by Pamela Yaye
Drawing her to him, he loved her mouth with a gentleness she had never known, but wanted to explore at the deepest, most intimate level. Enraptured in the moment and wanting to give herself completely to him, she considered coming clean about who she really was. Telling the truth would alleviate her guilt, but Sage didn’t trust that Marshall would understand. She had done a lot of things she wasn’t proud of and there was a good chance he wouldn’t forgive her. Sage turned away from her thoughts. This was business, nothing personal. If she could keep her eyes on the prize, and off Marshall, there’d be no stopping her. She’d have the signing bonus and the executive manager position, shocking her boss, her coworkers, and her competitors. Coming to her senses, she turned away, breaking off the kiss. “I gotta go.”
“Stay.” He looked like a sad kid who’d dropped his ice-cream cone on the pavement. “We’re going to watch Set It Off, remember?”
Sage had done a lot of underhanded things while working at Sapphire Entertainment, but she had never mixed business with pleasure. Not even when Damien Jaymes, a platinum-selling R & B crooner had pursued her. Gifts were returned unopened, flowers were trashed and she never answered any of his calls. She had been tempted before and withstood the heat, so why couldn’t she do that with Marshall? “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” she said.
She tried to stand, but her legs felt like sandbags.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” he asked, his eyes skimming her face. “I want you to stay. We’re having a good time, aren’t we?”
His voice dripped with arrogance, infuriating her. “Two hours ago you were flirting with that hoochie at the pizza parlor, and now you’re out here kissing me. You must think you’re slick.”
Marshall shook his head slowly, the intensity of his gaze beating down on her like the tropical sun. “Khari said you were jealous, but I didn’t believe him.”
“I’m not. I don’t get jealous. I’m bigger than that.”
“Then stay.”
“No, thanks.”
Marshall had heard the sarcasm in her voice, but didn’t react. “You look mad. Is everything okay?”
“Just peachy.”
“No hard feelings?”
She faked a smile. “None whatsoever.”
“Good,” he said, standing. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s not necessary. I know where it is,” she snapped.
“I want to see you off. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“A gentleman would never insult his guest.”
Marshall decided to play his hunch. If he was wrong, he’d just have to apologize later. “Are you mad because I said you were young, because we kissed or because you wanted more? Which one is it?”
“None of the above.” Her voice was loud, squeaky like a ventriloquist.
“That kiss was something though, wasn’t it?”
Sage opened her mouth to clarify who kissed who, but it was Khari’s voice she heard behind her. “I could hear you guys yelling from up the block!”
For the first time ever, Marshall was not happy to see his son. “You’re home early,” he said, consulting his watch. “You have half an hour left on your curfew.”
“I know, but they were watching Friday After Next, and I’ve seen that movie a thousand times.” Khari tried to wipe the smirk from off his face, but it only got wider. “Dad, you must be real angry. Your left eye is twitching.”
Sage felt a strange compulsion to giggle, so she turned away.
“What were you guys arguing about?” Khari asked, a knowing look on his face. “Sage, are you still mad at Pops because he dissed you at Dominos pizza joint?”
A grin eclipsed Marshall’s face. “Speak up, Sage. Inquiring minds want to know.”
Shock prevented her from speaking. Sage had never been so embarrassed. Getting drunk at the agency’s New Year’s Eve party two years ago and dirty dancing with the lead singer of the calypso band paled in comparison. Seeing Marshall’s smug I’m-the-man expression infuriated her to the bone. “No one’s angry, and I’m not jealous.” Or am I? The question reverberated in her mind as loud as a megaphone. To deflect attention from herself, she turned to Khari and asked, “How was Oakley’s?”
“It was cool. We just hung out in his basement listening to music and talking about the senior trip. Everyone’s really hyped about it.” Eyes narrowed in thought, he snapped his fingers. “Hey, Dad, why don’t you invite Sage? She could keep you company on the slopes.”
Marshall gestured toward Sage. “She’s right here, son. Why don’t you ask her yourself? It’s your big weekend.”
“Okay, I will.” Smile in place, Khari sat down beside Sage on the bench. “Next Friday, the senior class is going to North Hill Ski Lodge. There’ll be snowboarding, skiing and hiking. Saturday night is the dinner and award show. Guess who’s up for Athlete of the Year?”
“That’s great, Khari!” she said, with a bright smile. “Is Destiny going to be your date for the party?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What did she say when you asked her?”
“I sent her a text message when I was at Oakley’s, but she hasn’t replied yet.”
Sage frowned. “A text? Why didn’t you call her?”
Khari shook his head. “Naw, it’s not that serious.”
“Is that what you boys do nowadays? Send girls text messages asking them out?” Marshall asked, bewildered. “You have a cell phone. Use it to talk.”
“Talk? I don’t have time to sit on the phone yapping. That’s girl stuff. Back in your day they sent telegrams, huh, Dad?” he quipped.
Sage howled. Her uncharacteristic laugh drew the attention of both father and son. Cupping a hand over her mouth to stifle her chuckles, she jabbed Khari playfully in the ribs. “That was a good one, Khari. You’re hilarious!”
“It wasn’t that funny,” Marshall grumbled, pulling up his jacket collar.
“Will you come? Please?” Khari begged, a hopeful look on his face.
“I’m sure your dad already invited the woman from the pizza joint, and I don’t want to ruin their romantic weekend.”
“Dad’s on his own, unless he wants to hang out with the other chaperones, but most of them are middle-aged soccer moms.”
“Then he should fit right in. He loves older women.”
Marshall’s face shriveled up like a nudist in a meat locker.
“You prefer women who bake bread from scratch and still do the Bump, don’t you?” she jeered, ignoring the fiery glaze in his eyes.
“That’s right. I do. Older women don’t play games.”
If Khari wasn’t listening in, Sage would have cursed Marshall out, but since she was the mature one, she decided to take the high road. “Khari, I really hope you win Athlete of the Year. You deserve it.”
“Please come,” he begged, sliding down to one knee, and clasping his hands. “This year’s going to be off the hook and I want you and Dad there on my big night.”
Sage paused. Spending the weekend with Khari without any other sports agents popping up or calling was a golden opportunity. Her intuition told her if she went on the trip, she’d sign him. But Marshall would be there, watching her with the keen eyes of a hawk. He’d insulted her, kissed her until she saw stars, then laughed in her face. Defiance hardened her features. It was a risk, but why should she miss hanging out with Khari because Marshall didn’t want her there?
Instead of accepting the invitation and thumbing her nose at Marshall, she told Khari to have a good time. “When you get back, I’ll take you out to celebrate.” Standing, she descended the steps, waved goodbye and hurried through the side gate.
Chapter 8
Shopping bags in hand and a catchy reggae tune in her head, Sage sailed through the sliding-glass doors of The Four Seasons Hotel. Catching sight of her reflection in the square antique mirror, she ran a hand through her hair. She looked every bit as fabulous as she felt. Her belted red coat emphasized he
r slender waist, and skinny jeans elongated her legs. Razor-cut bangs and the golden highlights throughout her locks emphasized her bold, trendy, uptown look.
Pausing at the front desk, she surveyed the opulent lobby. Natural sunlight splashed on the gleaming floors, water gushed from a bronze fountain and the bucketed armchairs and sofas in the waiting area invited rest and conversation.
An ultratanned woman sat near the fireplace, men clustered by the hotel bar and a family of five waited for the elevator. The doors slid open and a well-groomed man in a tailored suit emerged. Thick black hair, which Sage could imagine spilling between her fingers, tumbled across his forehead, and behind his designer eyeglasses were the bluest, richest eyes she’d ever seen.
He caught her staring, and the corners of his mouth rose in greeting. His smile pierced her like an arrow to the heart. Licking her lips, she grunted quietly. Now, that was the kind of man she should be with—someone who would wine her and dine her and look good doing it. He was obviously successful. A mover, a shaker, a man who carried plastic, not cash. Unlike that buffoon Marshall, the stranger had finesse, class, style. And she’d bet he didn’t own plaid shirts or scuffed shoes.
All Marshall had going for him was that he was tall. And that he knew how to kiss. Her eyes drifted shut as memories of last night consumed her. Who knew perfection came in six-foot-six packages? And more importantly, where in the world did an ex-marine learn to kiss like that? When their lips came together she’d heard sparks crackle. It was a powerful jolt. She wanted to push him off, wanted to curse him out for touching her, but desire overpowered her like an assailant lurking in the shadows. Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro in her Jimmy Choos would’ve been easier than resisting his moist, supple lips and strong, eager hands.
Forcing her eyes open, she glanced around the reception area. The handsome stranger was gone. Damn that Marshall! Fantasizing about him had cost her a date with a Greek stallion. In her mind, she had pitted the two men against each other. Marshall didn’t have an expense account, he couldn’t whisk her away to St. Barts for the weekend and he didn’t own a summer home. But what really stood out about him was not the way his eyes glowed when he was amused or his thick lips, but how much he loved his son, his family and his community.
Sage didn’t know anything about the Greek stallion, but she doubted he was generous with his time or money. Jet-setting around the world, brokering deals and wooing investors left little time for humanitarian work. Or relationships. Look at Tangela. Her best friend was in love with a man who was too busy to marry her.
Inhaling the subtle scent of ginger drifting over from the hotel bar, she considered her last serious relationship. Dating accomplished men certainly had its privileges. Spur-of-the-moment trips, fine dining at celebrity hotspots and jewelry. It was too bad Antwan worked twelve-hour days and could only see her once a week. Is that what she wanted? A life of wealth and luxury but no one to share it with?
“Miss?”
“Hell, no!”
“Excuse me?”
Sage blinked. The astute-looking man behind the marble counter was frowning at her. “I’m in the Ashor suite,” she explained, hoping to expunge his scowl with her smile. “Are there any messages for me?”
He consulted the computer. “No telephone messages, but there is a note here about your room. Your employer paid the charges for last week, so we will need a new credit card to bill for the remainder of your stay.”
“I don’t understand. Sapphire Entertainment is paying the bill.”
“Correction, they were paying for it. According to our records, a Ms. Josie Unger called to say you are on your holidays and the company is no longer responsible for your lodging. You do know Ms. Unger, don’t you?”
Sage nodded, realization dawning like a new day. Leo had been true to his word and had ordered his secretary to call and remove the company credit card from the bill. Great for him, but trouble for her. While the concierge answered the phone, Sage considered what to do. After blowing a thousand dollars on winter clothes, boots and accessories, she couldn’t afford to charge anything else on her American Express card. And a one-month bill at an upscale hotel could buy her a used car. She thought of phoning Leo, but rejected the idea. Her boss wouldn’t take her call, and even if he did, what would she say? “Pay my hotel bill. I’m broke.” She didn’t have a case, so why even bother?
“Do you have a corporate rate?” she asked, hopeful something could be worked out. Favoring the older gentleman with a smile, Sage twirled a lock of hair around her forefinger. “This is such a lovely hotel and the staff is so efficient. I’d hate to have to check out, but two hundred dollars a night is a little steep.”
“How long do you anticipate staying?”
“Three weeks.”
“Very well, then, let me see what I can do for you.” Eyes focused on the computer screen, his nimble fingers flittered over the keyboard. “My apologies for the delay, Ms. Collins, but our server has been on the blink all morning.”
“No problem,” she told him, lowering her bags to her feet. But after three nerve-racking minutes, Sage bent over the counter and pointed at the monitor. “Is that the total?” she asked, convinced her prayers had been answered. “Two thousand dollars and eighty-two cents?”
His smile was guarded but polite. “Ms. Unger said you were on vacation.”
“That’s right. I am.”
“Then I can’t charge you the corporate rate. It’s for business travelers.”
“It’s a working vacation,” she explained, feeling the reduced rate slipping from her grasp. “You can call my boss, Mr. Leo Varick, to verify my story,” she said. Aware that her boss didn’t answer unknown calls, she rattled off the number to his private line and thanked the concierge profusely when he dialed.
“Hello. This is Pascal Ferdinand from The Four Seasons hotel in downtown Indianapolis. Is this Mr. Varick?” A pause, then, “He’s not available. I understand. Might you be able to answer a question for me, Mr. Woodrow?”
Sage wanted to scream. Throw her head back, open her mouth and let one rip. God must have it in for her. Or get a laugh out of her misfortunes. Why else would that jerk Brian have intercepted the call?
“I’m here with one of his employees. Ms. Collins would like the corporate rate on the Astor suite, but I have to confirm that she’s indeed in town on business.”
Her stomach twisted in knots.
“Oh—” he lifted his eyebrows and raised his voice in surprise “—she’s not here on business. She’s on a personal holiday.”
Cheeks burning with humiliation, Sage opened her wallet, extracted her Visa credit card and slapped it down on the counter. “Forget it. I don’t have time to haggle over a few bucks.”
To her shock, the concierge cupped a hand over the mouthpiece and said, “One moment. I’ll be right with you.” In response to something said, the man laughed loud and hardy. “Is that right, Mr. Woodrow?”
Another round of chuckles.
Aggravated that he was talking to Woodrow and that she was the butt of their jokes, Sage reached across the counter, disconnected the call and leveled him with a smoldering gaze. “You were saying?”
Lugging her suitcase from the elevator, Sage was so tired and so hungry that her legs were beginning to give way. In her haste to check out of the Four Seasons hotel and lug all her gear, she had sore feet and a cramp in her left thigh.
Unsure of where her room was, she stopped in the middle of the hall to catch her breath. Where the hell was the bellman? Five hours ago, she had reclined in bed, eating crepes, watching the cast of Gossip Girl on The Tyra Show. Now she was in a one-star motel that reeked of fried chicken and Newport cigarettes. When she pulled up to the motel entrance, there’d been no valet to park her car. A crisp, suit-clad bellman didn’t welcome her and the overdeveloped teenage girl at the front desk was painting her press-on nails.
Sage peered around the corner. The numbers were getting smaller. Wrong way. Taking the right,
she walked briskly down the hall. Room doors were wide open, expelling nicotine and cigar fumes, but she didn’t dare look inside. Gangsters could be in there plotting their next job, and Sage didn’t want any trouble.
Her thoughts drifted back to that morning. When the desk clerk had given her the total for a one-month stay, she swiped her credit card from his hand and announced that she was checking out. Between the hotel bill and the rental car, she was looking at a five-thousand-dollar tab. Downgrading to a motel was the smart thing to do, but that didn’t mean she was happy with it.
Sage didn’t think she could feel any worse, but after fighting with the cheap lock and finally getting the door open, she saw a mouse skip across the bedroom floor and dive underneath the bed. Swallowing a scream, she took a deep, calming breath and told herself to get a grip. She had to look at the bigger picture. This time next month, she’d be executive manager at Sapphire Entertainment and thousands of dollars richer. Resigned to being miserable for the rest of her time in Indianapolis, but more confident than ever that she would be promoted, she examined the room for any other unwelcome creatures.
Leaving her things in the hall, but keeping an eye out for thugs, gangsters and thieves, she marched over to the rickety-looking desk, snatched up the phone and dialed the operator. On the sixth ring, a man with a heavy southern accent answered. “Luxe Motel. Chip speaking.”
His voice was thick with sleep. Or boredom. Sage couldn’t say for sure. “I just saw a mouse skid—”
“Room number?”
“Um—” Sage peered at the gold plates on the door. “Three twenty-eight.”
In the silence, she heard muffled voices and the faint sound of country music. “Come back down to the front desk and I’ll give you a new room key.”
“Can’t you send the bellboy up?”
He chuckled. “The bellboy? We don’t have a bellboy, ma’am. This isn’t one of those fancy-shmancy downtown hotels.”
