Under The Mistletoe (Holiday Hearts #2)

by Kristin Hardy

  “Maybe I will,” Nick said. “Maybe I will.”

  Chapter Five

  He’d had plenty of relationships in his time. Some had gone fast and furious, starting with a crackle and flaming out within weeks. Others had been slower burns that built and radiated heat long after the fire had begun to go out. He’d orchestrated seductions before, taken pains to give someone he cared about a special experience, a special evening.

  He’d never worked to make a woman fall in love with an idea before.

  It could work, he told himself. The woman he’d met on the back deck, the one with the fey faerie eyes, would fall for the romance of the Mount Jefferson. The question was whether he could make the businesswoman fall with her.

  Gabe glanced at his computer clock. It was after eight, their planned meeting time, and she still hadn’t shown. Interesting. He’d have picked her as the sort to be relentlessly punctual. Thoughtfully, he rose to walk across the hall.

  And saw her striding toward him over the twining vines of the burgundy carpet, wholly focused on the cell phone clamped to her ear. “Well, if you’re not getting a straight answer, I’d suggest flying to Johannesburg,” she told whoever was on the line. Today, her hair was swept up, her suit a cool ice-blue.

  Her manner, however, belied the calm. Tension tightened her shoulders; her eyes narrowed in irritation. “Eliot, you’re head of Becheron now, not me. I got moved to another project, remember? If you’ve got problems, you’ll have to work them out yourself.”

  Gabe raised a brow as she disconnected.

  Hadley stared at the ceiling for a moment and took a deep breath. “Sorry I’m late.” Her voice was brisk, but frustration still lingered as she walked into his office.

  “Not a crisis.” I got moved to another project, remember? He’d done his homework the night before. Becheron was the fifth largest division at Stone. How did a corporate hotshot go from heading up a marquee division to running a hotel that represented—how had she put it? A fraction of a percent of their holdings? She was on another project, all right, which might have explained some of the wistfulness. He felt a quick tug of sympathy. But only a small one. “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  He turned to the coffeemaker that sat on a little table behind his desk, and poured her a cup. “Everybody’s got their weakness,” he said. “I’m a coffee snob. Cream or sugar?”

  She took the mug from him. “Black will do, thank you.” She shot him a suspicious look as she sat. “You’re all sweetness and light this morning.”

  “Sounds like you could use it after that phone call.”

  “It’s nothing.” But she couldn’t quite shrug it off, Gabe saw. No swingy earrings today, but discreet diamond studs to go with the stylishly discreet suit.

  “So we’ve got a problem to solve. Where do we start?”

  Hadley opened her portfolio. “I printed out a list of the target numbers for the next four quarters.”

  Gabe took the sheet and scanned it, resisting the urge to whistle. “You realize, of course, that a healthy business plan lasts longer than four quarters.”

  “Of course, but the Hotel Mount Jefferson is no longer private. It’s part of Stone Enterprises, and the Stone stock price swings with the quarterly financials. We can’t afford to ignore them.”

  The thing to do was to show her that it was in her best interests. “What would you say to a revised business plan that offered less short-term growth but substantially more in the long term?”

  “I’d suggest you should update your résumé before you mention it again.”

  He shot a quick glance at her. “They’re that tough?”

  “I’m that tough.” She stared back at him coolly. He thought of the way she’d looked on the dance floor. What would it be like to melt that coolness, he wondered suddenly. To have her heated and gasping in his arms? “The first thing you should understand,” she continued, “is that the numbers are the numbers. We’re going to meet them.”

  “Why do I hear an ‘or else’ in there somewhere?”

  “There isn’t an ‘or else’ because it’s not going to be necessary. I’ve been up against aggressive targets like this before. It’s not impossible. Management just has to be committed to meeting our goal.”

  “What I’m committed to is this hotel.” Time to draw a line in the sand. “If its survival means meeting your targets, then by all means, let’s find a way to do it. I warn you, though, I’m going to fight like hell against anything that’s going to turn the hotel back into the shape it was when Whit bought it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “I always did like an optimist.”

  The sudden, wry glance he gave Hadley sent something skittering around in her stomach. None of that butterfly nonsense today, she thought impatiently. Today was for business.

  It would have been easier if he’d been properly dressed. Instead, he sat in shirtsleeves, his suspenders dark and silky against the pin-striped cotton dress shirt, his suit coat hanging over a little rack in the corner. She’d always had a thing for men in ties and suspenders, the kind that buttoned into the trousers with the leather loops. It wasn’t him, it was just his clothing.

  And then he threw her a glance and she felt the adrenaline rush in her veins. Not him, her ass.

  Ignore it, she reminded herself. “Let’s get to work. I’d like to go over the books so I know the exact numbers we’re dealing with. The only financials I’ve seen are about six months out-of-date. Can your assistant set up a meet with the CFO?”

  “You can set something up with him yourself. Our weekly department heads’ meeting starts in about five minutes. I figured it would be a good primer.”

  “Great. Where’s the conference room?”

  “Right here.” He gestured to the long dining table that filled one side of his spacious office. It took her by surprise. Most managers would demand a separate conference room. Gabe Trask apparently didn’t mind having occupancy charts taped up on his walls, and didn’t need the status of a pricey meeting table with plush leather chairs. She raised a brow. “Am I looking at vintage hotel furnishings?”

  “Vintage as in from the basement. Not particularly valuable, but useful.”

  “I hope for the sake of your department heads it’s a short meeting.” The table looked far from new and the chairs appeared only marginally comfortable.

  One corner of his mouth quirked as he followed her gaze. “Designed to encourage focus and brevity. Not to mention promptness.”

  “You ever think about getting a real conference setup?”

  “We’re short of office space as it is, and I have better things to spend five grand on than furniture. Like meeting my new profit numbers.”

  The table, in the end, proved just big enough for the meeting, once the client chairs had been pressed into service. Hadley understood the promptness comment when she saw that the first two people through the door grabbed the client chairs, and those who followed them sat in the uprights with aggrieved expressions. Gabe Trask didn’t bring over his own comfortable desk chair but sat in one of the same uprights as the rest of the unlucky latecomers. She tried not to like him for it.

  “Okay, everyone. Before we get started with the reports, I have a few announcements to make. As you all know, Whit Stone, our former owner, passed away last summer. The Hotel Mount Jefferson has passed into the hands of Stone Enterprises, the company held by Whit’s son. I’d like to introduce Whit’s granddaughter, Hadley Stone, who’s here to help with the transition process.

  “I might as well tell you up front that we’re going to have to meet some aggressive new financial targets and it’s going to take everyone’s cooperation to make it happen,” Gabe continued in an even tone. “You’ll be getting more details on that in the next week or so. For now, I’d like you all to introduce yourselves, with titles, one at a time.”

  He pointed to the plump man next to him, already balding though he looked to be in his thirties. The man
cleared his throat. “Jason Keating, accounting.”

  The ash blonde next to him gave a professional smile that didn’t warm her eyes. “Alicia Toupin, events.”

  “Pete Mirabelli, sales.” Young and slick-looking, Mirabelli gave Hadley a defiant glance.

  The three who would play the biggest role in the survival of the Mount Jefferson, Hadley thought. They were the ones she needed on her side immediately. Keating, she wasn’t worried about. Accountants always understood cost cutting. Alicia and Pete might be more resistant to Hadley’s changes.

  Of course, the one who was the biggest wild card was Gabe Trask. Was he with her or not? She studied him sitting at the head of the table, jacket still off, a sheaf of dark hair falling down over his forehead. Then his eyes flicked up to snare hers, and reaction flashed through her veins. She looked hastily away, but not before she felt the telltale heat of a flush feather over her cheeks.

  “…Wheeler, reception and front office.”

  Introductions finished and Gabe gave a nod. “That’s the team,” he said. “Anything you want to say?”

  Showtime. Hadley rose. “Good morning. I’m sure I’ll get to know you all quickly enough, but if you could please repeat your names the first time you speak, it’ll help me cement things. As Gabe said, I’m here to facilitate the handover of the hotel.” Their expressions ran the gamut from apprehensive to pugnacious to shuttered and cold. Well, she was used to it. In times of uncertainty and change, the easiest thing to do was blame the interloper. She’d faced it dozens of times before. In some indefinable way, though, this time it felt personal.

  “We’ll want to get the hotel compliant with Stone Enterprises policy and procedure as soon as possible,” she continued. “I’ll be looking to meet with each of you in the coming week to review department operations with an eye toward economizing. Any questions?”

  A thin-faced brunette straightened. “Tina Wheeler, head of guest services and front office. Are we looking at any layoffs?”

  It was the part Hadley hated more than anything. “It’s impossible to say for sure right now. It really depends on how efficiently the hotel is run.” She could see concern flare in their eyes immediately. They couldn’t know that she was already losing sleep over the idea.

  Wheeler didn’t move, but somehow she bristled. “We went through an efficiency review last year on Mr. Trask’s request.”

  And Tina didn’t appreciate an outsider questioning what she’d done with her department, clearly. “Can I get a copy of any work-flow or man-hour documents?” Hadley asked.

  “Well—”

  “Yes, of course.” Gabe cut in and looked out over the table. “Just a reminder to all of you, I expect you to extend your full cooperation to Ms. Stone in the coming weeks. She asks for information, you give it to her. If you have questions, talk to me, but I don’t want to see any stalling.” He looked directly at Tina. “We’re all on the same team, so let’s act like it.”

  Wheeler’s cheeks tinted and she looked down. Didn’t make a friend there, Hadley thought ruefully.

  “Jason, we should meet as soon as possible to go over the books,” she said, turning to the head of accounting. “I’d appreciate it if the rest of you could e-mail me possible time windows for the next week. I’ll be in touch with you to firm up appointments shortly. That’s all for now,” she added briskly, and sat.

  And the meeting went on.

  Hadley always found her first management meeting at any new property to be fascinating. It was nearly always the same group of personalities, though with different names and jobs. She could usually judge to a nicety after the first half hour who got things done and who was dead weight, who was high maintenance and who took care of business.

  In this particular half hour, her respect for Gabe Trask shot up. He’d assembled a strong management team and listened to what they had to say. More, he held them accountable. True, Tina on the front desk seemed a little too high maintenance, and Mirabelli looked like the type who preferred to go his own way, but everyone knew their job. They’d come to the meeting prepared, with results and, where necessary, solutions rather than excuses. The discussion kept rolling forward, ending as scheduled at ten o’clock on the dot.

  “So that’s our management,” Gabe said after the group had filed out and he and Hadley reseated themselves at his desk. “What did you think?”

  “I think you must be one hell of a recruiter.”

  His teeth gleamed. “I can’t claim credit for everyone. Some are homegrown, some I inherited. The way I figure it, you treat the staff right, they treat the guests right. You treat the guests right, they come back.”

  “It’s a nice theory.”

  “It works.”

  “Mmm. Tina’s going to be a problem.”

  “Do you blame her? Or any of them? Let’s be honest, the way things stand now there are going to have to be cuts, and lots of them, to meet targets.”

  But it had to be done, no matter how much she might regret it. “It’s business.”

  “It’s not the only way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Tour first, ideas later.”

  “I’ve seen the hotel.”

  “No, you’ve seen walls and floors and ceilings,” he corrected. “The Mount Jefferson is about much more than that. It’s about romance, history.”

  “Romance and history don’t show up on balance sheets.”

  “The hell they don’t. Why do you think people come here?” He walked to the valet rack.

  “Getaway weekends, I assume.”

  “And you think that isn’t about more than walls and floors and ceilings?” He slipped on his jacket, buttoning it over his tie. If she’d harbored a hope that it would make him safe and unremarkable, she’d been wrong. It only added a layer of polish and style, she thought, watching him shoot his cuffs.

  Ignore it.

  “Come on,” Gabe said briskly. “We can talk while we walk.” Tina passed them in the hall with another desk clerk, both of them stony faced. Only to be expected, Hadley reminded herself. To them, she was the enemy. That was all right. It didn’t matter, so long as she satisfied Robert’s numbers.

  She tried to believe it.

  Gabe stopped her at the end of the executive wing, where it branched into the lobby by the front desk and the grand staircase. “The builder was a railroad baron named Richard Cortland.” Gabe pointed to a portrait of a hawk-nosed, gray-bearded man. “He met his wife, Clara, at a boating party on the Hudson. Bolt from the blue, or so they said. She was barely a third his age. New York society had a fit.”

  Clara had been a beauty, Hadley saw, dark-eyed and slender. “Why did they care? Was she a fortune hunter?”

  “Worse. She was from Chicago. The New York society dragons were furious that an out-of-towner stepped in and snapped up a very eligible bachelor from under their noses.”

  “It must have made their daughters very unhappy.”

  “Maybe. But they couldn’t ignore her. Cortland made the hotel the place to be. All of New York society came up in the summers, at least the ones who didn’t have houses in Newport. And Clara loved to rub it in. Look up.” He pointed to a balcony over their heads. “She used to stand behind the curtains of that balcony and watch the women come down the grand staircase on their way to dinner. If she saw anyone whose dress or jewelry outdid hers, she’d go change. Once everyone was seated, she and Cortland would make a big entrance, put them all to shame.”

  “I don’t think that was it.” Hadley spoke without thinking, looking at lovely, dark-eyed Clara. “She was a woman. She wanted to be sure he saw only her.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  She glanced over to find Gabe Trask’s eyes on hers, and this time there was no distraction, only that unsettling green, deep enough and dark enough to dive into. Hadley swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “And do you think he did?”

  “I think a man in love always does,” Gabe said so
ftly.

  Time stretched out, how many moments, she couldn’t say. Then he looked back at the painting, releasing her. “Cortland died only a couple of years after the hotel was built. Clara ran it for the next thirty.” He turned toward the lobby. It took Hadley a stride or two to catch up.

  “Morning, Angie,” Gabe said as they entered by the front desk and the grand staircase.

  Angie’s smile brightened. “Good morning, Mr. Trask.” She looked at Hadley and her expression became tentative, wary. “Good morning, Ms. Stone. I hope you’re having a pleasant stay.”

  It hurt, Hadley discovered, to have become the enemy. And it wasn’t nearly as easy to shake off as it should have been. She followed Gabe toward the great, glassed-in, semicircle of the conservatory, but she found herself drifting to a stop in front of the gleaming inlaid wood grandfather clock near the entrance.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, resisting the urge to brush her fingers over the smooth wood.

  “Original to the hotel,” Gabe told her. “The first guest to check in each spring started the pendulum moving and the last guest to check out in the fall stopped it.”

  She tried to imagine the heavy weight of the pendulum in her hands. “The hotel was closed in the winter?”

  “For decades. We only winterized about five years ago. It was the first major initiative on my watch. Winter’s a good time for couples. Think about it—sleigh rides, ice-skating, snow an gels. Our Winter Carnival is already sold out.”

  “What did the winterizing cost?”

  “Almost two million dollars.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I guess you’re not a cheap date.”

  The wolfish grin took her by surprise. “I’m worth it, though. Besides, it paid its way in a year and a half. I told you, the hotel makes money. We’ve just made a conscious choice to reinvest. You’ve got to in a place this old.”

  “No question, but you’ve also got to pick and choose.”

  “Trust me, I pick and choose every day. It’s like being the parent of a dozen kids. Never enough to go around.”