FLIRTING WITH FELICITY
ALSO BY GERRI RUSSELL
The Warrior Trainer
Warrior’s Bride
Warrior’s Lady
To Tempt a Knight
Seducing the Knight
Border Lord’s Bride
A Knight to Desire
A Laird for Christmas
This Laird of Mine
FLIRTING WITH FELICITY
GERRI RUSSELL
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Gerri Russell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477827222
ISBN-10: 1477827226
Cover design by Laura Klynstra
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014912339
DEDICATION
“The most beautiful people I’ve known are those who have known trials, have known struggles, have known loss, and have found their way out of the depths.” —Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
For Mom. You are one of those beautiful people, and I thank you for teaching me how to deal with life’s ups as well as the downs. You are always my inspiration.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
CULINARY TREATS TO YOU FROM GERRI RUSSELL
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Never in her wildest dreams had Felicity Wright expected the day to turn out this way. Never.
Vern Barron Bancroft was dead.
On suddenly shaky legs, she entered the Bancroft Hotel’s lobby and made it as far as the front desk before she had to stop and clutch the wood counter for support. The Seattle-based hotel bustled with guests, but Felicity only felt a sick cold in the pit of her stomach.
She’d been in the hotel’s lobby at least a dozen times a day while working in its restaurant as the head chef. She’d taken her simple life for granted. She’d taken Vern for granted. Now everything had changed.
“You okay, Felicity?” Edward McMasters asked with concern as he came to stand beside her. He looked every bit the part of the hotel manager with his short, gray-peppered hair and his classic black suit. He nodded at guests as they walked past them toward the elevator that would take them up the seven-story building to their rooms. “That meeting with the lawyers took a long time. Don’t tell me that cranky old man found some way to leave you all his bills.”
Felicity stiffened, the muscles of her shoulders going rigid before she forced herself to relax. “Vern wasn’t cranky. He was lonely.” Only two people came to his funeral this morning. Not one member of his family had come to bid him farewell. And after the funeral only she had been present at the reading of the will. A will with only three beneficiaries: his caretaker, her, and a nephew. Did the man have any other family? She had no idea. She knew almost nothing about him, except that he’d lived at the hotel, dined in the restaurant each night, and liked her cooking. Felicity’s throat thickened. She would miss seeing Vern at the restaurant each night. “Vern wasn’t who we all thought he was.”
Edward frowned. “What do you mean? Who was he?”
“The man we all knew as Vern Barron was really Vernon Bancroft.”
Edward’s eyes rounded as he looked around the lobby of the hotel named for its owner. Edward reached for Felicity’s arm, whether to comfort her or to steady himself she wasn’t certain. “The Vernon Bancroft? One of Forbes 400’s wealthiest Americans?”
Felicity nodded, still dazed by the knowledge that her friend, her visitor each night at the restaurant and longtime hotel resident, was a billionaire. Vern had needed not only special meals for dietary reasons, but more attention than most of the other guests. As a result of their nightly chats, he and Felicity had grown close. But not once did he mention his financial status. And she’d never assumed anything more than that he was a lonely old man with sufficient funds to keep him in a place where he felt comfortable.
“Why did he call himself Barron?”
She shrugged. “Turns out Barron was his middle name. He obviously wanted his privacy.”
Edward’s grip tightened on her arm. “What did his lawyers want with you?”
“He left me the Dolce Vita—”
Edward gaped. “He left you the restaurant?”
“And the hotel.” The lawyers had informed her she was now a multimillionaire, if she took into account the hotel property, assets, and income. Her heartbeat raced at the thought. Felicity quickly squashed the rising panic with a steadying breath. Vern would not have wanted her to freak out over his gift. He would have wanted her to accept her new fate and move on just like he’d told her to do last week after the horrible review she’d received in the Seattle Gazette.
“Life is like that, Felicity. I’ve learned in my many years the only thing that works is to accept what happens and move on,” Vern had told her.
No drama. No hysterics. That’s what Vern would expect.
“Oh my God!” Edward’s voice cut through the din in the lobby, bringing a sudden silence to the room as guests and staff turned to stare. “Are you serious?” he asked in a softer voice.
Felicity could only nod.
“What are you going to do?” Edward asked as the people around them resumed conversations.
“I don’t know,” she replied, her voice uneven as she looked around. She knew nothing about running a hotel. She only knew how to run a kitchen. And now all this was hers.
An aching sense of loss moved through her. It was three years ago when she’d first met Vern. He’d asked to see the chef and then challenged her to cook something for him that tasted good while still being healthy for an old man with diabetes and cholesterol issues. From the moment they’d met, something about the sadness in his eyes had touched her heart. They’d talked for a few minutes, and as they talked, he gave her what she would learn later was a rare smile. The man was lonely, and in her, that night, he’d found a friend. He’d been a friend to her as well, offering her fatherly advice even though she never asked for it.
Her breath escaped in a trembling sigh. Vern was gone. His advice at an end. The world seemed a lesser place. But in the end, he’d given her a piece of himself, his heart, and his legacy. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them free. She would cherish that gift, and try to make Vern proud.
Felicity fixed her gaze on Edward and tried to smile. “Please tell me you’ll stay on as manager while I figure all this out?”
The hotel manager’s smile flashed white against his wrinkled face. “Absolutely, boss.”
&
nbsp; His words fell like a life preserver in the storm of self-doubt that had broken around her since leaving Vern’s lawyers’ office. Everything would be all right. She could learn how to run a hotel and make the owner’s decisions for the restaurant. She could hold everything together, not just for herself, but for every person who worked at the Bancroft. They’d become her family. She had to be strong and clever. She had to work harder and find a way to be worthy of the gift Vern gave her.
Felicity frowned. “How did Vern keep you from knowing he was the owner?”
“He was a tricky old coot, I’ll give him that. He would only ever talk to me over the phone,” Edward smiled. “For three years, he pulled the wool over my eyes.”
“He fooled all of us.”
“That he did,” Edward said. “But in the end, we can only respect his need for privacy. I know I do.”
“I guess I do, too,” Felicity agreed.
Edward studied her. “You okay if I leave you alone?”
“Of course.”
“I gotta go tell Marie.” Edward’s hazel eyes brightened. “She’s going to be floored by who Vern really was.” He gave Felicity’s arm a final squeeze, then turned to head toward the elevator to find his wife, who worked as the head of housekeeping.
Between Edward and Marie, the rest of the employees would know the news within the hour. Felicity doubted any of them would challenge her new status as owner. They were, after all, her friends. But then again, Destiny Carrow had called herself a friend when she wrote a horrible review about the restaurant.
During one of Felicity’s nightly talks with Vern while he dined in the restaurant, he had reminded her that if she wanted anything in this world, she had to hold on with bulldog tenacity until she got it. She’d won and lost many battles over the years. This was only one more.
Excitement sizzled along Felicity’s nerves. She forced her feet to stay firmly planted on the floor when the desire to do a happy dance overcame her. She had a hotel. She owned her own restaurant. She was now the boss of her own kitchen. Though she had never been fired before, that fear had lingered in the back of her mind for years. What would she do if she didn’t have a job? How would she support her father and pay for his medical needs?
Owning her own hotel, she could never be fired or see her restaurant shut down as was often the case in the food industry. The Dolce Vita had had a better chance of surviving the ups and downs of the industry since it was attached to the hotel, but owning both the hotel and the restaurant would definitely increase the certainty of a job long term.
And, with a little more help from her staff, she might actually be able to do something for herself for a change, like shopping, or going to a movie in the middle of the afternoon, or going out on a date. A real date . . . that was something she hadn’t done in ages. The possibilities swirled inside her as she turned and came to a sudden stop against the solid wall of a man’s suit-covered chest. At the feel of his muscular form against her body, her stomach did a giddy flip. A woodsy, manly scent filled her senses.
“Are you okay?” The rich sound of his voice rocked her.
Felicity swallowed roughly as she took a step back. “Sorry!” She reached out to brush away any wrinkles she might have caused in his suit, then stopped herself as she realized touching him would only make things worse. She snapped her hand back and met his gaze. Eyes blue as the deep ocean focused on her.
Felicity let out a slow breath. The man was drop-dead gorgeous—his jaw strong and defined, his cheekbones high. And he had the tiniest hint of a dimple in his left cheek.
“Miss, I asked if you were okay.” At her continued staring, an easy smile came to his lips. Lips made for long, hot kisses.
“My fault. I should’ve been paying closer attention.” She was paying attention now.
She’d never had the time to indulge herself in the kinds of things other girls did. Her responsibilities were too many, her fears too deep.
But in her new circumstances, with this guy, she might make an exception. He was definitely something to look at. Her mouth went dry at the thought of the well-muscled chest beneath his shirt. But he was more than just handsome. Confidence shone in his eyes. And why wouldn’t he be confident? The black pinstripe suit he wore probably cost more than her entire wardrobe.
The thought brought an answering smile to her lips. “Welcome to the Bancroft Hotel,” Felicity said, with what she hoped was a mix of friendliness and authority.
He raised a brow. “You’re with the hotel?”
Felicity stood a little taller, grateful she’d chosen her favorite black sheath dress for Vern’s funeral and her meeting with the lawyers. The stranger’s gaze slid down the clean line of her body to her sensible shoes and back up again. His gaze was warm, sensual, and inviting. Heat infused her skin as she nodded. It had been years, more than she’d like to admit, since she’d been this close to any male who had caught her interest. “Will you be staying with us for a while?” she asked with a catch in her throat.
“I’m not sure.” His gaze left hers to search the lobby. “Could you tell me where I might find Felicity Wright?”
Her breath faltered. “You’re looking at her. Why?”
His deep blue eyes searched hers with suspicion. “I pictured you being older.”
A flush warmed her cheeks. “Excuse me?” Okay, so the man was incredibly hot, but why would he come looking for her? No one came looking for her unless they had a problem with their meal. But that would be easier to believe if the restaurant were open for business at that moment.
“My uncle recently died here. I understand you knew him.”
“Vern Barron—I mean Bancroft—was your uncle?” The soft jazz that played in the lobby suddenly faded, and the lights dimmed as her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. The nephew listed in the will.
He nodded without a show of grief.
“His funeral was today,” she said, stating the obvious as she assessed the man before her. Was he affected at all by the loss of his uncle? Or was he here to challenge what Vern had given her?
“My flight was delayed, or I would have been here for the services.” A flicker of remorse darkened his eyes. “I’m going about this all wrong, forgive me.” He extended his hand. “Blake Bancroft.”
His deep voice rumbled through her with a devastating effect. As needlelike chills worked across her body, Felicity accepted his hand. The feel of his skin against hers caused another wave of chills to consume her. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, fighting the urge to pull him closer.
What was wrong with her? Was she that out of practice with men? It had been almost a year since her last disastrous date and almost two years since she’d kissed a man. An eternity since she’d gone beyond kissing . . . She swallowed roughly. Oh, how she could savor this man. He was better than any sweet treat she might whip up in her kitchen.
He released her hand, and she suddenly went cold. “We have much to discuss, but not yet, and not here.”
At his words, reality returned. Blake Bancroft stood before her. Vern’s nephew. Fear and grief mixed into a knot in her stomach. He’d come to challenge the will.
“Vern’s lawyers said the will was legitimate.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of stationery from the Bancroft Hotel that had been attached to the will. The lawyers had given it to her as if she would know what to do with the message: “Take care of the Bancroft, Felicity. You’ll know what to do.”
She passed the note to Blake. She had no idea what she was supposed to do. Last week her life had been simple. Her biggest worry at the hotel had been whether the special she served that day would be well received. Today, there was so much more. What that “more” entailed, she had yet to find out, but she was certain the man before her was not going to make things easy for her.
In that moment, Felicity had never felt so alone.
“You’re stronger than you think, Felicity. You always have been. You’re going to be just fine.” The
words Vern had spoken to her on the day before he died came back to her. She straightened. “I’m not sure what else there is to discuss, Mr. Bancroft. If you want to know more about your uncle’s last days, then I’d be happy to talk with you. If you’re here because of the hotel, then you can talk to my lawyers.”
Blake returned Felicity’s note without reading it. He recognized his uncle’s handwriting, but he really didn’t care what the message said. He had come to Seattle to take over the Bancroft. An impassioned note from his uncle wouldn’t change anything.
Blake swept a look over the young woman before him. When he’d learned his uncle Vernon had given away the Bancroft to one of the staff, he’d figured it was because the old man had had some kind of secret mistress while he hid from the world in his favorite hotel.
Fighting for what should have been his would have been easy if Felicity were everything he’d imagined her to be—a gold digger. Someone who would be easy to manipulate. Yet the woman before him didn’t appear to be any of those things.
She appeared strong, in control, and determined to challenge him. Definitely not his uncle’s type—if his uncle had ever had a type. Felicity’s long platinum-blonde hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense, but there was an exotic quality to her almond-shaped eyes that captivated him. Those eyes narrowed on him now with suspicion. “Shall I direct you to my legal team?”
Blake frowned. The look wasn’t the typical response he garnered from women. He shifted his gaze from Felicity to the lobby as he considered what to do.
A woman glanced Blake’s way as she walked toward him in her high-heeled black leather shoes. Her smile was inviting, as was the generous amount of cleavage her tight pink dress revealed. He smiled at her and her eyes widened. She moved past him with a slight brush of her hand against his fingers as she slipped a piece of paper into his hand. No doubt her room number or phone number. He was used to this kind of attention.
Years ago when he’d first taken over as acting president of Bancroft Industries, the fame and notoriety that had come with the position bothered him. But over the years he’d become used to the unsought intimacy that people—especially women—pressed upon him. He knew it had nothing to do with him personally; it was his wealth. People clamored to touch him like he was a conduit for success.
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