Hush

by Jo Leigh

  He went to his briefcase to pull out his PalmPilot, but then it was time to go for breakfast. He ran his hand through his hair, and headed out.

  Breakfast with Piper. Gee, how’d he get so lucky?

  MEMORANDUM

  To: Room Service and Housekeeping

  From: Janice Foster, General Manager, HUSH Hotel

  Date: Saturday

  Re: Trace Winslow, suite 9006

  Extra coffee!!! Check at noon and 3:00 to make sure he has enough.

  Half and half in the fridge, replace daily!

  New bottle of Stoli daily!!! Keep it in the fridge.

  Fresh fruit and sparkling water at turndown!

  VVVVVIP!!!!!!!!

  PIPER SIPPED her coffee as she checked her watch. Trace was late.

  There were only a few people in the cafeteria, but the number of employees was growing daily. Now that they were so close to the soft opening, they had to fill the ranks, finish training everyone from bellmen to housekeepers to dog sitters.

  God, how many soft openings had she lived through in her life? It was the hardest time for a hotel. All the final bugs had to be ironed out, all the little things that only popped up after guests had checked in. Thankfully, the reviews wouldn’t start for another month, after the official grand opening, but still. She wanted everything to be perfect.

  Janice had been fabulous putting it all together, but most of the credit for staffing went to Lisa Scott, the head of human resources and Piper’s oldest friend.

  Lisa was the daughter of Jess Scott, who’d worked at the Orpheus for almost twenty years. Since they were the same age, Piper and Lisa had started hanging out when they were ten, and the friendship had continued. Deepened. Lisa and Piper’s ex-nanny, Bridget Pollard, knew everything about Piper. They’d stuck with her during the good times and the bad, and Piper had no idea what she would have done without them.

  Trace walked in, and Piper had to put down her cup. God, he was a good-looking man. It wasn’t fair. He had a wicked body. Wide shoulders, slim hips, unbelievable abs. His hair was dark and thick, although it could have been longer. But it was his face that did the damage.

  Perfect from his forehead to his chin. Expressive brown eyes that could communicate his every emotion or be a cold mirror. His nose was straight and fine, and his lips… He didn’t have much of an upper lip, but what was there, worked. His lower lip was delectable, and when the man smiled, there wasn’t a woman within shouting distance who didn’t get wet.

  Too bad he was such a prick.

  “What do we do here?” he asked, standing in his dark gray suit, his pale blue tie, his body oozing sex appeal as if he expected her to drool or something.

  “We eat.”

  He looked down at her cup of coffee. Her lack of food.

  She sighed as she stood. “This way.”

  He followed her to the breakfast bar. There was everything from fresh bagels to omelets and waffles. The employees could come in here to eat, to relax on their breaks, to take staff meetings. At night, when the restaurant, Amuse Bouche, was open, the chef made sure the buffet was stocked with excellent fare.

  She grabbed a tray and picked up some yogurt, fresh fruit salad and grapefruit juice. Trace got a waffle, scrambled eggs and melon.

  They went back to her table, and for a few minutes, they concentrated on eating. Her gaze kept going to Trace’s mouth, the way he chewed, his throat as he swallowed. But then he’d look at her, and she’d stare at her plate until she figured he wasn’t looking. Then it would begin again, until she couldn’t take it anymore. “So what’s the deal? Why is Nicholas being such a jerk?”

  “Nice way to talk about your father.”

  “I was being kind.”

  Trace frowned. “He’s upset. You won’t listen to him. What recourse does he have?”

  “Disinheriting me seems like a radical choice.”

  “Oh? And what would you have him do?”

  “Give me a chance. Give Hush a chance.”

  “Piper,” he said, putting his fork down, “you’ve made the hotel into a bordello. You’re still a Devon, and the man has worked his whole life to make that name mean something.”

  “It’s not a bordello. Jesus, Trace, you’ve seen it yourself. I’m not ashamed about one thing at Hush. It’s first-class, all the way. More so than most of the Devon chain.”

  “Its main selling point is vibrators.”

  She sighed. “I expect that from Kyle, not you. The main selling point of Hush is excitement. You and I both know that when couples come to Manhattan, that’s what they’re looking for. They want a rush, they want to feel cosmopolitan, exotic. I’m giving them everything they could ask for.”

  “Vibrators.”

  “Yes, and all the other wonderful things consenting adults like to play with. Look, all the boutique hotels have some kind of gimmick. The Muse has a dream maker on staff. The Library Hotel uses literature, including, I might add, erotica. Hotel Giraffe has the sweet-indulgence thing. Hush just does it better, with something more people want.”

  “You said it yourself, Piper. It’s a gimmick. Gimmicks aren’t what Devon hotels are about.”

  “No, they’re not. They’re about boredom. Look at the statistics, Trace. You know as well as I do that the average customer at any of the Devon hotels is fifty.”

  “Fine, you want to bring in a younger clientele, go for it. But not with sleaze.”

  “Sleaze?” She felt herself priming for a major attack, and reined her anger in. She couldn’t stop the death grip she had on her fork, however. “There is nothing sleazy about this hotel.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She stood up, afraid she was going to stab him. “I have meetings this morning. I have to go.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No.”

  “Piper, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’m here for a week. Get used to it.”

  “Fine. We’ll meet later.”

  “I’d like you to take me through. I want to see everything.”

  “I’m sure you do. I’ll call you at noon.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” She grabbed her tray and headed for the exit, wondering what she’d done to deserve this…this nightmare. She knew he was watching her as she left, and she hoped he’d choke on his waffle.

  TRACE WATCHED her walk away. Specifically that splendid rear end of hers. Today she’d worn slacks, black, that fit just right. A red silk blouse that curved over her breasts like a caress. And an attitude that made him want to…

  He could do this. He was a professional. He dealt with some of the most cunning businessmen in the world. One young woman with personality issues wasn’t going to undermine his purpose.

  He’d make her see the light. Get her to accept her responsibilities. Or die trying.

  PIPER HUNG UP the phone, then turned to her desk calendar. At three she had an interview with a new bartender. Her CPA was coming at four-fifteen. She wanted Trace to be in on that one. Let him get a load of the projections.

  She’d already made dinner reservations for the two of them at Amuse Bouche, but that wasn’t until nine, so if she could show him the hotel before her three o’clock, she’d have some time for herself after her last meeting.

  She called down to the spa. “Caroline, can you fix me up with a massage at seven tonight?”

  “Absolutely. What kind?”

  “Whatever you think. I want to try them all.”

  “How long do you have?”

  “An hour.”

  “Okay, you’re all set.”

  “Thanks.” Piper put the phone down. Caroline was a real find to run the spa. She had years of experience at the Red Door in Beverly Hills, and she was serious about making the Hush spa the best it could possibly be. They’d hired five masseuses, and the equipment, except for the steam room, was all installed and working.

  In perhaps one of the best perks of her job, Piper was trying every technique, every masseuse. Just li
ke she was going to try everything on the menu at Amuse, go into every suite and room. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to insure that her hotel was perfect.

  Not because her watcher was on the premises. Trace could go hang himself for all she cared. It was about pride. Making her own success.

  Letting out a long slow breath, she picked up the phone again and dialed Trace’s room. He answered gruffly, as if she’d interrupted something important.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral despite the fact that just his voice was enough to provoke all kinds of inappropriate responses.

  “I’ll be in the lobby in five minutes.” He hung up, not bothering to say goodbye.

  She put the phone back in the cradle, and dropped her head to her hand. Why did she let him get to her like this? Every time she saw him, her thoughts went directly to sex without passing Go or collecting two hundred dollars. It was downright Pavlovian, and worse, it made her feel like a fool.

  She stood up, pushing back her chair. She would not think of sex with Trace, not in any context. Too many memories there, too much history. What she needed to remember was how he’d rejected her, how her heart had been crushed.

  She turned off her computer and headed to the hallway. With every step, she took a deep breath, picturing herself confident, uncaring, cool as a cucumber. All she had to do was show Trace the hotel. Once he saw it for himself, he’d get it. He’d see that it wasn’t sleazy in the least. Then he’d tell her father, and everything would be fine. It would.

  She rode the elevator up to the lobby, and when the doors opened, there he was. He was staring at the painting at the end of the hallway, his hands in his pockets, the picture of debonair. She might hate him, but she couldn’t deny that his particular combination of looks, style and chemistry was her Achilles’ heel.

  One last deep breath and she stepped to his side. “I thought we’d start at the top and work our way down.” Without waiting for a response, she led him back to the elevator, and put her key card in the slot above the floor buttons. This particular card would give them access to the roof. She had another that would take her to the penthouse suites.

  The doors closed and the only sound in the cab was the soft music playing from the speakers. It was Norah Jones, and Piper focused on the lyrics instead of the man standing so close to her. The long seconds ticked by accompanied by a solo guitar and the briefest hint of his cologne. She kept her expression neutral, her back straight, even when she saw the reflection of his eyes staring back at her.

  She blinked first, looking at the elevator’s progress as it went from the sixteenth floor to the seventeenth. Only a few more seconds and they’d be on the roof, and then it would be easier.

  When they finally reached their destination, she held back a sigh, and simply led him outside. “This is the garden,” she said. “Mostly flowers, but some vegetables that they use in the restaurant.”

  Trace took in the whole of the expanse in front of him, surprised at the size of the garden and how lush it was with a riot of colorful blooms. It was beautiful and calming, with scattered benches and standing fountains.

  He remembered this building. A prime piece of real estate, most of Piper’s trust fund had gone to acquiring the space. It had been nondescript. A bunch of offices with a coffee shop and a dry cleaner, and something else he couldn’t remember on the ground floor. There was nothing nondescript about it now.

  “In the winter, this whole area becomes a greenhouse, so the guests can still come up here and get away from it all.” She headed to her right, pointing out the retractable roof. “The pool, which I’ll show you next, has the same kind of roof, which we can put up during undesirable weather. But during the summer and spring, we’re going to keep it open.”

  He followed her down a short flight of stairs to the indoor pool, which was much longer than it was wide, Olympic-size, he thought. The floor was tiled gray and there were chrome sconces at wide intervals on the white walls. Next to the pool was a large Jacuzzi tub, and there were white lounge chairs and round tables lined up ready for bathers. On the far wall was a bar, not staffed at the moment, but it appeared to be fully stocked.

  “Those are the locker rooms,” Piper said, leading him toward two doors next to the bar. She walked ahead of him, sorting through some keys.

  Trace let his gaze move down her body, captured by the sway of her hips. He preferred her in skirts, but this was a close second. He couldn’t keep his eyes lowered, however, not with the temptation of that incredible behind right in front of him. Goddamn, it was enticing. It was nuts, how much he wanted her when he didn’t even like her all that much. Yeah, she was fun, but so was golf.

  He forced his head up, his thoughts away from temptation. He had no business thinking about her ass, or any other part of her. She was a job, that’s all. Piper was enough trouble with her clothes on.

  She opened the men’s locker-room door, and he followed her into the small but efficient space. It reminded him of a lesser version of the changing room at his gym, fully equipped and ready to go. “Do you have a workout room?”

  She nodded as she walked him past the showers. “It’s on the fourth floor. I’ll show it to you later.”

  “Great.”

  “The only thing left on the roof is the library,” she said. “It’s right through here.”

  She led him into a lushly decorated space that had the same domed, Plexiglas ceiling as the pool area. Only there was a coziness that took him by surprise. The wall that separated them from the lockers had a large fireplace in the center, and it looked to him as if it burned real wood. Looking up, he saw the chimney, which, oddly, seemed to fit with the other high-tech materials. There were cream-colored couches, each equipped with soft pillows, reading lamps and footstools. Rich carpeting covered the floor, and as the name implied, there were shelves of books throughout the room.

  As he wandered, he spotted small groupings of chairs, coffee tables, chaise lounges, magazine racks. The bar at the pool was open in here, too, although there was a separation where the wall met.

  “That’s to keep out the noise,” she said. “It’s very quiet in here, and even though the sound system is wired throughout the entire roof, each space is divided to create the perfect environment.”

  Trace nodded. “So what? People come up here to screw during poetry readings?”

  Piper’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, that’s it. We were just going to call it the Orgy Room, but we thought that might be a bit much.” She walked quickly back to the elevator, and when they were both inside, she pushed the button to the nineteenth floor with more force than was necessary.

  Trace relaxed, resting his shoulder against the steel of the cab. She’d faced front which gave him the chance to look at her, to note the tension in her shoulders. Even that expensive suit of hers couldn’t hide her frustration. He liked her this way. On edge, on the defensive. He could control things better this way. When Piper was angry, she let things slip. Besides, there was nothing more satisfying than seeing that fire light up her eyes.

  He wished he could see them now, even though he knew them as well as his own. They were a startling blue that most people thought were colored by contact lenses. Large, perceptive eyes with thick, dark lashes. Eyes that were made infinitely more beautiful when lit by passion or pain.

  He’d been hypnotized by them more than once. Even when she couldn’t find the right sharp words, her gaze could tease him to the brink of madness.

  He wasn’t about to get tangled up in blue eyes. Like those who’d been turned to stone by Medusa, he’d learned it was better not to look.

  The elevator stopped, and he stepped into the cool hallway.

  “These are the penthouse suites,” Piper said, heading to the left.

  “What are you charging?”

  “Five thousand a night.”

  “And the lower suites?”

  “Twenty-five hundred.”

  From what he knew about Manhattan hote
ls, she was in the right ballpark. It would be interesting to see what was behind the penthouse doors.

  She didn’t make him wait. She opened the door, stepping aside to let him enter. As he walked in, he caught a hint of her perfume. She still wore Samsara. Surprising. He’d thought that scent belonged in the past, along with her innocence.

  He forced himself to focus on the room. The foyer was large, as large as some New York hotel rooms. The floor was Italian marble, the artwork on the walls Warhol originals.

  “This is the Pop Room,” Piper said, her heels clicking across the floor. “It’s three-thousand square feet. There are two bedrooms, three baths, butler, secretarial and limo services. It was designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier. Our other penthouses were done by Stella McCartney, Donatella Versace, Zang Toi and Vivienne Westwood. The bridal suite was done by Vera Wang.”

  “That’s a hell of a list.”

  “Good PR,” she said. “They’re all coming to the opening, as are their favorite clients. We’re having several photo spreads done. The GQ will be out next week.”

  “So it’s to be celebrities all the way?”

  “They get the press.”

  “But they don’t pay.”

  “Not in the beginning, but they will. They’ll spend oodles of money here because every star worth his salt wants the world to think they’re the hottest studs to walk the earth. It’s going to be a badge of manliness to come to Hush. And where there are hot, hunky men, hot, horny women follow. It’s as elemental as the tide.”

  “There’s nothing here that these people can’t get at any other hotel.”

  “Why don’t you shove, uh, wait on that opinion until you’ve experienced the entire hotel.”

  “You think I haven’t seen a vibrator before? Come on, Piper. I’m not convinced.”

  “Well, then why don’t you just leave? Go back and tell Nicholas that I’m a very bad girl who doesn’t deserve a penny.”

  “That would be way too easy,” he said, his smirk so annoying she wanted to scream.