by Carsen Taite
Synopsis
Love doesn’t wait to be invited in…
Ainsley Faraday specializes in the management of sleek, urban hotels, and is reluctant to accept her employer’s latest challenge to take over a mom-and-pop property in Santa Fe. Even though she has no desire to be surrounded with lonely mountain ranges and coyote skulls, she can’t resist a challenge that might put her within reach of a corner office at headquarters.
Rock star Greer Davis’s protective bubble of stardom bursts after a night of wanton partying results in a public disaster of epic proportions. Unprepared for the scathing turn of events, Greer heads for the hills—literally. She assumes a new identity and returns to her roots in Northern New Mexico just as her latest album debuts at number one on the charts.
When Ainsley and Greer meet on a flight to New Mexico, love is the last thing on either of their minds, but tall mountain vistas, big blue skies, and hot, hot green chili all combine to create a rush of endorphins begging for release.
Do Not Disturb
Brought to you by
eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
Do Not Disturb
© 2010 By Carsen Taite. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-436-2
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: June 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Cindy Cresap and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
truelesbianlove.com
It Should Be a Crime
Do Not Disturb
Acknowledgments
I spent close to a decade living in the Land of Enchantment, and I enjoyed visiting all my old haunts in the pages of this story. While I’m very familiar with northern New Mexico, I’ve never been a rock star or hotelier, and I’m grateful to the cool folks who helped me navigate those worlds. A big thanks to my good friend Sam Tucker, for all the fried food lunches spent discussing the ins and outs of the imaginary Steel Hotel line. A shout out as well to JD Glass for answering all my hypothetical guitar questions and sending me to the dictionary to look up “luthier.” Special thanks to Jeanine Hoffman, Sue Stolz, Levine Sommers, Mary, and Barbara, who kindly shared their knowledge of that dreaded beast, cancer. Any factual errors on these subjects are mine and mine alone.
Sandy—your brutally honest first read made this a better book. You are indeed a good friend.
Cindy Cresap—thanks again for making the editing process seamless. You are always spot on when it comes to figuring out what’s not quite right. I’m a better writer because of you.
Stacia—your attention to detail always makes me look more skillful than I am. Thank you.
Sheri—thanks for another blazing hot cover.
Rad—thanks for the great ride. I’m loving living my dream with Bold Strokes.
To all the other authors and behind-the-scenes folks at BSB—you are the greatest. I can’t imagine a more nurturing family.
Lainey—without your encouragement, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to write the first few words. Thanks for everything you do to make my dreams possible.
To my readers—thanks for the constant stream of encouragement, praise, and shouts for more. I save every note and every e-mail and read them whenever I need a boost.
Dedication
Lainey—we’re always in the land of enchantment when we’re together. I love you.
Chapter One
“We’re paying that publicist big money to get you on the front page, and she damn well better do it!” Rick shook the latest issue of People in the air.
Greer sighed and grabbed the magazine from her manager’s hand. “Rick, dear, have you looked at the cover? A full-on feature of the Brangelina twins.” Greer pointed at the photo of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie cradling their famous offspring for the camera. “I’m pretty sure they would trump a government-sponsored announcement about life on Mars.” She shoved the magazine in the trash. “Besides, my only accomplishment this week was having my fifth album go double platinum. Nothing front-page about success.”
Greer knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she didn’t care. Her reputation hadn’t seen the same upward trajectory as her rise on the charts. Even if she sold more records than the Beatles, she was sure her everyday mishaps would make bigger headlines. A simple comment to a waiter that her steak was overdone appeared in large print as: GREER DAVIS STARTS FOOD FIGHT. Photos of Greer with adoring female fans in various states of undress merited the keen observation: SHE’S SEX CRAZED!
So far this trip had gone better than usual, which translated into an absence of ripping headlines. Greer had arrived in Chicago yesterday morning for a well-choreographed press junket to promote her new album. Rick had planned every detail of the trip down to the minute, and the schedule didn’t allow for anything off course. Greer was worn out after spending the day talking about her album and her upcoming tour. She repeated the same details over and over in the dozen interviews Rick had lined up for the day. She hated the public relations side of stardom, but Rick insisted she remain in the public eye at all times.
Rick Seavers was all business, and his business was all Greer Davis. His sleek style, from his custom suits made in London to his slick coif, was carefully crafted to project an air of confidence, and he used it to make sure his star client stayed on top. He was constantly thinking of new ways to get her mentioned by the press. Now was no different.
“Let’s fix it,” he said. “I’ve arranged for a VIP party tonight in your suite at the hotel. Macy Rivers is in town and I’ve invited her to attend. The two of you can pose for the cameras. Show you’re Macy’s gal-pal. Her sweet rep is bound to rub off. Oh, and I’m firing the damn publicist for not thinking of this herself.”
Greer had long ago given up keeping track of who Rick hired and fired on her behalf. He had been the driving force behind her success for the past ten years. She didn’t question his decisions. His idea to put her in front of the cameras with Macy was spot on. Macy Rivers was the darling of the press. She experienced the same level of success in the country music arena as Greer did on the top forty charts, but she didn’t have as many bruises to show for it. Macy was pageant pretty with wholesome good looks and a smile worthy of toothpaste commercials. When Greer stood next to her, she felt like an outsider in high school. She knew she was attractive, but her spiky blond hair and edgy good looks didn’t represent traditional beauty. Macy could do no wrong, unlike Greer, who found herself on the defensive every time she spoke to the press. Despite their differences, Greer liked Macy and the two had become friends over the years, an anathema to all who knew them. She figured Macy found the image of the prom queen hanging out with the bad girl had a certain allure. Hell, maybe tonight she’d see if she could get Macy liquored up. It might do her good to let loose.
*
“Smile, girls.”
Greer had told Rick to take the night off, but he couldn’t resist directing the show, even if it was only from the sidelines. Gre
er supposed she should be grateful he took such a hands-on interest in her career, but sometimes she felt like she had a full-time babysitter. She paid Rick good money to take care of the details of her professional life, but the line between her professional and private life was blurred beyond recognition. Hell, she couldn’t even throw a party without it being a publicity stunt. She felt a sudden desire to be bad.
“I should kiss you right here in front of all these flashing cameras.”
Macy didn’t even flinch. She spoke through a big smile. “You’re all talk, Davis. I am so not your type.”
“What? Straight and wholesome?” Greer answered. “You’re absolutely right, but you sure make me look good.”
“Happy to help, Davis. Happy to help.”
Finally Rick eased the two away from the cameras, but not before they were blinded by dozens of flashing bulbs. “Why don’t you girls head on upstairs? I’ll let a couple of these photographers in to cover the party, but they’ll stay out of your hair. Pictures only. Go, have fun.”
Thank God. If I have to talk to one more of these vultures, I’ll scream. She planned to let loose tonight. She deserved it after the last two days of constant scrutiny. She grabbed Macy’s hand and led her to the penthouse elevator.
The party was in full swing before they ever reached the suite. Greer always stayed at the Tinsley when she was in Chicago, and her parties were a hot ticket event for any other celebrities who were visiting the Windy City. Her penthouse would be full of famous people in various states of inebriation. They all counted on the wait staff, who were skilled in keeping the guests’ glasses full and their own mouths shut about the antics they would see during the evening. The token table of hors d’oeuvres would barely be touched. Greer’s guests were more interested in partaking of what they could either drink from a glass or snort up their noses. The pretty food was there for decoration. By the end of the evening the food would look as wilted as the guests.
Greer grabbed two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Macy.
“Here. How about you let your hair down a little tonight?”
Macy tossed back the contents of the glass and handed it back to Greer. “How ’bout I let my hair down a lot?” She nodded at the empty glass. “Champagne was okay to start, but I’d like to try something a little more potent. Can you help me out?”
“Scotch, bourbon, vodka?” Greer asked.
“I was thinking of something, uh, not so liquid.”
Greer smiled. “Good girl wants to let out her inner bad girl for the night?”
“Can you blame me?” Macy frowned. “I spend my days singing PG lyrics, plugging wholesome products, and hanging out with people who think a few too many drinks will land me a spot in hell. I deserve to cut loose a little, don’t you think?”
“I do.” Greer grabbed her hand. “Follow me.” She took Macy’s hand and elbowed her way through the crowd. The suite had two bedrooms, two living areas, and a dining room. Greer led Macy to the guest bedroom, where she knew someone would have what Macy wanted. The room was dimly lit, not to hide anything, but because the occupants didn’t want bright lights to ruin their high. Greer shut the door behind them to keep out the light. The room was a vice cop’s dream. Piles of snowy white coke were heaped on mirrored surfaces all around the room and guests were helping themselves. “Is this what you had in mind?” Greer asked.
“Exactly.” Macy started toward the nearest table, but Greer held her back.
“Whoa there. Have you used this stuff before?”
“No.”
Greer felt a pang of regret. She didn’t mind getting Macy drunk, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be the one to introduce her to putting things up her nose. “Are you sure you want to try this?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
Greer heard the rebellious confidence in Macy’s voice and decided it wasn’t her job to police anyone else’s morals. “All right then, but wait here.” Greer strode over to the nearest table and palmed a stainless steel bullet loaded with the powdery substance. She figured she could at least limit Macy’s first experience to small bumps of high. Returning, she said to Macy, “Come with me,” and led her out of the room.
Macy braced against the door frame. “Wait a minute. Why are we leaving?”
Greer leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Little Mary Sunshine, do you want everyone in the world to see you snorting coke?” She waited until the idea registered with Macy. Then she held up her hand, closed tightly around the bullet. “I have what you want. Come to my room and try it there.” Macy nodded and followed Greer to the master bedroom across the way. Greer placed her hand on the doorknob, but felt herself pulled back as she started to open the door. She looked over her shoulder and was surprised by the kiss Macy planted on her cheek. She raised her eyebrows.
“Thanks for being so sweet,” Macy said. “I have a feeling this is going to be a night to remember.”
Greer blushed and drew Macy into the suite.
Chapter Two
Ainsley Faraday hated being cornered first thing in the morning.
“Fluffy does not like the cedar bed you had delivered to her room. It is itchy. She prefers down. And not the synthetic rubbish people try to pass off as real, but mature goose down. It’s the warmest. Our room is intolerably cold and Fluffy hates to be cold.”
“Certainly, Mr. Withers. I apologize for any inconvenience to either you or Fluffy.” Ainsley managed to summon a bright smile for the Maltipoo and his doting owner. She held the smile until Sebastian Withers and his sole heir prissed their way out of the lobby. Once she was sure they were out of earshot, she stalked to the concierge desk, her laser stare daring the two well-suited attendants to run for cover.
“Who the hell has been dealing with Sebastian Withers?”
One of the young men shuffled his feet while the other made darted glances seeking escape. Ainsley could smell their fear. She cultivated her reputation as the high supreme bitch of the Hotel Steel because she deemed it to be the most effective way to achieve results. One of these lackeys would provide her with results now or lose his job. “Answer me now or you’re both fired.”
Feet shuffler raised his head just high enough to assess the seriousness of his situation. With a slight nod at his coworker, he rattled off what he probably thought was a sufficient explanation.
“Ms. Faraday, he is impossible. You know we only have cedar beds on hand. I provided him with a brand-new one. It had never been used. I delivered it personally within seconds of his call. I’ve been waiting hand and foot on the hairball he calls a dog from the moment he checked in, but nothing I do is enough—”
Ainsley raised her hand and barked, “Stop!” He froze.
“I’ve heard enough.” She looked at the coworker and began one of the quizzes she knew they had grown to despise. “We have no down beds, but a guest requests one. What do you do?”
Concierge number two shook in his shoes, obviously trying to discern what the mistake had been. Ainsley imagined he thought guests who could afford rates in excess of $500 a night for a standard room were generally eccentric freaks who had been put on earth to terrify those who could only afford to stay in a Motel 6, if they could afford to vacation at all. She could almost hear the frantic beat of his anxious heart. He was probably thinking it was one thing to have to answer to the erratic, unreasonable demands of people with money to burn, but it was quite another to have to be treated like garbage by his boss, who acted as if these guests were perfectly sane. He winced as if concentrating hard on the question before stammering his reply. “I’ll try to find a down bed.”
“No! You do not ‘try’ to do anything. You do it, and you do it fast. Your job is to make the guests happy. Fix Mr. Withers’s problem or get out. Now.”
Ainsley didn’t wait for a response, but stalked off to her office. Once there, she fell into a chair and laughed. She knew the two young men thought Mr. W
ithers was crazy. They were right, but as the operations manager of the hotel, she had to set an example to her employees, which meant catering to the whims of her capricious guests. She couldn’t for a minute let her employees see her true feelings. If she had her way, she would show Mr. Withers and his canine companion the door. As it was, she maintained a front, faking genuine concern for the needs of her guests, and no one was the wiser. Ainsley kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up under her. It was going to be a long day. She was tired, but she knew despite her fatigue, she still looked polished and pressed. She prided herself on her ability to project an unflappable image, which started with impeccable appearance. Custom suits, designer shoes, flawless makeup, and a tight French braid painted a portrait of control. Only in the sanctuary of her office, with the door locked, would she ever let her hair down and curl up in comfort.
Her reverie was broken by the ringing of the telephone. She could tell by the ring that whoever it was had the number for her direct line. She glanced at the caller ID and noted the source of the call was the hotel’s corporate office in New York. Damn, did one of those brats out front already complain about my show of power? She was used to fending off complaints by employees. Her ability to achieve results guaranteed her superiors would always side with her, but she would still have to explain away her displays of force. She sighed and picked up the phone.
