by Jo Leigh
“Help me? Don’t be absurd.”
“It’s true. I’m going to stay for the entire week, get to know the hotel, try to talk a little sense into you.”
“As if anything you’d have to say would be in my best interest.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“And what? If you don’t like what you see, you’re going to tell on me? Cry to Daddy that I’m not being a good little Devon?”
“That’s right.”
“If I cared, I wouldn’t have built the hotel.”
He shrugged. “Have it your way. But I suggest you think this through.”
She took a deep breath. It was important not to yell. Not to lose her cool. The press was here in droves, and she didn’t want anything to deflect from the buzz she was working so hard to build for her hotel. “And why should I do that?”
“Because, my little spoiled heiress, if you don’t, you’re going to be cut off. Completely. From all those millions of Devon dollars.”
2
PIPER STARED at him with her wide blue eyes, and God help him, Trace couldn’t hold back his smile. He’d gotten to her. Oh, yeah. She’d never suspected that Daddy would pull the plug. Not Piper. She was entitled. To everything. So what if she was embarrassing her father, damaging the Devon name? If it felt good, she did it. If it put her face on the front page of the tabloids, she’d be there.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she asked, her voice a whole lot less cocky.
“I’m sure you heard me, sweetheart. Nicholas isn’t pleased. And since he’s the one who controls the money, he gets to vote with your inheritance.”
“And he couldn’t be bothered to come down here himself?”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t have liked it if he had. I’m giving you a break, Piper.”
“Some break.” She took a step back. “Gee, Trace, what next? You gonna go tell the press? I’m sure they’d love the scoop.”
“I actually wanted a chance to hear your spiel, but I guess I’m too late. I think I’ll go have a drink, though. Care to join me?”
“I’d rather eat worms. I need to promote my hotel. Do me a favor, Trace, find yourself some babe, and keep out of my way.”
“Mighty snippy for a woman on the brink of poverty.”
“I’m not kidding. I can’t do this now.”
“What about after?”
She headed for the reception desk and walked behind it. He followed at a more leisurely pace, letting himself get a feel for the lobby. It was nice. Very nice. Even Nicholas wouldn’t know that it was a sex hotel from here. When he reached her at the desk, she was typing on a keyboard. She didn’t look up.
“Piper?”
Trace glanced toward the bar, where an attractive redhead looked at him curiously.
“Give me a minute, Janice,” Piper said, still not lifting her head.
“You got it.” The redhead checked him out, smiled, then went back into the dark recesses of the bar. Maybe he would find himself someone to talk to.
On the other hand, it was so much fun to be with Piper. Especially when he had her at such a distinct disadvantage. People talk about the fun of tennis, but they didn’t know what it was like to volley in the big leagues. Nobody gave it to him like Piper. Pity she was such a brat.
“Here,” she said, slapping a key card on the black lacquer counter. “You can stay tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He slipped the key in his breast pocket. “You gonna give me turndown service?”
“Why should tonight be any different? I always turn you down.”
He bowed his head slightly. “Touché. I really just handed that one to you. Sloppy, Trace, sloppy.”
“Well, you just stand there and try to come up with something better.”
Piper walked away and he couldn’t help but admire the view. That little pink number hugged her in all the right places. No wonder the press loved her. She was stunning, and at twenty-seven, she was more beautiful than she’d ever been.
Not that it mattered. She was spoiled and reckless and she lived as if she were God’s gift to the world. No concern for anyone else, no sense of propriety. She did what she liked, consequences be damned. Well, her free ride was about to end if she didn’t make a real quick turnaround. He hoped, for her sake, she’d get the message. Piper wouldn’t make an attractive pauper. She was awfully used to that silver spoon.
What the hell. He might as well check out the bar. He had the feeling he’d be seeing a lot of it in the next week.
PIPER FELT like she’d been kicked in the stomach. He wouldn’t really… Not cut her off. It was a hotel, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t selling herself in Times Square. She was doing what she’d been born to do. Sure, it was a new concept, nothing at all like the chain of Devon hotels, but wasn’t that the point of a new generation?
The stipulations on her trust hadn’t said a thing about propriety. Her job was to make money, and dammit, there was no way Hush wouldn’t. He couldn’t do this to her, that’s all. She was his only daughter.
Kyle must have had something to do with this. Greedy little bastard of a brother. Always pandering to Nicholas. Damn him.
They’d both been born late in her father’s life. Nicholas had met their mother, Alicia, just after he’d turned forty. Of course, he’d been married before, four times, but Alicia had been the one. How they’d wanted a son. Piper had been reminded of that enough times to make her sick, but Nicholas was from the old school. The very old school. Her mother had protected her from the worst of it, but Alicia hadn’t been around long enough to help with Kyle. So her baby brother had grown up to be the perfect heir. She doubted Nicholas had ever once considered that Piper might be the logical choice to take over the company. Of course not. Darling Kyle would undoubtedly continue to live at Orpheus, continue to be everything Nicholas wanted him to be, and when it was his turn to ascend to the throne, he’d be just as much of a bastard as her father.
She walked into Erotique, the gorgeous bar, to the accompaniment of cameras, laughter, talking. People having a good time. She pasted on her best smile, and went into the fray. This was her specialty. Getting attention. Making the headlines. No one did it better than her, and dammit, neither Trace or his news was going to spoil things now.
She’d figure a way to get her father to accept Hush. She would. She wasn’t a Devon for nothing.
THE REST of the night went on in a blur of interviews and champagne. Trace was never completely out of her sight. She’d turn, and there he’d be. Sipping the Cristal, talking to some hottie, laughing it up. And when his eyes met hers, he smiled. Smiled like he was on top of the world.
The prick.
What had she ever, ever seen in him? He was duplicitous, underhanded and a whole bunch of other evil things that if she hadn’t had that last glass of champagne, she could think of.
Doing her a favor. Ha. He just wanted a front-row ticket. He couldn’t wait to see her take a fall. “Well, you know what, Mr. High-and-Mighty Winslow? Screw you.”
“What?”
Piper looked front. To the confused gaze of some guy from the Enquirer. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”
The guy, who was swaying just a little more than he should have, gave her a salacious grin. “So you tried out those toys in the cupboard upstairs?”
Piper kept smiling. “Not those, no.”
His face fell but his next sip of champagne seemed to soften the blow.
“Would you excuse me?” She made a quick tour of Erotique; it was so beautiful it made her ache. Most of the press had congregated around the black circular bar, the pink overhead lighting flattering and sexy. She loved the high black bar chairs with the inverted triangle backs. She headed toward the ladies’ room, running her hand over the only empty round-backed leather armchair, admiring the sea foam-green that matched the lobby carpet exactly. It was a killer bar, and it would be packed nightly. No doubt at all.
She nodded, grinned, waved like a
damn parade-float princess all the way to the bathroom. She pushed the door open, saw the crowd, and made a hasty retreat. Hurrying as quickly as possible in her heels, she went through the lobby to the first elevator. No one came after her, and the moment she was inside the cab she hit the button for the spa floor and collapsed against the mirror.
She closed her eyes and let out a howl that while loud, was surprisingly unsatisfying. The elevator came to a stop and she went right for the bathroom.
The whole room smelled faintly of lavender. Peace, quiet and beauty surrounded her, a balm to her soul. She sat on one of the stools by the long pink marble sink, wishing she’d brought her bag. She needed to fix her lipstick.
Instead, she faced herself in the mirror. No photo-op smile, no tricks of the light. Just her. She had a problem, a big one. She knew Hush was going to make it, that it could be one of the hottest hotels in Manhattan. But she also wasn’t a fool. She wanted her inheritance. Who wouldn’t? It was one hell of a lot of money, and while it couldn’t buy happiness, it could get her real close. Even though it would be a fine and dramatic gesture to tell her father to go jump in a lake, it would be strategically unsound.
The thing was, she didn’t have enough time. She felt sure her father would eventually get over his problem with Hush. It would take a few years for Hush to be completely in the black, and she’d been counting on his help to get through until the cash flow was steady, but if he was going to be this stubborn… Damn, she only had a week. A week with Trace Winslow on her ass, which not only didn’t help, it made things exponentially worse.
Trace knew exactly how to push every one of her buttons, and had no hesitation in doing so. He was a vile man, a hateful man. And good God, he turned her on like a light switch.
She dropped her head in her hands. This should have been a triumphant night, a glorious victory. She looked up again, met her eyes. It still was a victory. She’d make it work. She’d figure it out. But first, she’d go back to the bar and she wouldn’t even glance at Trace.
HE WATCHED HER work the room, and even he had to admit she was doing one hell of a job. Gliding from one reporter to the next, she never missed a beat or an opportunity to make nice. Quite a change from her usual shenanigans.
How many times had he passed a newsstand to find Piper’s photo plastered on the tabloids in some compromising position? Drunk or disheveled, hanging on some guy, at this party or that. The woman lived for notoriety. And here she was, playing the hostess, acting as if she were a responsible adult, when the whole world knew she was still a wild child. Who did she think she was fooling?
He thought about her latest in a long string of idiot men. Logan Barrister, for God’s sake. His band might be at the top of the charts, but the guy had the brains of a trout. If anything he was more of a press slut than Piper. They’d been kicked out of more Manhattan bars than anyone else he could think of.
The tragedy was, Trace had a strong suspicion that Piper was bright. Really smart. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to shock her father, she could have made something of herself. She knew the business inside and out. Hush had all the potential to be a first-class hotel, but no. She had to go and make it a haven for the kinky. It was a very expensive way to act out, and the consequences were far reaching. But would she listen to him?
He put his empty glass on the bar. He still had to take his luggage upstairs, get settled in his room. It was almost two, and the place had cleared out considerably, but there were still some die-hards left.
Piper looked as fresh as she had when he’d first walked in. How she’d managed that, he couldn’t say. She must have been nervous as hell at this first sneak peek, but it didn’t show.
He wouldn’t bother her. Not tonight. Let her get some rest. She’d need it. So would he. Tomorrow was going to be…interesting.
PIPER WAS as exhausted as a person could be and still be upright. She made her way through the dwindling crowd looking for Janice.
There she was, standing by the leaded glass doors, and oh, Mick, her hunky boyfriend, had finally made an appearance. Seeing them together, Piper smiled. They’d met here, at Hush. Janice had moved in a few weeks ago, when Piper herself had taken up residence. There had been so much to do to get the hotel ready for the opening date. And Mick, he’d been here, too. He was a master carpenter, and he’d worked on several of the penthouse suites. He and Janice had hit it off right away, even though she was eight years his senior. It looked like love to Piper.
At least someone was happy. That was a good thing. Her gaze swept the room but she didn’t see Trace. He must have slipped out while she’d been busy. He was probably upstairs right now, slipping between the sheets.
She could’ve given him one of the penthouses, but she hadn’t. He was in a regular suite, which was still incredibly wonderful, but he didn’t have all the bells and whistles. Petty, but screw it. He didn’t deserve a penthouse.
She, on the other hand, did. She had taken the Gaul-tier suite, and she’d kill to be up there right now. Only half an hour to go until she could shoo everyone out to the taxis on Madison. Till she could collapse. At least until 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.
THE SUITE was huge by Manhattan standards. It wasn’t in the deco style of the hotel, instead it was Asian with shoji screens, a low California King bed with a deep scarlet comforter, Ikebana flower arrangements and Asian prints on the walls. There was an elegance in the materials that made Trace sigh as he put his suitcase on the bed.
As he unpacked, he noticed more details of the room. The sunken Jacuzzi bathtub with inset candles climbing the wall. The shower with three showerheads. The video camera and blank tapes standing in the corner of the bedroom. And then there was the selection of adult DVDs in the television armoire.
He had to laugh when he realized the book in the bedside drawer was the Kama Sutra, nestled next to a fur glove and a selection of flavored oils.
Not surprisingly, the bathroom cabinet housed a box of condoms and several varieties of lubricant. The whole suite was designed for decadence, built for two.
He walked over to the window by the desk and opened the drapes. There was the city, brilliant and shiny in front of him. What would his life have been like if he’d gone into family law, instead of joining his father’s firm? As if he’d had a choice. He’d been brought up in the fold. The expectations had been there since birth. Probably since conception. On the plus side, he made lots of money. Lots and lots. Travel across the globe. All the prestige a man could want. Yet, here he was, babysitting.
The whole episode was a farce, a father-daughter drama with expensive toys. Piper wasn’t going to change, God knows Nicholas wasn’t going to budge. So what was the point? The hotel would be a sensation for a while, then the luster would fade and instead of booking the headliners, they’d get the wannabes from Jersey and honeymoon couples from Wisconsin.
If she was lucky, she wouldn’t lose all her money. But even if he was wrong and the place was the hottest ticket in New York history, Nicholas was still going to cut her off. He’d never met two more stubborn people.
The important thing to remember was that the outcome wasn’t his problem. He’d do what he was paid to do, and let nothing else get in the way. Not his contempt for Nicholas’s dictatorial ways, not his amazement at the circus that was Piper’s life. Not even the way he got hard every time he looked at her.
He was a big boy. He wasn’t controlled by his gonads, and hadn’t been for a long time. That Piper could get to him like no one else was immaterial. Hell, she’d been a temptation forever.
They never spoke about that night. It had been her seventeenth birthday, and because she was Piper, she’d had too much to drink. The party had been at the Orpheus, and she’d asked him to come upstairs to her private suite. It had been late, he’d had a bit too much champagne himself. He’d been totally unprepared for what happened.
She’d offered herself to him. Told him in no uncertain terms that she loved him, wanted him. It had taken every bi
t of willpower he had to walk away.
She’d never forgiven him.
But they still had to work together. It was ten years now, and still, the repercussions just kept on unfolding. Every meeting, every phone call, every social engagement where he watched the flash of her eyes, heard the silk of her laugh, he paid again.
He closed the drapes and headed for the bathroom. He needed to sleep.
PIPER FINALLY CRAWLED into bed at three-thirty. Bone tired, she figured she’d fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
She was wrong. At four, she was still thinking. Not about her father, not about losing all that money, but about Trace. About his being here for a week. A whole week. How in hell was she going to get through this?
3
MORNING HIT with a vengeance. Trace cursed the lack of room service, but blessed the coffeepot in the suite. He waited until seven to call Piper. He’d forgotten to get her room number, so he dialed her cell. She sounded more hungover than he felt.
“What do you want, Trace?”
“Breakfast would be good.”
“Fine. When?”
“Half an hour?”
“Meet me in the employee cafeteria. It’s on basement two.”
“Fine.” He hung up, then went to the desk and plugged in his laptop. He checked his e-mail, and answered most of it. His secretary, Terry, knew he’d be at the hotel for the week, and she’d cancelled or postponed his meetings. Because he worked exclusively for the Devon corporation as one of their attorneys, Nicholas had had no qualms about sending him down here, even though he had an apartment on the Upper East Side. While Trace felt a week was excessive, Devon disagreed, and since he signed the checks…
A week with Piper. Shit. It was going to be hard enough getting her to go along with her father’s plans, but to have to eat with her, be near her. He should call Ellen. She was great. Smart. Pretty. A real-estate attorney he’d met six months ago. They’d gone out two, no, three times. He liked her. She had a great laugh.
