by EC Sheedy
"Over fifty years."
Joy started to say Wow again but thought better of it. "That's amazing." She walked to one of the windows. She could hear the traffic on the other side, but the heavy velvet drapes caked in dust muffled it. She shoved one of them aside to reveal windows that appeared to be covered on the outside.
"These windows look interesting, but why are they boarded up?"
"The hotel was resurfaced along the outside of this room somewhere along the line, and the windows were covered over. I don't know why." He came to stand beside her.
"Can you pull the drapes farther apart? I'd like a closer look."
The drapery track was a good twenty feet over their heads. Wade reached as high as his six-foot-plus frame allowed, grasped a fistful of fabric, and gave a strong tug. It didn't move, so he tried again.
This time draperies, track, and sixty years of powdery grime came down with a swoosh to completely envelop them. When they'd fought their way free of the heavy, dust-laden velvet, they looked like a pair of chimney sweeps. Joy's eyes were running like taps and she couldn't stop coughing.
"Are you all right?" Wade pushed the last of the drapery off her shoulders.
"I've got something in my eye," she said. "It feels like a clod of clay."
"Come on. Sinnie'll have something to help. She's the ship's doc."
Joy kept a hand over her dust-stuffed eye and followed him out of the room. "Was that Sinnie I met yesterday?"
"Uh-huh." He took her in tow.
"She's a doctor?"
"Actually, she's more of an Igor, but we like to indulge her."
"How reassuring."
"She's on five. Let's go."
Sinnie opened her door on the first knock. Even with only one good eye, Joy saw her shock. "What in heaven happened to you two? Fall down a coal shaft?"
"Joy's got something in her eye. I thought you could help." Wade said.
"Come in. Come in," Sinnie took Joy's hand, pulled her forward. "Come to the bathroom, girl, I've got eyewash in there."
As they disappeared into Sinnie's tiny bathroom, Joy heard Wade say, "Hi, Mike. I didn't see you sitting there. Not working today?"
"Got laid off."
If Wade answered, Joy didn't hear. She was sitting on the toilet seat, and Sinnie was flushing her eye out with enough liquid to raise the level of the Pacific. When she had Joy completely blind, she closed the door.
"Glad you're here, Miss Joy Cole, because I've got a few things to say." She handed her a towel.
Joy blotted her face, glanced in the mirror over Sinnie's sink to see hair layered in dust and dirty gray streaks running from her eyes to her chin. "Talk away. But do you mind if I try to get rid of this grime?"
"Here." The woman handed her a soap pump.
Antibacterial. Strong enough to strip paint. "Thank you."Joy didn't relish the idea of washing her face with it, but it would have to do. She turned back to the sink. "What's on your mind?"
"That man out there."
"Wade?"
"This place should be his, not yours."
Joy put as small an amount of soap as she could on a clean facecloth. Or what was a facecloth ten years ago. It was thin as gauze. "I agree with you, Sinnie. But it isn't."
"Would have been if he'd made up with that useless father of his. Hadn't gone to jail, which makes him pretty stupid, too."
Joy rinsed her face, her interest piqued. "Why did he go to jail?"
"Told you. He was stupid."
"How stupid?"
"Eighteen months' worth. And all because of a woman."
"He hurt a woman?" Joy couldn't believe that. She'd spent the afternoon with the man, and other than a killer wit, she didn't detect violence.
"No! Wade wouldn't ever hurt a woman. And it was her should've gone to jail." She gave Joy a hard-eyed look. "He just picked the wrong female, like his daddy before him. But Wade's paid his dues. And he doesn't need another Miss Fancy Pants to come along and take what's his, mess him up again."
Joy folded the facecloth, set it on the sink, and faced her. "That 'fancy pants' being me?" She came very near to smiling but managed a straight face.
Sinnie's expression shifted and she cocked her head. "You're a cool one, aren't you?" She looked as if she approved.
"I didn't come here to 'mess up' Wade's life, Sinnie. I'm here because his father left this place to me. Right now, I'm trying to figure out the smartest way to deal with it, and I've asked Wade to help. That's it."
"You want my opinion?" Her gaze was steely.
"Can it be avoided?" This time she did smile. She liked this woman.
"Give the Phil to Wade, and don't waste any time doing it. It's the right thing to do."
Joy studied her for a minute, saw the love there. Envied it. She thought of Lana, her endless needs, and her own responsibility, courtesy of Stephen, to meet them. "It's not that simple, Sinnie." And neither could she ignore her own growing feelings for the Phil. Amidst all the neglect and decay, there was a handsomeness to the place, a wry charm. And no matter how many broken windows she counted, how many ruined halls she walked, that charm captivated her.
There was a knock on the door. "You all right in there?" Wade called.
"Coming," Sinnie said, then whispered for Joy's ears only, "I like you, young woman, I truly do. But the 'smartest' thing for you to do is leave this place to its intended. And I'll say this, too—you hurt that boy out there"—she jerked her gray-topped head—"and you'll have me to answer to."
Wade banged on the door again and Joy opened it, glad for the diversion; it hid her grin. Joy hadn't answered to anyone since she was eight years old, yet the idea of being accountable to this fierce old woman held a peculiar appeal.
When the door opened fully, she looked up at the six feet of "boy" Sinnie was so protective of, then into his green eyes. Until now his eyes had been watchful, quiet. And while they'd teased and humored her throughout the tour of the Phil, they had given away nothing about the man behind them. But in this moment they held concern—for her.
She was no more used to being concerned about than she was to being accountable.
"Need anything?" Wade caught her chin with his knuckles and raised her face to his, turned it to and fro, scanned it thoroughly, worriedly. "There's a drugstore up the street."
"No, I'm fine." Unless you factored in a strange weakness in the limbs or a pair of eyes suddenly incapable of leaving his.
"Good." His voice lowered, and he lifted his hand to push her hair back from her temple; the gentle connection held until he'd run his fingers through the length of her hair and brought a handful of it to rest below her shoulder.
For a frozen moment, they stared at each other and neither spoke. Still loosely holding her hair, Wade rested the back of his hand just above her breast. A heavy, warm stone radiating heat. Joy, gazing up at him, was dimly aware of her own shallow breathing, her narrowing focus. Wade drew in a heavy breath, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
Sinnie coughed—loudly—and spoke sternly. "She had a bit of dust in her eye, Wade, she wasn't flattened by a falling piano. And you aren't looking so good yourself, in case you haven't noticed."
Joy felt her color rise up, far enough to meet the befuddlement between her ears. She still couldn't get her breath.
Somebody laughed.
Joy turned from Wade, who hadn't stopped looking at her and didn't look the least flustered, to the other man in the room. She'd completely forgotten he was there.
"This is Big Mike," Sinnie said without preamble. "He lives on four."
"Mike. Nice to meet you. "Joy hated the look he gave her—one of those centipede-under-the-collar kind of looks.
The burly man nodded, held onto his smarmy smile.
Joy turned to Wade. "I think I've seen enough for today, but I was thinking..." She hesitated. This idea of hers had seemed like a good one—before the time warp she'd entered with Wade a couple of minutes ago. Now she wasn't so sure.
Wad
e waited for her to finish. She glanced around to see both Sinnie and Mike equally as interested. Oh, hell, in for a penny... "I was thinking it might be a good idea for me to stay here—while I figure things out."
Wade's eyebrows shot up as if they'd been pulled by wires. "You want to stay here?"
"Makes sense to me. I can take my time looking around, really get to understand the place."
"I don't think so."
"Why?" She didn't bother to tell him it was her hotel and she really didn't need his or anyone else's approval.
"There's not a decent room in the place. You've seen that today." He shook his head. "You're better off at the Marriott."
"Room 33's in good shape," Mike said. "Rebecca sure liked it."
"No." Wade said.
"No." Sinnie said, their voices a beat apart.
Joy looked at them both, intrigued by their vehemence. Then she remembered. "You didn't show me that room today. Said you didn't have a key."
"I didn't have it on me. Not that it matters—the room's a mess. It's a bad idea." Wade's jaw was set to rock-hard.
"Wade's right," Sinnie piped in."You've got a good, safe room where you are. This is no place for a woman alone."
"You're alone, Sinnie," she said, a comment that brought a scowl dark as a rain cloud. "And believe me I've stayed in worse places than the Phil through the years."
"There's a room on four, right next to mine," Mike said. "It ain't too bad. I'll look after her."
Wade glared at him. "Joy's fine where she is. At the Marriott." He stated the last as if his words were etched in stone.
Joy eyed them all. Three more people trying to tell her what to do in her own hotel. "Let's take a look at four. And while we're there," she said, turning to Wade and smiling, "you can get the key to Room 33."
Chapter 7
Wade walked Joy to the front entrance of the Phil. He was stewing. The idea of Joy staying in Room 33 rested in his gut like a leaky tanker in a sea of oil. But nothing either he or Sinnie said had budged her resolve. As he was discovering, Joy Cole was not easily swayed.
Joy stopped abruptly at the door. "You haven't said a thing since this—" She dangled her new room key in front of his face. "What's the problem?"
He took the key from her hand. "This is the problem." He copied her, lifted and dangled the key.
She grabbed it back, tossed it in her tote.
"What the hell was wrong with the room beside Mike's on four?" he asked.
She sighed one of those long-suffering, impatient sighs women were so good at. "Let's just say it's a girl thing, Wade," she said and feigned a mild shudder. "I'd rather take a cot in the basement."
"I can arrange that." His tone was caustic.
She laughed, then studied his face. "You can't possibly be afraid of that 'room of doom' thing, can you?"
"Where'd you hear about that?"
"A guy named Lars told me. When I was trying the doors yesterday, I met him outside 33." They'd arrived at the front doors. "Quite a story," she added. "On a par with being swallowed whole by a boa in South Africa or eaten by dingoes in the Australian outback. You don't buy into that kind of stuff, do you?"
Wade didn't bother to answer her. Room 33 and his opinion of it wasn't her business. He was overreacting, and why the hell should he care where the woman slept?
When he opened the door, sun speared through to temporarily blind them both—and stop the questions. Joy dug for sunglasses, put them on, and stepped outside. Wade followed. She took the first step down and turned to face him, her perfect skin sheet-pale in the brilliant sunlight. "Have we stopped talking?"
"One of us has."
She allowed a time lapse, then said, "What about the Phil? The renovations I'm thinking about? Are you going to help me run a few numbers or not?" Her eyes questioned, her chin was high, and her stance was still as stone.
Wade wanted to say no, but today's tour of old halls, shuddering pipes, and cracked plaster walls—and all the obvious potential attached to them—stopped the word behind his clenched teeth. Not that he intended to be involved.
When he didn't answer, she went on, "Then I'll find someone else. They won't have the firsthand knowledge that you have, of course. But I'll manage."
Wade didn't want her to find someone else, and the certainty of his opinion rocked him. "We'll talk tomorrow." He grimaced. "When you move in."
"I won't be moving in until next week sometime. I've got to go back to Victoria, talk to my boss, and make arrangements for some time off."
"Just as well." Wade was relieved. "It'll give me time to think things through."
"Good." She started down the street.
"And, Cole"—she looked back at him—"I hope you've got deep pockets. Any kind of workable plan for the Phil won't be cheap."
She waved, appeared totally unconcerned, and turned the corner.
Wade went back into the Phil's lobby, thoroughly pissed with himself. He hoped to hell he wasn't thinking with his dick again. God knows, Joy Cole had made that long unused part of him stand up and take notice.
But that aside—and aside was where he intended it to stay, he didn't feel good about this idea of hers, didn't feel good about it at all. The woman had no idea what she was in for.
She was dreaming—and more fool him—he was going along for the ride.
* * *
Joy walked the few blocks back to her hotel, enlivened. After studying every nook and cranny of the Philip, after being dumped on by a dust cloud, and after a day with Wade Emerson, she'd fallen in love... oh, not with Wade—despite her attraction to him, she wasn't that much of a fool—but with the Hotel Philip.
After the first hour, she no longer saw the scars and warts, she saw bright new carpets, fresh paint, polished oak, and a front desk with customers lined up to check in. It was an exciting vision and she saw herself—
She cut that line of thinking. This wasn't about her, and growing attached to the Phil or any of its tenants would only make complications. The plan was to get the hotel to generate revenue, then turn it over to a hotel management company so it would provide Lana with a respectable income, although probably not even close to the one required to support her current lifestyle. Lana might not like it, but it was a practical long-term solution. The trouble was, Joy wasn't feeling practical, she was feeling ambitious, turned on, and excited.
She picked up her pace and within minutes she was in the Marriott's smartly appointed lobby.
"Joy, I was hoping to catch you." It was David Grange. His grin was wide and friendly, but his gaze widened when he took in her dusty, disheveled condition.
"David," she said. "What brings you here?"
"I'm meeting your mother a couple of blocks away, so I thought I'd come by. Buy you a drink?"
"As you can see, I'm not in top condition." But David was, thanks to Boss and Armani. She eyed him. "Are you ever casual?"
"In the right circumstances." He reached over and flicked some dust off her shoulder. "Why don't you go up and change. I'll wait."
"Are you going to pitch me on selling you the Philip?"
He laughed. "Do you want me to?"
"No."
"Go freshen up. I'll meet you in the bar."
Joy watched him walk across the lobby. So did a few other women. That would please Lana, Joy thought, stepping into the elevator. She liked trophy males.
She showered, changed into blue slacks and a white silk blouse, knotted her hair at her nape and was downstairs in twenty minutes tops. Her one nod at vanity a brush of lipstick and a pair of gold hoops.
David rose from his seat upon sighting her. When she reached the table he pulled out her chair. "You really are very beautiful," he said from behind her. "I'd love to have met your grandmother."
"She was short, dark, her name was Francetti, and she never shaved her legs."
"You're kidding."
She gave him one of her mother's looks, slow and empty.
He grinned. "Got me."
/> The waiter appeared, and David raised his brows in Joy's direction. "Scotch, please. Neat," she said.
"Double that," he said.
When he turned his attention back to her, she asked, "Why are you here, David? What is it you want?"
"To get to know you better?" He sat back in his chair, casual and at ease.
"I doubt that. I think you'd like it if I caught the next bus to nowhere."
"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression."
She shrugged, noticed he didn't exactly deny it. The waiter brought their drinks. She sipped. Waited.
He sat forward in his chair, cradled his drink. "There are things you don't know about the Hotel Philip, Joy. Things you'll never know."
His expression was intense and Joy assumed he was about to launch into a list of the Phil's structural sins and shortcomings to dampen her interest in upgrading. She had the urge to quaff her Scotch and head for the exit, but if she did that, she'd fall on her face. She'd tough it out and be courteous... if her patience held. "I don't know about a lot of things, but I'm pretty good at filling in the blanks as I go along."
"Sometimes blanks are best left empty."
Joy's senses sharpened, and the bar, busy with the after-work cocktail crowd, seemed to quiet. She matched his soft tone. "I don't agree with you. Speaking for myself, I've never met an empty space I've liked."
"Your mother told me you were stubborn."
"I prefer 'tenacious' and 'determined.' Traits my mother and I share, by the way." She sipped her Scotch. "Now, what is it I should know about the Phil—in twenty words or less, please. I've had a long day." So much for courtesy.
"That you're going to sell it to me now, or you'll sell it to me later. And now would be the smart time, the safe time. Better for all concerned." He leaned back in his chair, took a drink.
The bluntness of his statement, the implied threat, made Joy pause. His words were clear enough, yet he looked oddly nervous, distinctly uncomfortable. She'd thought him a pretty boy, smooth, a bit too clever, but it seemed he was more than that. "Safe? Interesting word choice. Care to expand on it?"
He looked away for a moment as if to gather his thoughts. "Your mother is on the financial ropes," he said. "Add to that, she's very tense about your involvement in her life. I'm worried about her. Afraid she might do something drastic. If we can finalize things, it will ease her mind and be better for everyone."
