by MK Meredith
Nicolau Espasa. Now the name sounded familiar.
She hated the entitled attitudes of the wealthy. As if they had the right to do what they wanted, when they wanted, just because they had money.
With her heart pounding loudly in her ears, London read the text over two more times. Why had he lied about his name? Unless he always went by Mateu, not Nicolau? It wasn’t news Huntington Place Barcelona was working to earn back its lost number one status; the blow had come as a shock to most in the industry. Some sort of mismanagement from above.
He couldn’t know what she did for a living, could he? Disappointment made her sink down onto the bed. The identities of hotel investigators, especially at her level, were fiercely protected. But money could get a person just about anything he wanted, and Mateu was only proving her point. If he knew who she was and hoped to get a good review out of her, the joke was on him. She wasn’t even in town to review, just to relax. There was no five-star review to nudge out of her.
Imagining his self-satisfied smile made her blood boil. She dug the nails of one hand into her palm and stared at the text. It felt as though a rubber band had been wrapped around her chest, and she tried to breathe against her acute disappointment.
Manipulate a rating out of her, huh? Oh, she’d like to show him exactly where he could shove his grand plan. And it would surely fit with how big of an asshole he appeared to be. Their whole meeting had clearly been a ploy, and she’d bet her next year’s salary that little girl hadn’t even been a real thief. He’d set it up to rescue her.
Dropping her phone to the comforter with shaking fingers, she slowly blew out a breath. She’d meet the ass for a drink, she’d let him buy her one or maybe even two, and then she’d let him know what a sorry excuse for a man he was. And she’d tell him that if he told anyone else her identity, she was going to slap Huntington Place with a lawsuit. Spreading her packages across her bed, she gave a tight nod. He was going to be very sorry.
Her cell rang. She grabbed it as she sunk into the plush gray chair next to the window. Ocean waves with their white-crested peaks crashed to the shore below, and she wished she could hear their rhythmic ebb and flow. It always soothed her. “Hey there, Mama.”
Sniff. “Hey, baby.”
London pushed to the edge of the chair, worry immediately sitting her upright. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
“No, no. I’m fine. I promise. It’s just—”
“Tell me, please. You’re scaring me.”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “I submitted my mail-to-home order for my medication today. The formulary changed. The brand that works for me is no longer covered, only the generic that sent me to the emergency room last winter.”
London’s stomach tightened. “Well, we’ll handle it. How much?”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Mom.”
“Around thirty-five hundred.”
Rubbing the stinging sensation between her brows, she fell back against the chair. “Is that for the three-month prescription?”
“Just for a month.”
All her plans: the cooking classes, the museums, a hot-air balloon ride over Catalonia…slowly popped, one by one, like iridescent soap bubbles. Skipping the class and the museum would free up a couple hundred, and the private hot-air balloon ride would get her back around four hundred. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t even cover half of the cost of her mother’s medicine, but it would cover a month’s worth of utilities—maybe it was time to drop the cable TV service.
Either way, she couldn’t go through with her once-in-a-lifetime vacation agenda now. And if she hadn’t already prepaid her trip, she’d hop on the next flight home.
She pulled in a breath and blinked back her disappointment. The cost of her mother’s medicine would barely leave enough room to meet their mortgage. How the hell was she going to cover utilities, food, and transportation, not to mention her mother’s additional medical costs? Cancelling her plans might save next month, but after that?
She scrambled for her bag, then raked through the contents for the receipt with four digits’ worth of shoes she’d just bought. They’d be going back, as well.
“Honey?”
London pulled in a breath and pasted on a smile. Her mother would know if she didn’t find the strength to let this latest news roll off her shoulders.
All was not lost. Her mother would not suffer, no matter what it cost, and in the meantime, London was still in Barcelona.
It was still paradise.
“It’s going to be fine, Mom. I don’t want you worrying about this. Do you understand me? The last thing you need is to come down with a cold or something by stressing out.”
Her mother had been doing pretty well. Holding on to remission longer this time than the last, but it was always a tightwire performance. One too many bad days could set her back months. And it didn’t help that she’d had to quit working. She was a scientist at heart, but research lab work couldn’t take the inconsistency of her health problems. Now she struggled with both the MS and feeling like she had no purpose.
Not to mention the harsh winters of Chicago. Someday, she’d get her mother to a warm climate, one much more friendly to the awful disease, but first, she had to figure out how to keep her mother on the medicine that got her out of bed each morning.
Her mother’s voice held a tremor. “You’re the one I’m worried about when it comes to stress. This is the last thing you needed, but I had to call. I’ve already looked into my retirement. I think it’s time.”
“No. No way. That is for later in life. Not now. Not when you have me. Just to be clear, what I need is you healthy. The rest is simply detail. Understand?”
The silence on the phone broke her heart more than anything else. Her mother’s guilt was unnecessary and misplaced, and it made London want to pull her close and promise everything would be okay. “Mom?”
“I’m here. I just hate that this is falling on you. I’m your mother. I need to be taking care of you, not the other way around. I wish you would at least let me help.”
Tears burned London’s eyes, and she wiped at them with jerky movements. How could the universe be so unjust?
“You do, and you have. Always. I never went without, even though you were a single parent. You gave me choices and experiences…all on your own. And you’re wrong. I’m an adult now. It isn’t about you taking care of me, but us taking care of each other. That is never going to change.” She cleared her throat. “Listen. Complete the order. We still have a couple months before it will go through. That gives me some time, and I have an idea. Okay?”
“I love you, my sweet girl.”
“I love you, too, Mama. Tell Auntie Margo I send my love. And next time I come to Barcelona, you’re coming with me.” She could imagine her mom curled up in her favorite spot in the corner of the couch wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea—she was always cold—and London’s heart squeezed with a touch of homesickness and worry. She’d make it all okay.
Checking her watch, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Forty-five minutes before she could tell Mateu where to shove his five stars. “Look, I have to go. I’ll call tomorrow and tell you all about my trip so far, but I have someplace to be.”
Her mother’s tone turned lighter. “A sexy Spanish millionaire?”
London pulled the sex-on-heels out of their velvet bag, then set them next to the dress. Oh yeahhhh. She had to return them, but she was going to get her money’s worth first.
The irony of it all almost choked London. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“London.” Her mother laughed.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.” She disconnected the call, then dropped the phone to the chair.
Her mother had just given her an idea.
It might be the most extreme thing she’d ever done, but what else had she come to Barcelona for if it wasn’t living big and living loud—and maybe just a little risky?
She put in a quick call
to her boss. The job offer was still on the table, but she wanted to be paid double—this was, after all, the first real vacation she’d ever had on the books. The relief in his voice was the one light point of her day. The only difference between this assignment and all the others was the use of her own name and bank account instead of her alias, L.M. Cipriano, and her corporate card. Oh, and the fact they already knew who she was—or at least the CEO did.
Well, now it was her job to partake in all the luxuries the hotel had to offer. That was a plus…if only she could do so while relaxing with a good book instead of carefully studying every move they made during the service provided.
And as for her once-in-a-lifetime agenda for Barcelona?
If what she suspected was true, Nicolau Mateu Espasa III was about to get played at his own game. All she had to do was make him think her plan was his idea all along.
She was going to have every damn adventure on her agenda, and she was going to let Huntington Place Barcelona pay for it. If they were so desperate to make sure she had a great time, then she’d let them. She would do her job no matter what. Getting where she was in her company hadn’t happened by chance; she was damn good and a professional.
He wanted a five-star review?
Well, some things in life she didn’t give away easily, and a five-star was one of them. She’d do her job based on Huntington’s performance, without Mateu’s presence contaminating the waters.
She refused to waste a single second worrying about the lying son-of-a-Spaniard—no matter how inviting his lips were.
Time to go meet her “Gift of God” for a little business.
Now that she knew the stakes of the game, she was going to let Huntington Place Barcelona spend what she was worth.
Chapter Four
Mateu washed away the bitter taste left in his mouth by his manipulations with a sweet swallow of vermouth. He stabbed the wedge of orange with the clear plastic spear, then slowly circled it around the rim of his glass as he waited at the bar of the upscale hotel nightclub, Oceà.
He didn’t have a problem with making sure London had a great time. On the contrary, he loved the Huntington hotels. He’d bet his most recent investment that his hotel’s success made him feel the same pride his brother did when little Felip brought home straight As.
What he couldn’t stand was pretending to be someone else while he did so.
But, through London, their reputation would bump back up to number one, and he could focus on his family’s orchard and his father’s health.
He gestured to the bartender for two more glasses, then checked his watch—seven p.m. London would be here any minute, then he’d close the deal by making himself indispensable. He couldn’t be sure she was having a great time if he wasn’t by her side. If he was skilled at anything, it was his powers of persuasion.
He turned in his seat just as London approached the bar in a dress the color of her skin. He blinked twice to keep his eyes from playing tricks on him. Carall.
She was stunning. He followed the line of the dress as it dipped in at her waist then flared out at her hips, making his hands itch to take the place of the barely there material. Continuing his exploration to her toes, he pushed up from the table. Her skin was wrapped at the ankle by metal and leather in such a way that his mind went in a very different direction than footwear.
What were the odds that before she left town she might be agreeable to leaving that dress on the floor? This was one bet he’d be willing to throw his money at.
She could keep on the shoes.
No. He stopped that particular line of thought. She was off-limits. Especially to him.
“You are a beautiful woman.” He gestured toward their drinks. “Would you like to sit, or would you rather something a bit more…intimate?” He dropped his voice so only she could hear.
There was a tightness around her eyes that he hadn’t noticed when she’d walked in, but now he was on high alert. Something was amiss. Gone was the carefree “I’m in Barcelona” attitude, and in its place was a clenched smile.
“More intimate sounds perfect.” Her tone indicated it was anything but.
He watched her, somewhat wary, then dipped his head in the direction of an alcove. He followed behind her with their drinks. Barcelona boasted some of the world’s best views, but London Montgomery was giving his home a run for its money. Her dress hugged her curves, even highlighting the cleft of her ass in such a way that he had to focus elsewhere before he embarrassed himself.
He cleared his throat, then lowered onto the padded bench of the secluded booth across from her.
He slid her vermouth in front of her and lifted his own for a toast. “To new friends, and making your vacation truly once-in-a-lifetime.”
She lightly tapped the rim of her glass to his. “Are we friends now?” Her question held a hint of sarcasm. He was about to ask what had changed when she took a sip. “Oh, this is good.”
“Oceà’s house specialty. Since a vermouth barhop was on your agenda, I thought you might like a small sample.”
Her eyes skimmed over his face, as if she were looking for something more than what she found. “You are efficient; I’ll give you that. Not in Barcelona even one night, and I’m already tasting what it has to offer.”
A waitress slid two water glasses in front of them, and London ran her finger along the top of hers.
His body tightened at the sight. “Oh, but you see, this is just a sip. Barcelona has much, much more to offer before you leave.”
Her lips twisted as if experiencing something distasteful. “What if I don’t like it? I’d hate to leave disappointed with my one chance at a vacation.” She dropped her hand back to her vermouth glass. Lifting it to her lips, she breathed in, then darted her tongue out to test it before she took a sip, sending a swift hello straight to his dick. Her nails were naked, short, and buffed to a high shine, almost as bright as the slivers of gold adorning her narrow ankles.
She had simple but sophisticated taste with an underlying sensual current. Conversation amused her, and she responded with a quick wit and sometimes, a sharp tongue. All of which were great to discover, but weren’t quite yet what he was really after.
What motivated her? What made her say yes? That was what he’d need to find out in order to put his powers of persuasion to work.
Suddenly, ice cold water hit his lap. He shoved away from the table, sloshing the water in his own glass over the rim.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me.” London’s eyes widened as she handed him her linen napkin.
He frantically looked around trying to understand what had happened. Her water glass lay on its side with its contents now on the crotch of his pants. Forcing every swear word that wanted to spring forth back down his throat, he mopped at his slacks.
“Think nothing of it.” He ignored the cold, wet fabric clinging to his balls and gave her a smile that he hoped was more sincere than it felt.
“Where were we?” He moved his glass over to the side of the table.
“Barcelona.” She sipped her vermouth with a glint in her eye that he couldn’t quite read.
“You’ll be so enamored with my city by the time you’re through, you won’t be able to leave.” He brushed at his pants once more with his napkin.
Her lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. “You sound very confident.”
“Let’s just say I know how my city performs.” Abandoning his efforts at drying his pants, he focused back on London. “Allow me to show you Barcelona from the inside. My home is a city of decadence and beauty. The people here really know how to live. Isn’t that why you’ve come? We’ve already discussed a tour of the orchard. Why stop there?”
She studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure out a puzzle, then the tightness around her eyes eased. Simple anticipation took its place. “And you say you want to show me?”
“I do. The romance, the charm of Barcelona, is lost if you feel like you’re being shoved along a
sight-seeing conveyor belt. Skip the public tours. I can show you the real Barcelona.” He ignored the pinch at the base of his neck.
She coughed into her hand as if she were choking. Through watery eyes, she declined with a shake of her head. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. With your work…”
Gripping his hands under the table, he forced his face to relax. He wouldn’t accept a loss, especially not before the game had even begun. “But you’ve already invited me to spend your vacation with you.”
“I certainly did not.” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin just a bit.
“Oh, but you did.” A look of confusion furrowed her brow, so he pushed. “I can rearrange my schedule, so don’t worry about my work. Come, you said yourself you’d planned this trip with your friend. Besides, it’s been awhile since I’ve taken the time to enjoy my city. It’s easy to miss the beauty in front of you every day. If this is your big chance to live a little, don’t waste any time.”
He reached out his hand. “Let me share my Barcelona with you.”
They shook in agreement as she nodded. She tried to tug her hand free, but he resisted and placed a kiss to her knuckles to hide his relief.
Victory.
Shaking her head, she slid her hand to her lap. “I don’t know what to do with you. Are all Spaniards like you?”
He resisted a scowl. How little foreigners knew of the true Barcelona, but he’d forgive her the slight. Him, a Spaniard? Please. “Not a one.”
“Promise me a five-star experience?” she asked.
His insides froze, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. The statement was a sobering reminder: one victory down did not mean he had this in the bag, but he would. He’d gain her trust, which would give him her time. That’s all he needed. No reason for deceit beyond that.
“Six.”
Huntington Place Barcelona would sell itself. He threw back the rest of his drink. Her eyes followed the glide of his tongue. She was playing straight into his hands.
…
London refused to glance away from the intensity of Mateu’s gaze. Six stars? Holy hell, yes please.
