by Eden Summers
Savannah detoured in the opposite direction and made polite conversation with the competition. She ignored the itch at the back of her neck, the one that told her someone was staring at her, talking about her, and feigned interest in the people she met.
“Savannah,” Patrick called from over her shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Tanner. He’s like a son to me.”
She turned to meet vibrant blue eyes and a playboy smile that threatened to melt her panties. But the introduction hadn’t been lost on her. Patrick was far more enthusiastic about introducing this man than he had been about his biological son.
“Hi.” Her grin was genuine under Tanner’s hungry stare. “Nice to meet you.”
“Tanner is one of my executives. He determines what brands go into every Grandiosity room. From the televisions to the tiny liquor bottles.”
“Impressive.”
“I think I can handle it from here on my own.” Tanner’s voice was deep and smooth. Almost edible.
“I know. I know.” Patrick held up his hands. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Savannah smothered a laugh and remained quiet until they were alone. “That sounded awfully close to matchmaking.”
Tanner chuckled. “Get to know him a little better and you’ll realize there’s no doubt.”
“Really?” This time she couldn’t hold in a snort. “I thought I’d be considered the competition. Maybe even the enemy.”
“There is no competition between Grandiosity and Rydel. We’re in two different leagues.” His warm eyes didn’t even flicker with the insult. “But Patrick has been very vocal about how impressed he is by you. Apparently, you acted like GI Jane and stomped into his office, demanding his attention and cooperation.”
A sneer threatened to curl her lip. “I guess it would’ve been shocking—a mere woman from an insignificant company dictating terms to a business god,” she drawled. “Crazy, right?”
“It shocked the hell out of him.” He didn’t even notice her sarcasm. Pretentious asshole.
She gave him a tight grin and sipped her champagne. Her focus strayed from Tanner’s nauseating million-dollar smile to the bar, where a formidable man leaned against the wood, staring at her.
Keenan was always staring at her.
She lowered her glass, her gaze, and her self-esteem. She didn’t have the energy to fight narcissism, or whatever it was that made these men think they could treat her on a sub-human level.
“Have you ever thought about working for us?” Tanner continued, oblivious to her desire to shove the remaining contents of her glass in his face.
“For Grandiosity?” she mocked. “Wow. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Her clutch vibrated and the faint trill of her ringtone sounded over the chatter. “I’m sorry. Could you please excuse me for a moment?”
He inclined his head. “We’ll talk later.”
Oh, goodie.
She opened her clutch and pulled out her cell. Private Number flashed on screen and she answered, expecting to hear Amanda’s voice on the other line.
“Savannah speaking.”
“Savannah…” Yep, Amanda had called in all her anxiety-riddled glory.
“What’s up?”
“There’s been—”
The words were smothered by laughter and the obnoxious thump of conversation surrounding her. “Hold on a minute. I can’t hear you.” She turned in a circle, ignoring the continued stare from Keenan, and spied a bathroom sign in the far corner. “I’m finding somewhere quieter.” She scooted on her toes through the throng of people and side-stepped a partition to enter a secluded hall to the male, female, and disabled toilets. “That’s better. I should be able to hear you now.”
“Savannah… I…”
Shit. There was too much panic in the event manager’s tone. Too much fear. The waitresses mustn’t have shown up. Or worse, they threatened not to work tomorrow.
“The ambulance had to come,” Amanda continued. “They think Thomas had a heart attack.”
Savannah stopped breathing. “What?” She crumpled against the wall and placed her glass on the tile floor. “I don’t understand. I was with him an hour ago.”
A sob filtered through the line, hitting her ears with painful clarity. “Amanda?”
“I can’t do this. I think I’m going to be sick.” The event manager babbled, mumbling words that ran in and out of coherence. “He could’ve died and all I can think about is the stupid wedding. How are we going to feed the guests without a head chef? How are we going to pull this off when everything is fucked up?”
Savannah’s lungs restricted with the possibility of catastrophe. She was caught in the same maelstrom as Amanda—suppressing nausea over thoughts of tomorrow when she should’ve been focusing on Thomas’ health.
“Please,” her voice cracked. “I need you to be strong.” She let out a slow breath and prayed for the bile to stop rising up her throat. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.” There was no other choice. She had to figure it out. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were on the line.
“I’ll be back there soon with Grant. Go to the bar, have a relaxing drink, and wait for me. Tell any staff to continue as best they can until we arrive.”
“I…”
“I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Amanda’s voice shook. “I’ll be waiting.”
Savannah was thankful for the wall that kept her upright as her arms fell to her sides. She hung her head and breathed through the negative thoughts that threatened to drown her. There was no way out. Not from the wedding nightmare, and definitely not from the memories of silence that screamed with passion.
She’d made too many mistakes in her life. First with Penny, then Spencer, now Keenan. Seattle seemed to be her punishment, with each past indiscretion compounding her inability to fix the here and now.
“Goddamn it.” She spoke to her shoes. “God. Damn. It.”
The rhythmic thud of footsteps approached, stopping at the start of the bathroom hall. Someone was there, staring at her. She raised her head, narrowed her gaze to a feral glare, and prepared to tell them to mind their own business.
Prepared and failed.
It was Keenan, his dominance narrowing the hallway.
There was concern in his eyes, those deep depths speaking to her through the surrounds of harsh features.
“Leave me alone.” She held her chin high through the force of self-loathing and placed her cell back into her clutch. Her hands shook, trembled, each of her fingers fluttering like butterflies’ wings. She was losing herself. The grip of sanity loosening its ties to her.
He approached, calm, controlled, and far from civil. There was a wealth of hatred in his breathtaking features. Yet his eyes, those conquering, undeniable eyes, produced a symphony of worry.
She pushed from the wall and winced at the tumbling anxiety in her belly. Dizziness overwhelmed her, the black of breathlessness biting at her periphery. She focused on the ground that rolled under her feet and tried to tell herself to move, to flee.
Tightness encased her upper arms and she raised her gaze, falling under his spell. Words flittered in and out of her consciousness—sarcasm, spite, hatred, even admiration. The emotions he inspired could overflow a gorge. She wanted to say them all and wasn’t sure what would come out when she opened her mouth.
“You can start to celebrate,” she sneered. “You and Penny… You wanted to drag me down and now you have. Congratulations.”
He frowned and tightened his hold, demanding answers.
“They’ve quit—waitresses, bar staff, anyone and everyone because of the nastiness from Grandiosity. The hotel is barely functioning. And now…” She released a maniacal laugh. “Now, we have a wedding to cater tomorrow, and my head chef just had a heart attack.” A fucking heart attack. Oh, god, she was going to lose it. “I have employees almost dying because of stress. From you,” her voice cracked. “You did this.”
His gaze cut to the e
ntrance, to the woman Savannah hadn’t heard approach the bathroom hall. Keenan’s focus turned lethal and the woman paled in response.
“Sorry,” the intruder murmured and quickly two-stepped around them to push into the female bathroom.
Savannah didn’t care anymore. She didn’t give a shit if people found them together. She couldn’t give a flying fuck if all her secrets were exposed. She was tired of fighting. Of hiding. She’d taken on too much. Made the wrong decisions. Dug a deeper hole to bury herself in.
“You win,” she whispered.
Keenan’s beautiful lips parted and she ached for his words. She ached for anything that would stifle her hatred. He yanked her, pulled her so strongly away from the wall that she gasped. Her feet followed after him, the movements made on numb legs. He dragged her across the hall, into the disabled toilet and slammed the door shut behind them.
Her chest throbbed as he leaned her back against the cold tile wall, his palms still gripping her flesh. She stared at him, her throat convulsing as his focus intensified.
“Why?” The question bubbled from her without permission. “Why did you have to destroy me?”
That’s what this was all about. She could’ve handled the professional assault. She could’ve recovered from Penny’s nastiness and the pressure from resigning staff. But not this. Not him.
His chin lifted, taking her onslaught head on. He leaned closer, eye to eye, almost chest to chest. She could smell the tang of scotch on his breath, could practically taste his intoxication on her tongue. She shuddered, not from hate, but from longing. The sensation clogged her veins, blurred her vision, made her despise herself so fucking much that her chest threatened to crack under the pressure.
He frowned down at her, taking his time to scrutinize her features before he stabbed a finger at his sternum. “I’ll fix it,” he mouthed.
She laughed. “You can’t. I’ve already called every recruitment agency across the city.”
“I’ll fix it,” he repeated.
She suffocated under the sincerity in his eyes and wished she could believe him. It would be easy. All she had to do was relax. Let go. Sink further into his arms and let him spin her a tale that made the stress wash away.
He inched closer, the approach of his lips making her lick her own.
“Don’t.” She shook her head, but her feet wouldn’t move. There was no strength. Not of will or of body.
His mouth brushed hers, a soft, gentle stroke that only endeavored to tear her apart. She mewled, and squeezed her eyes shut to fight the devastation. She didn’t want this. Not soft. Not gentle.
On cue, his fingers found her shoulders, her neck, her hair. He tugged the strands, tight, painfully hard, and deepened the kiss to a level of punishment. Harsh strokes of tongue infused her, awakened her. He held her in a vise, tempting her to flee as he encased her tighter in the trap of his arms.
Darkness retreated. Clarity approached. She wanted to depend on him. For everything. For anything. Yet he was unreliable. Even for honesty.
She pushed against his chest and broke their connection, pressing cold fingers to her scorched lips. “Don’t ever do that again.”
He stiffened, straightened, and the harshness returned to those glorious features. He stepped back, creating a chasm between them, and pulled his cell from his pants pocket. Confident fingers typed, and she watched in a trance as he wielded his weapon, preparing to strike her down.
I promise I will fix this for you.
She took the assault, let it sink under her skin. “Stay out of my life.” Her heart thundered in her throat as she slid to the door and gripped the handle. “I don’t want to see you again until settlement.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sleep was elusive. She’d only scored a few hours nap between waking nightmares. There’d been no shower, no change of clothes. Hell, she hadn’t even seen the inside of her suite, and had called the conference room her home since she returned from Grandiosity.
Determination kept her company, the last minute fight for survival keeping her adrenaline flowing and her brain cells churning on their lonely battle. Staff enthusiasm had hit rock bottom. Optimism had been slaughtered, even though the whispers she’d heard about the welcome meeting had all been positive. There was no motivation. They were all numb with concern for Thomas and angry as hell at Layla and Tammy, who hadn’t been contactable since they both called in sick. It was still unclear if they would show up to lead the glorified team of housekeeping staff through the reception table service, or if they’d sink another nail into the wedding coffin.
But they were far from her biggest problem.
The disaster was the three-course wedding dinner that wouldn’t cook itself. Thomas’ comment about his chefs not working well unsupervised hadn’t sank in until she was standing in front of them, glancing from one dumbstruck expression to the next after she’d broached the topic of them sharing the head chef role. Evidently, the kitchen fell into a heap without leadership. And there wasn’t a soul on the face of the planet available to take on the responsibility the day before Thanksgiving.
Even Spencer lacked the words to comfort her when she’d called him in a blubbering mess at three in the morning. The only thing she knew with certainty was that he was on his way, soon to be here to make everything just a little bit worse.
“Savannah?” Kelly’s voice was filled with concern. “Amanda just called. She’s on her way in and wanted to know if you had any answers yet.”
Savannah kept staring straight ahead, her elbows resting on the spectacularly adorned bridal table as she took in the reception area destined to host a myriad of unfed people. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth, the crockery and cutlery placed perfectly at each setting. Soon the florist would be here to place the centerpieces, and the band would set up in the corner.
“Not yet,” she murmured.
“What can I do to help? Can I get you a coffee? Maybe a wine.” Kelly shuffled into view and tilted her head to make eye contact. “Crack?”
Savannah released a breath of laughter. “I’m okay.” She swallowed over the placation. “What time is it?”
“Nine.”
Shit. She’d been sitting here for hours, without a resolution to show for it. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Name it.”
It was a last ditch effort. “Can you call all the recruitment agencies in the directory? Beg them. Plead with them. Tell them how dire our situation is and let them know we’ll double the standard rate of pay if they can find a capable head chef to lead our kitchen today.”
“Sure.” Kelly’s smile was weak. “Have you heard any more on Thomas?”
“Grant spoke to his wife sometime during the night.” The news was her only solace. “She said he’s recovering well from a minor cardiac incident. Not a heart attack.”
“Thank God.” Kelly’s relief was palpable, her smile genuine. “I’ll go make some phone calls.”
Savannah remained in place to battle her demons in solitude. There were options, but they weren’t pretty. The menu could be changed to finger food. Or the three courses could remain, if easier, more production line selections were chosen.
Neither alternative would be appreciated by a bride and groom on their special day. Compensation would be inevitable. A lawsuit likely. The Rydel name would be tarnished with more potency.
“Savannah?” Kelly’s head poked through the door on the far end of the room. “Spencer is here to see you.”
Spencer. The name rolled around her head, tainting everything it touched. She didn’t want to stand up, didn’t want to approach the lobby, but she did, her feet moving of their own volition. Anticipating this moment had filled her with dread, because seeing him stand before her with his dark suit and bright smile had sparked the reaction she’d expected. A reaction she loathed.
“Hey.” He strode for her, wrapping her up in his cast-iron grip.
Relief overwhelmed her. Disgusting, repuls
ive relief. Positive feelings toward him weren’t safe. They weren’t healthy at all. Yet he blanketed her in comfort and gave her anxiety a slight respite.
“I hate to say it, sweetie,” he murmured in her ear, “but you look like hell.”
She laughed and shoved at his chest. “Nice to see you, too.”
He pulled back, his hands sliding to her hips. “What can I do to help?”
She broke away from his potent stare and focused over his shoulder. “I’m not…” Her words trailed as three guys with small duffle bags entered the lobby. They were followed closely by numerous young women and men, around eight or so, all immaculately dressed, their hair flawless. Her stomach dived at the thought of them being enforcers for a bride who’d caught wind of the impending catastrophe.
But their intentions were worse, far worse. Penny and Keenan came in behind them, drawing the group’s attention with merely their presence.
“Fuck.” Her whisper was filled with horror.
“What’s wrong?”
She glanced at Spencer and then grimaced at the instinct to seek his guidance. This was her show. Her problem. Her punishment to take. “They’re from Grandiosity.”
“What are they doing here?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and met Keenan’s scowl across the other side of the lobby. He spared her the briefest flicker of acknowledgement before his attention turned to Spencer, his scrutiny falling to the hand possessively on her hip. She should’ve jerked from her ex’s touch or shoved his arm away, but his palm was filled with support, the warmth and strength the only thing keeping her upright.
“I better find out.” She progressed toward her doom, Spencer still at her side, his hand still marking what he thought was his territory.
“Can I help you?” The group turned toward her en masse while she drilled Keenan with her stare.
“We heard you’re in a bind.” Penny’s tone was sickly sweet. “We’re here to help.”
Savannah kept her focus on Keenan, not wanting to turn to her cousin and see the look of superiority chiseled into her make-up covered face.
