feeling confused and emotional.
“So Rachel,” Nelson says from across the table with a smile in my direction, “How would you compare the new San Francisco version to Swanson Court in New York?”
“I haven’t visited the New York hotel extensively, but from what I’ve seen, I’d say San Francisco tends more towards modern luxury, while New York is timeless elegance.”
“Well put.” Nelson nods.
“Modern luxury is the exact concept we had in mind for the refurbishment,” Landon adds. “It’s very gratifying that Rachel thinks we succeeded.”
I meet his eyes, and he’s looking at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Your team did an excellent job bringing out the concept in their design.”
“Landon lives at the Swanson Court,” Davina says pointedly, her eyes on me, “If you haven’t spent a lot of time there, then you two are not very close.”
‘Oh, we’re close,’ I want to tell her, just to wipe the smirk from her face, but I resist the urge. “We’re as close as we need to be, I’m only writing a feature on his hotel.”
“Hmm,” she smiles. “Of course.”
“Landon here has a knack for building hotels people can’t resist,” Nelson tells me. “His father would be so proud of him. Preston had all these dreams for expanding the Swanson Court hotels, and Landon is bringing them to life.”
My interest is piqued. “You knew Landon’s father?”
“Yes I did,” he says. “Preston and Alicia were close friends of mine, and they were spectacular, I tell you. Alicia was the pride of the New York Ballet Company, and Preston, well he was Preston. I remember when Alicia danced Odette in Swan Lake. It was phenomenal. I believe Gilt Style did a feature on her, called her the ‘Swan of New York.’”
Landon is still holding my hand, and I feel his fingers stiffen. Then he releases my hand and places his on the table, turning his gaze towards the exhibition of pictures on the large screen. His face is suddenly blank, his expression inscrutable. I remember the nightmare he had last night. All Nelson’s talk about his parents can only be awakening the painful memories from the day he lost his mother.
Feeling sad for him, I manage to change the subject, steering Nelson to conversations about his company. Food is served by solicitous waiters while the sponsors and chairs give their speeches. Later, we all move to the opera house across the street where the opening night performances will take place.
From the moment the curtain rises the first time, to the end of the last performance, the audience is transfixed. I enjoy the performances, thinking how Laurie would have loved to see them. I’m also worried about Landon, seeing how he might be reminded of his mother.
After the last performances, we have to go back across the street for the after party. Landon leads me to the dance floor, his hand at my waist molding my body to his as he moves in time to the slow ballad a popular singer is belting out from the stage.
I rest my head on his chest, breathing in the seductive scent of his cologne, the expertise with which he moves his body making me think of how well he uses it to give pleasure.
“Enjoying yourself?” He whispers the question into my ear.
I look up at him. “I am.”
He nods and continues to lead me in the dance.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask, still looking at his face.
His smile is sensual. “I have a lot to look forward to.”
The words make me shiver in anticipation, because I know exactly what he’s talking about, a
nd I feel the same way.
I take a breath, knowing I should change the subject before the lust that’s suddenly growing in my body takes over me completely.
“When Nelson was talking about your parents earlier…,” I start, almost faltering when a frown creases his brow, but I soldier on. “I just…I read about you on the internet, so obviously I found some news stories. I noticed that you were upset. I don’t know how it feels to lose someone, but I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “I wasn’t upset. I would just rather not think about it.”
I nod. “I can imagine.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t. Not really.” He’s looking straight ahead. “They were all in love with her, you know. Every single man in their circle, including Nelson Bledsoe. But she was crazy about my father. The rumors made her crazy. No matter how often he told her that they were lies. If he wasn’t right in front of her, she drove herself to jealousy imagining that he was with someone else.”
I’d read the tabloid rumors about Preston Court’s affairs. It would have been so easy for someone to believe them, especially someone who loved him.
“The day we had the accident, some busy body called her about yet another rumor. My father had recently decided to expand the hotels. He was trying to acquire property in L.A. She didn’t wait to hear his side. She took off her ring and left a note, then she bundled us in the car with all our favorite books and toys. So I knew that wherever we were going, we wouldn’t be back for a long time.” He takes a deep breath. “We never found out where she meant to take us. Car crashed. She died. End of Story.”
I stare at him, unable to process how painful it must have been. “Landon…”
“Aidan didn’t utter a word for the next five years,” he continues without emotion. “My father was never the same. People like to say he became a recluse, but the truth is, he abandoned me and Aidan in the hotel under the care of the staff and locked himself up in the house in Sand’s Point, trying to drink himself to death. One winter, he left the house in the middle of the night and went out into the water. By the time they found him in the morning, it was too late. He died of hypothermia, at forty-nine, a few feet away from a warm house.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, feeling the inadequacy of the words even as I say them. For one person to have so much pain, so many wounds… I can’t even begin to comprehend. An overwhelming instinct to comfort him takes over me, and I tighten my arms around him, holding him close as we dance. He doesn’t pull away, so I lay my head on his shoulder, feeling the reassuring thump of his heartbeat, so close to me.
“I don’t know why I told you all that,” I hear him say, “You shouldn’t think too much about it. It’s all ancient history.”
I look up at him. “But you dream about it,”
He stiffens. “What?”
I take a breath, wondering how he’ll take the knowledge that I witnessed his pain. “Last night, you were dreaming, and you said a few things. I didn’t want to wake you, because I was afraid you wouldn’t go back to sleep.” I pause, “It’s why you hardly sleep isn’t it, because you still dream about it.”
He doesn’t answer, but he moves back a little, putting some distance between us.
“Have you talked to anyone about it?” I ask, unwilling to leave the issue.
He considers me for a few moments. “Let it go,” he says finally.
I frown. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” he says quietly, “and just to be clear, it’s really none of your business.”
My body stiffens at the words that firmly and resolutely put me in my place. It’s not my business because, regardless of all the time we’ve spent together, I’m still just a girl he’s sleeping with.
I swallow, unwilling to acknowledge the tightness in my stomach, the shard of pain suddenly lodged in my chest. I force a smile to my lips. “You’re right, it isn’t.”
After that, we dance in silence, until Nelson cuts in, leaving Landon free to give Jules McDaniel a few twirls on the floor.
I dance with Cameron, and then another man, and yet another, determined to enjoy myself. The singer leaves the stage and a DJ takes over. The tempo of the music picks up and I dance with a white-haired man who twirls me round and round with much too much energy for someone his age.
I can feel Landon’s eyes on me most of the time, but I ignore him. Even when I see the swans converge on him, the beautiful socialites who had chaired the gala, I force myself to look away. I can’t pretend, even to myself that his words hadn’t hurt me. Why did I care so much? So what if he didn’t want to open up to me? It shouldn’t matter, and it wouldn’t, if I had just kept my feelings out of our arrangement.
When I get tired, I leave the ballroom to find the ladies room. Facing the large mirror over the sinks, I do the best I can to touch up my makeup before returning to the hall. Almost immediately, I see Landon at one end of the room with Davina Bledsoe, who is obviously flirting with him.
I don’t care. After tonight, he’s free to pursue her to the ends of the earth if that’s what he wants. In fact, I decide, he can start right now if he likes. There’s nothing preventing me from leaving this place. I turn towards the entrance and walk only two steps before someone blocks my way.
It’s the sneering man from earlier. “We didn’t get introduced before,” he says, leaning towards me. “I’m Evans Sinclair.”
I recoil from the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath. “I know.”
“Well then, you have me at a disadvantage. What’s your name?”
I hesitate. “Rachel Foster.”
“So Rachel Foster. Why don’t we have a little dance, you and I?”
“I’m sorry,” I manage a polite smile. “I’m tired.”
“Come on,” he cajoles. “If you can put it out for Landon then you can do the same for me.”
I look him up and down, annoyance at his rudeness making me want to say something nasty to him, but I control myself. “Go find someone else to insult,” I say dismissively, “You’re only making me bored.”
For a moment, he looks surprised. Then he looks across the room to where Landon is still talking with Davina.
He smirks. “He’s abandoned you already, hasn’t he? And you’re fucking him. Bastard. A few months ago, that was my sister. He’s been fucking her for years, told her he loved her. Then the moment he got her to convince the board of my hotel to make me sell it to him, he dropped her like the hot smelly potato she is. The bitch.”
He has a hateful expression on his face as he speaks, his anger coming off him in waves. I’m suddenly afraid that he would hurt me, just to spite Landon. I want to tell him that it wouldn’t be worth it, because Landon obviously does not give a damn about me.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I tell him in a measured tone. “It’s none of my business.”
“You’re a coward as well as a whore aren’t you? You can’t even face the truth about the man you’re fucking.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but don’t ever insult me again.” I push past him, dodging the hand he holds out to restrain me. What a douchebag!
I stalk to the entrance. The photographers are gone, and without the crush of people and cars of earlier, it feels cold and windy. I’m about to retrieve my phone from my purse and try to find a way to get a cab, when Landon appears beside me.
“Where’re you going?”
“What do you care?” I snap without looking at him.
There’s a short pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You should go back in there. I’m sure Davina is waiting, and you seemed to enjoy flirting with her. I don’t mind. I just don’t want to sit there and endure being harassed by someone who hates your guts.”
His jaw tightens. “What did Sinclair say to you?”
“Who cares? I’ve already forgotten.” I look up at his eyes. “Like everything else about you, it’s really none of my business.”
His face turns to granite. “Fine,” he says, “You want to leave, let’s go.” He brings out his phone to call the chauffeur, and the limo arrives almost immediately. I get in, staying on my side of the car, and looking determinedly out of the window. Tomorrow, I’ll be back home, I keep telling myself, and then I can put him, all this, behind me. I’ll never have to see him again.
The thought of never seeing him again hurts so much, my eyes start to ache with unshed tears.
At the Rosemont Royal, I leave him in the car and hurry through the lobby, getting to the elevator before he catches up with me. When he joins me, I move as far away from him as I can, keeping my eyes on the display panel. I can feel his eyes on me, but I ignore him.
As soon as the elevator doors open to the suite, I start to walk towards my room.
“Rachel.” His voice makes me stop in my tracks.
Slowly, I turn to face him. “What?”
He sighs. “Look, whatever Sinclair said to you… I’m sorry. I’m the one he hates, not you, and he really doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah… and neither do I, or this… whatever it is we’re doing. It doesn’t matter, because by tomorrow, we’ll be back home and it’ll be over.” I sigh, “Which is for the best anyway.”
He is silent for a long moment. “If you’re so eager for it to end,” he says finally, his voice cold, “we don’t have to wait till tomorrow.”
“Is that what you want?” I demand. “Is that why you told me so bluntly how your nightmares are none of my business and then spent the rest of the night flirting with every single socialite in San Francisco?”
“First of all, Yes, I believe my nightmares are my problem. I’ve dealt with them for twenty years. And to answer your question, I have spoken with people - therapists, doctors, name it - and they haven’t helped a damn. I didn’t ask for your pity, Rachel, and I don’t need it.”
I’d asked because I cared. I really cared, and to hear him dismiss it as pity is hurtful.
