by Janet Dailey
“It’s worse than I thought,” she sighed.
“Yes, I know,” Chet agreed, matching her expression.
“Let’s take the hotels one by one and make notes.” She sighed. “The one thing we want to keep in mind is that each hotel should be different, its decor indigenous to its location. We don’t want a vacationer to think that if he’s been in one Chandler Hotel, he’s been in them all.”
“That’s right.”
“Okay, let’s start out with the one in Florida.” Dina gazed at the photographs. “I think it has to be the most challenging. I didn’t realize it looked so sterile.”
She flipped her glasses into place on her nose and reached for her note pad. ’Here we’ll take advantage of the tropical environment. Heavy on wicker furniture, light and airy colors, no carpeting, cool tile floors, and lots of potted plants and greenery. Something like the decor in our Hawaiian hotel would be good, but without the Polynesian accent.”
“What about the exterior?”
Dina thought of the budget and winced. “I hope we can get by with some landscaping. I don’t want to do a major face lift unless there’s no other way.”
Down the list of hotels and their photographs they went. The one in Maine would be done with a nautical flavor. The one in Mexico would have a lazy siesta look, complete with mock overhead fans turning leisurely from the ceiling. The founding hotel in Newport already had an elegant yachting atmosphere, which would now be stressed. The themes varied with each hotel, depending on its location.
When the last photograph had been examined and set aside, Dina looked at her copious collection of notes and sighed at the dollar signs they meant. She remembered her spiteful comment to Blake about the interior decorating to be done, remarking that it was woman’s work. Well, there was a mountain of it here, one that she doubted Blake would have the patience to tackle.
“Now what?” Chet questioned.
“Now —” Dina took a deep breath “— now we need to have these notes transferred into sketches.”
“Do you want me to start contacting some decorating firms?”
“I suppose so. With the scope of the work that needs to be done, I’m just wondering how we should handle it.” She nibbled thoughtfully at her lower lip. “Something, either major or minor, has to be done at each of the hotels.”
“In the past we’ve always used firms within the area of the hotels, in the same city when we could,” Chet reminded her.
“Yes, I know.” Dina slid the pencil through the platinum gold hair above her ear. “I checked the records last week to get an idea of the possible costs and noticed that in the past we’d always used local firms. Before, it had proved to be both economical and good business to trade with a company in the same area as one of our hotels.”
“But, since virtually all the hotels are involved, it might not be practical because of all the traveling that would have to be done,” he observed. “That cost could eat into whatever savings we might realize by using a local decorator.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” she agreed with a rueful nod. “We might be better off with a major firm capable of doing all the work. In the long run it might prove to be the more economical choice.”
“I tell you what —” Chet leaned forward, his blue gray eyes bright with suggestion “— first let’s get these notes typed up. Then why don’t I contact two major companies to give us estimates on the work? To get a comparison, I can pick a half dozen hotels that are fairly close to here and obtain bids from local firms. I can use the hotel in Maine, the one here in Newport, naturally, the one in the Poconos — I can check the list.”
“That might work,” she agreed, turning the idea over in her mind and liking it. It had been a half-formed thought in her own mind, but when Chet had spoken it aloud, it had solidified. “Excellent suggestion, Chet.”
“I’ll get started on it right away.” He began gathering up the notes and the photographs from her desk. “We don’t want to waste time.”
“Before you go, there’s something else I’ve been thinking about that I wanted to talk over with you to get your opinion,” Dina said to detain him.
“What’s that?” Chet sat back down.
“To keep this continuity of every hotel being individual, I think we should carry it into the restaurants,” she explained.
“But we’re doing that.” He frowned. “There are going to be decor changes in the restaurants and lounges, too. We just went over them.”
“No, I was thinking of extending the idea to the food.”
“Do you mean changing the menus?”
“Not completely. We would have to keep the standard items like steaks, et cetera, but add some regional specialties, as well. We do it already along the coast with the seafood.”
“I see what you’re saying.” Chet nodded. “In the Poconos, for instance, we could add some Pennsylvania Dutch foods. We could even carry it down to little touches, like serving genuine johnnycake made out of white cornmeal with the dinner rolls here in Newport.”
“Exactly,” Dina nodded.
“I’ll contact the restaurant managers of all the hotels. Those that aren’t already doing this can send us a list of three or four specialty dishes they can add to their menus,” he suggested.
“Yes, do that. We can initiate this change right away by simply adding a flyer to the menus until new ones can be printed.”
“Consider it done, Dina.” He started to rise, then paused. “Is that all?”
“For now, anyway,” she laughed.
“I’ll be talking to you. And I’ll have my secretary send you a copy of these notes,” he promised, and gathered the stack of notes and photographs into his arms.
As Chet walked out of the office, the smile left Dina’s face and was replaced by a wary frown. She stared at the open doorway, feeling those uneasy suspicions rearing their ugly heads. Then with a firm shake of her head she dismissed them and turned back to the papers she had been working on.
| Go to Table of Contents |
Chapter Eight
BENT OVER HER DESK, Dina was concentrating on the proposals from the selected advertising agencies. Absently she stroked the eraser tip of her pencil through her hair. Intent on the papers, she didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway or notice the tall figure darkening her open doorway.
“Are you planning to work late?”
The sound of Blake’s voice jerked her head up. He stood there, so lithely powerful, so magnetically attractive. The darkness of his tan seemed to have faded little, its bronze hue accentuated by the white turtleneck sweater. Through half-closed lids he looked at her, creating the impression of lazy and friendly interest, yet his expression seemed masked.
As always when he caught her unaware, her pulse accelerated. An odd tightness gripped her throat, leaving her with a breathless sensation. For an instant the room seemed to spin crazily.
It was at moments like these that Dina wanted to let the powerful attraction she felt simply carry her away. But that was too easy and too dangerous. It wouldn’t solve any of the differences that had grown in the years they were apart.
His question finally registered. She managed to tear her gaze away from his ever watchful eyes to glance at her wristwatch, surprised to see it was a few minutes before six o’clock.
Then she noticed the silence in the rest of the building. There were no muffled voices coming in from the hallway, no clackety-clack of typewriters. Nearly everyone had left for the day, except herself and Blake.
“I hadn’t realized it was so late,” she offered in answer to his question. “I just have to clear these things away and I’ll be ready to leave.”
As she stacked the proposals one on top of the other, preparatory to slipping them into their folder, Blake wandered into the room. He suddenly seemed to fill every square inch of it. Within herself, Dina was conscious of the sensuous disturbance his presence caused.
“How is the campaign progressing?” he inquire
d, his gaze flicking to the papers in her hand.
Dina had to search for the chilling antagonism that would keep him at a distance. “Hasn’t Chet been keeping you informed?”
“No. Was he supposed to?” There was a baiting quality to the blandness of his voice.
“I presumed he would,” she retorted, opening a desk drawer to put the folder away.
“If you didn’t tell him to keep me up to date, Chet won’t,” said Blake, hooking a leg over the desk corner to sit on its edge. “He only does what he’s told.”
The desk drawer was slammed shut. “Will you stop that!” Dina glared at him.
“Stop what?” Blake returned with seeming ignorance.
“Stop making remarks like that about Chet!” The antagonism was there; she no longer had to search for it.
Blake made an indifferent shrug. “Whatever you say.”
Impatiently she swept the remaining papers and pens into the middle drawer of her desk, leaving the top neat and orderly. Setting her bag on top, she pushed her chair up to the desk. Her sweater was lying on the back of the chair near where Blake stood.
“Hand me my sweater, please.” Frigid politeness crept into her voice.
Glancing around, Blake slipped it off the chair back and held it out to her as she walked around the desk to the front. “How are you and Chet getting along?”
“The same as always — very well.” Dina gave him a cool look and started to reach for the sweater. “Did you expect it to be different?” It was spoken as a challenge, faintly haughty. A light flashed in her mind and she forgot about the sweater. “You did expect it to change, didn’t you?” she accused.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s why you told Chet to give me a hand. I thought it was because you didn’t think I could handle the job, but that wasn’t it at all, was it?” Her anger was growing with each dawning thought.
Completely in control, Blake refused to react. “You tell me.”
“You planted all those doubts in my mind about Chet, then made me work with him, hoping I would become poisoned against him. That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?” Dina was incensed at the way Blake had attempted to manipulate her thinking.
“I admit that after our little talk about Chet, I hoped the blinkers would come off and you would see him as he really is.” There wasn’t a trace of regret in his expression or his voice that his motive had been uncovered.
“That is the lowest, dirtiest thing I’ve ever heard!” she hissed.
Trembling with rage, she was completely unaware of her hand lashing out to strike him until it was caught in a vise grip short of its target. She gasped in pain as he twisted her arm to force her closer. He had straightened from the desk to stand before her, the sweater cast aside on the desk top.
“The last time you slapped me, I let you get away with it because I might have deserved it. But not this time,” Blake told her flatly. “Not when I’m telling the truth.”
“But it isn’t the truth!” Dina flared, undaunted by his implied threat. “Not one word you’ve said against Chet is true. It’s all lies. None of it is true!”
That darkly piercing look was back in his eyes as they scanned her upturned face. “You know it’s true, don’t you?” he breathed in a low, satisfied voice. “You’ve started to see it for yourself — that’s why you’re so angry.”
“No, it isn’t true,” she denied. “I haven’t seen it.”
“You have. Why don’t you admit it?” Blake insisted with grim patience.
“No,” Dina continued to resist and strained to break free of his hold. “And I’m not going to stay here and listen to you tear Chet down anymore.”
He increased the pressure of his grip and issued a taut denial. “I am not trying to make him appear less of a man. I’m trying to make you see him the way he is and not the way you’ve imagined him to be. Why can’t you understand that what I’m saying is not a personal attack on him?”
Suddenly, unexpectedly, she did understand and she believed him. The discovery took the heat out of her anger. Dina stopped fighting him and stood quietly.
“All right,” she admitted.
“All right what?” Blake lowered his gaze to her mouth, watching her lips as they formed the answering words.
“I have noticed a few things,” Dina admitted further.
“Such as?”
“The way he takes a suggestion and elaborates on it until you’re almost convinced the idea was his in the first place.”
“He’s done that?”
“Yes. Today, when I mentioned an idea I had about adding regional dishes to the restaurant menus.” She wished Blake would stop watching her talk. It was unsettling, heightening her senses. “He’s already contacting the restaurant managers to see about starting it.”
“Chet is very good at organizing and carrying out a suggestion,” Blake agreed. “What else?”
“I don’t know. A lot of little things.” The compliment Blake had given Chet prompted Dina to mention another conversation that had bothered her. “When I didn’t take a stand today about having a local or a major decorating firm redo the hotels, Chet didn’t either. He suggested getting comparison bids from both and avoided offering a concrete opinion. In the last two weeks, I honestly can’t remember Chet making a decision or offering a proposal of his own.”
Looking back, she realized that his proposal of marriage had been an outgrowth of a conversation about whether she would marry again or not. When she had conceded the possibility, Chet had asked if it would be someone like Blake she would choose. Her negative answer had then led to Chet’s suggesting himself, after first testing out his ground.
That was hardly the mark of the strong, dependable man she had believed him to be. His reliability was limited to the times when someone else told him what to do.
Lost in her thoughts, Dina was unaware of the silence that had fallen between them until Blake spoke. “I have another equally selfish reason for wanting Chet to work with you on this project.” His fingers were lightly stroking the inside of her wrist, a caressing motion that was disturbing.
A tingling warmth spread up her arm, her nerves fluttering in awareness of how close she stood to him. “What is it?” There was a breathless catch to her voice. She looked into his eyes, nearly overcome by the sensation that she could willingly drown in the dark pools.
“Because I know that eventually this project is going to entail a good deal of traveling and I wanted to make certain it wasn’t my wife who went on these trips.”
“I see.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You might as well know this, Dina,” he said.
“You and I are never going to be separated for any reason.”
The ruthlessly determined note underlying his statement made her shiver. There was a sense of being trapped, a feeling that his wishes were inescapable. Whatever Blake wanted, he got. But not from her, her pride protested — not unless it was her own decision to agree.
With a degree of reluctance, she withdrew from his touch, turning to the desk to pick up her sweater and handbag. “I’m ready to leave now,” she said, aware of the conflicting magnetic currents between them, alternately pulling and repelling.
Blake didn’t make a move to leave. He just stood there looking at her, making her feel more uncomfortable and unsure of her own wants and needs.
“Sooner or later you’re going to have to make a decision,” he told her.
“I know. Sooner or later,” she echoed softly.
“Why are you waiting? What is holding you back?” he questioned. “It isn’t Chet anymore, so what’s left?”
“I don’t know.” Dina shook her head uncertainly.
Needing to move, she started for the door. With that animal silence she was beginning to associate with him, Blake came up behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders. The mere touch of him stopped her in her tracks.
“Decide now,
” Blaked ordered in a low murmur. The silvery gold length of her hair was secured in a bun low on the back of her head. She felt the warm stirring of his breath on the exposed skin of her neck, sensitive and vulnerable. The sensuous pressure of his lips exploring that special pleasure point sent a delicious tremor through her.
His hands slid down to her forearms, crossing them in front of her as he molded her shoulders, waist and hips to the hard contours of his body. Dina felt as pliable as putty, willing to be shaped into anything he wanted. Primitive passions scorched through her veins.
She struggled out of the emotional upheaval going on within her to protest, “Blake, I can’t!”
“You want to.” His mouth moved to her ear, his teeth nibbling at its lobe. “You know you do.”
“I don’t know anything,” she breathed raggedly.
“Then feel,” Blake instructed.
That was the problem. She felt too much and it blocked out her thinking processes. She didn’t want to make a decision in the heat of an embrace. And certainly not in this inferno that was consuming her now.
“Blake, no!” She swallowed and pushed his hands from around her waist.
She took a step away from his tempting embrace and stopped, shaking and weak with desire. Her head was lowered, her chin tucked into her throat. She felt his gaze boring into her shoulders.
“Blake, no!” He mimicked her words with a biting inflection. “That’s always your answer. How much longer are you going to keep giving it?”
“Until I’m absolutely sure that I know what I’m doing,” Dina answered.
“And how long will that be?” Blake was striving for control. It was evident in the clipped patience of his tone.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I just know it’s easy to surrender to passion now and not so easy to face tomorrow.”
“Then you’re a hell of a lot stronger than I am, Dina,” he snapped, “because I don’t give a damn about tomorrow!” He slipped a hand under her elbow. Her first thought was that he intended to ignore her uncertainties and kiss her into submission, something that would not be too difficult to do. Instead his hand pushed her forward. “Let’s go,” he muttered.
