Flirting with Felicity

by Gerri Russell

  Mary Beth grinned. “Then it has to be true.”

  Instead of joy, fear rushed through Felicity in a chilling wave. “Vern’s nephew is here to challenge me for ownership.”

  Mary Beth’s smile vanished. “That doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “I wish I knew for certain. Vern might have wanted me to inherit the Bancroft, but Blake doesn’t look like someone who will back down easily.” Felicity clenched her hands together, not only at the thought of losing something that had suddenly become vital to her life, but also at the fact that she once again had to pretend she was indestructible.

  She’d tried so hard to keep her fears at bay in the days and months after the accident, when it was determined her father would never be able to work again. His pension was all they’d had to keep their small family out of poverty, and it had just barely covered their expenses. Felicity had learned how to make the money stretch from month to month, and it was then she’d taught herself how to cook, not because of a burning desire, but out of necessity.

  During those years, Felicity had created a special world for herself and her father. The fear of losing even the run-down trailer or the ability to pay the bills threatened to destroy her daily, while she focused on finishing high school. But the fantasy of keeping everything as it was in case her father miraculously improved had given her something to cling to in the darkness—a reason to keep believing, to keep up the pretense that no one and nothing could harm her.

  “Blake Bancroft might finally be the one who breaks me.”

  “No,” Mary Beth said, emphatically. “He will not. I won’t let him. You’ve worked so hard for me, for so many people. You’re a good person, Felicity. Vern knew that. With his gift he obviously wanted to see the goodness you give to others flow back to you.”

  Mary Beth was referring to Felicity’s Hungry Hearts program, through which she brought the homeless into her kitchen during the off hours and taught them not only how to cook but gave them the skills and the references they needed to search for employment in the food service industry. Mary Beth was a recent graduate of her program, and Felicity had hired her to work with her in the Dolce Vita. Mary Beth had a talent for baking that rivaled many professionally trained bakers.

  “Good things don’t usually happen to me, and when they do it makes me a little nervous,” Felicity admitted.

  Mary Beth’s brow knitted in a thoughtful frown. “Weren’t you the one who lectured me at length about accepting what was put before me and being grateful? Or was that lecture for your students’ benefit and not your own?”

  The words brought a fleeting grin to Felicity’s face. “I am grateful, believe me, especially for your friendship.” Of all her friends, Mary Beth knew what it was like to be on top of the world one moment and to have it crash around you the next. Mary Beth’s parents had lost everything in the stock market crash of 2008. Their family had tried to hang on to their wealthy lifestyle for a few years, but they’d all drifted apart. Her parents had moved to Mexico. Her brother had entered the military. She’d moved in with her boyfriend until he’d thrown her out when she’d told him she was pregnant.

  A homeless and hungry Mary Beth had shown up one day at Felicity’s Hungry Hearts program. They’d been the best of friends ever since.

  Mary Beth grinned. “Good. Now, let’s put that gratitude to work and cook up something wonderful.”

  Felicity nodded as she hooked her arm through Mary Beth’s and headed back onto the sidewalk and toward the hotel and the kitchen of the Dolce Vita.

  Cooking might help her forget how much she should dislike the man who’d invaded her life this morning. But instead of anger and possible resentment, warmth crept through her veins and stole up her cheeks as she remembered Blake’s handsome face and the way his smile had softened his features when he’d looked at her. She forced the thought away. What was it Mary Beth had said?

  Something wonderful.

  Yes, they’d create something wonderful. There hadn’t been much of that in her life so far, but Felicity liked the way that sounded.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Are you sure you’re up to this challenge?” Reid Fairfax asked from across his desk in his downtown Seattle office.

  Destiny Carrow sat in the chair opposite the editor-in-chief of the Seattle Gazette, Seattle’s only newspaper, and smiled. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. That’s why I wrote that horrible review of Felicity’s restaurant.” That’s why she’d turned her back on her onetime friend. Success came with a price, and for Destiny that price was friendship. “What do you want me to do now?”

  Reid sat back in his chair, contemplating her. The man was different than she’d expected. He looked older than the pictures she’d seen online while researching him. His short, kinky dark hair was threaded with gray. His tall, deep-chested frame carried a few more pounds, but the slightly cynical expression in his eyes was exactly the same as every picture she’d ever seen. He was a hard man, and most likely a cruel man, but she needed what he offered her—the job she’d been coveting for the last three years on the news desk. With his help, she could finally make the transition from food writer to reporter, first on a local level, then national. It was her dream, and nothing, not even friendship, would stand in her way to achieve that goal.

  “All right, let’s get to new business. The Bancrofts are our target now.”

  “Why? What do you want me to do?”

  “I want to ruin what’s left of them.”

  Destiny frowned. “I thought Felicity was the target.”

  He smiled. “She’s the distraction. She was to the old man, and she will be for me. It took me a while to find the old man, hiding away here in Seattle under a false name, but I eventually did.”

  “Why do you want to ruin them?”

  Reid’s smile became set in place. “Vernon Bancroft’s father and my grandfather were business partners. That’s how Vernon got the money he needed to open those hotels.” Reid’s eyes became glazed as though remembering a time long ago. “My grandfather was the CFO of the company at the time Vernon took his father’s place. My grandfather made the mistake once of borrowing money from the accounts he oversaw, and Vernon removed him from the board, dissolved their partnership, and tossed him out of the company.”

  “Sounds like embezzling,” Destiny said with the hint of a laugh.

  Reid glared at her. “He borrowed the money. He would have paid it back, but Vernon never gave him the opportunity.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Reid shook his head slowly. “Vernon’s actions have affected my family for years. My grandfather drank himself to death. My father followed the same path after years of trying to sue Bancroft Industries into giving him a piece of what should have been his legacy.”

  Destiny curled her fingers in her lap, fighting the urge to grab a notepad and a pencil and start scribbling down notes. The angry look in Reid’s eyes told her that wouldn’t be wise. She’d simply have to remember and research after she was done here. “So what does any of this have to do with Blake Bancroft?”

  “Blake’s the only remaining Bancroft. Since part of Bancroft Industries should belong to me, and he’s the CEO, he’s the target,” Reid said.

  “You want some sort of financial compensation for something that happened years ago?” Destiny asked, suddenly uncomfortable with the role she’d accepted. She had no wish to end her career before it even began. Blake Bancroft had power and influence that Reid Fairfax did not.

  “I want to tarnish the Bancroft name the way Vernon tarnished the Fairfax name. You know the saying ‘Never argue with someone who buys ink by the barrel.’” Reid’s gaze suddenly became clear, and he focused in on her.

  “Blake Bancroft is no fool. How do you expect me to take him down?”

  “We can’t strip him of his power or his money, but we can humiliate him. Bancroft needs investors just as much as anyone. And no one wants to back a loser. Do that, and I’ll promote you to t
he news desk of the Seattle Gazette.”

  Destiny studied his eyes a moment, searching for sincerity in what he’d offered. It was all she wanted—a job as a reporter. Seeing nothing but the truth, she nodded. “All right. I’ll approach Blake. I’ll let him think I’m trying to do an exposé on Felicity instead. Then, I’ll start digging into his past. Everyone has secrets. I’ll use his to our advantage.”

  Determined to do anything she had to in order to get that job, Destiny said goodbye to Reid, then headed for the door. She’d already turned her back on friendship. What more would it take?

  While her crew finished closing down the kitchen, Felicity headed out to check on things in the bar. After eleven, only Michael and Casper would remain on duty to serve a limited menu to the late-night patrons of the bar. However, she always liked to see how busy they were before heading home. The thought brought a smile. Tonight, her journey home would only involve a trip to the second floor. Living in the hotel had its perks.

  The cozy leather wingback chairs were filled with Seattleites and visitors just as in days past. She’d learned today that this very room once hosted the Vanderbilts and the Guggenheims upon opening over 105 years ago. The lounge’s signature drinks still welcomed authors, musicians, and artists. At the highly polished mahogany bar, Ryan, her bartender, garnished a Haute Toddy with a cinnamon stick and a lemon twist before setting it on Valerie’s tray to be delivered to one of their guests.

  At her approach, Ryan smiled. “Sit yourself down for a minute.”

  Felicity slipped into one of the tall wooden chairs at the busy bar and took off her chef’s cap. She smoothed her fingers over her hair, tidying any loose strands back toward her usual ponytail. “Things are hopping tonight.”

  He reached behind him for a tall flute and a bottle of champagne. “Nothing we can’t handle.” He filled the flute with bubbly liquid and set it before her.

  “What’s this?”

  “A small celebration of your exciting news,” Ryan said with a wide smile. “Not every day a girl inherits a fortune.”

  Felicity contemplated the bubbles erupting inside her glass. She ached to talk to someone who would understand the fear and the joy that whispered through her since the reading of Vern’s will. She was tempted to pour out her troubles to the man who had proven more than once what a good listener he was. Instead, she only allowed her fear to take form as a thought: It’s not mine yet. She lifted her glass in a salute. “Cheers.” She took a sip.

  “Enjoy, and let me know if I can do anything to help,” he said before moving away to serve another customer.

  At this point, she wasn’t sure she could do anything other than trust that she could make Blake see why she so desperately wanted to keep what Vern had given her. She continued to stare down into her glass as the sound of soft, soulful rhythm of Brazilian jazz tried to soothe her.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  At the sound of Blake’s voice, her heart gave a wild leap. She twisted around to see him.

  He stood a few feet behind her, tall and straight. He’d changed out of his suit and into faded blue Levi’s and an expensive-looking gray sweater. If it were possible, he looked even more handsome than he had this morning, despite the loss of his three-thousand-dollar suit.

  Great. She’d hoped to look her best the next time they met, not garbed in the most unattractive uniform possible. Her chef’s coat and black pants had always been comforting to her before this moment. “It’s a public place. I can’t stop you from sitting wherever you choose,” she said, trying to recover her balance and ignore the tug of his eyes and voice.

  Taking her discouraging words as an invitation, he slid into the seat beside her. “Celebrating?” he asked with a nod at her glass.

  She shrugged. “A gift from Ryan,” she said a little breathlessly as she raised her champagne flute and took a sip.

  Blake signaled for Ryan. The bartender answered Blake’s summons instantly. “What’ll it be?”

  “The same,” he said, motioning to Felicity’s glass.

  Ryan turned and filled another flute with champagne. When he returned, he set Blake’s glass before him, then set the bottle between them. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he said before moving away.

  She was uncertain why the interaction upset her, but it did. Blake expected service, and people jumped to do his bidding. Well, she wouldn’t be one of those people no matter what his warm, intimate look did to her insides. He could have cocktails all by himself, or with whomever would have him. She had things to do before their day tomorrow.

  Felicity moved to stand, but Blake tipped his glass to hers. His eyes glinted with humor and, instead of standing, she found herself settling back into her chair.

  “To the next two days together,” he toasted as he leaned forward.

  Their gazes held. The moment spilled out, lengthened in an odd way that made her heartbeat speed up. “Yes, and may the best person win.” She’d almost said “man,” before she’d caught herself. She didn’t need to give him any more of an edge, even verbally, than he already had.

  Felicity brought her glass up to his with a clink of sound and took a long sip of her champagne as Blake continued to study her. “The first time Dom Pérignon tasted champagne, he said, ‘Come quickly, I am tasting stars.’ It aptly describes champagne, don’t you think?”

  He took a sip from his own glass, then set it down. His lips turned up in a lazy, devastating smile. “You have very delicate fingers.”

  With slightly shaking fingers, Felicity set down her glass and folded her hands together on the top of the bar. She had delicate fingers? Was he flirting with her? Unsettled by the words, and slightly suspicious of his motives, Felicity stood as the hammering of her heart began again.

  “Since you’re down here, want a tour of the kitchen? We’ll be spending lots of time there tomorrow.”

  “With pleasure.”

  The husky sincerity of his deep voice snatched her breath away.

  He drained his glass, set it on the bar, then reached for his wallet.

  Felicity stalled his hand before he could remove a bill. “This one’s on me.” Her fingers grazed his skin. At the whisper of a touch, she could feel the tension thrumming through him, felt an answering response within herself.

  He smiled, his gaze warm and sensual, as he moved toward her. “Lead the way.”

  A quiet moment ticked past as her heartbeat returned to normal. What was it about him that always made her feel a little off-kilter? They walked side by side down the hallway and through the swinging door separating the dining area from the kitchen. “The kitchen was moved to its current location in 1966. The equipment has been modernized, of course. It’s competitive now.”

  Pride swelled as she looked over the spotless workspace. Shiny stainless steel prep stations lined the white tiled walls of the kitchen. The back wall was lined with a row of convection ovens. And in the center of the spotless kitchen was an island outfitted with several cooking stations.

  At their entrance, her employees stopped working and turned in their direction. Suspicion darkened their faces. Felicity pasted on a cheerful smile, trying to dispel the sudden tension. Along with her news of inheriting the hotel and restaurant, she was certain they’d also shared who Blake Bancroft was. “Let me introduce you to some of my staff.” She motioned to her right. “This is Michael,” she said, nodding to the older of the two men who wiped down the prep stations. “He has four kids all under the age of six. And this is Casper. He supports his mother and his two sisters.”

  She turned toward the back wall and motioned toward Mary Beth. She stacked long baking sheets on a rack beside the huge ovens. “This is Mary Beth. She supports a six-month-old daughter and a brother who lost both his legs fighting in Afghanistan.” Felicity turned back to Blake. “There are ten others who work in this kitchen and in the restaurant—people with hopes and dreams and dependents.” She left the last word hanging.

  To his credit,
Blake left her side and went to greet each of them with a handshake and one of his devastating smiles. “Sounds like you have a very dedicated team working for you. It doesn’t matter who the boss is. Good people will always be able to find good jobs.”

  “They’re dedicated to the Bancroft Hotel and to each other. They love what they do and, because of it, they go that extra mile,” Felicity replied.

  Across the room, Mary Beth yawned. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I feel like I’ve gone several extra miles today. My late night is catching up with me.”

  “Go home. I can finish up here.”

  A hopeful looked settled over Mary Beth’s face. “I could really use some sleep.”

  “Go. All of you,” Felicity said, looking at her two other remaining employees. “I’ve got this.”

  Casper and Michael took her up on her offer immediately. They both had responsibilities to return to, she understood that. After a hug from Mary Beth and a goodnight from the men, Felicity realized she and Blake were now very much alone.

  “How can I help,” Blake asked, his tone low, almost a caress, stroking not her skin but her very nerves.

  “I can finish—”

  “I used to be pretty decent at mopping the floors,” he interrupted as he pushed up his sleeves.

  The words surprised her. She didn’t figure him for the mopping type.

  Her expression must have given her thoughts away, because with a chuckle he said, “I wasn’t born the CEO of Bancroft Industries.” He shrugged. “I had a summer job once at one of our smaller properties near Lake Crescent on the Olympic Peninsula.”

  “It’s kind of hard to be fired from a job where your family owns the place. I hardly see that as a reference.”

  His smile broadened. “Afraid to test my skills?” His voice lowered, his tone provocative, challenging.

  He was displaying an easy charm that made it hard to say no, and Felicity relented. She moved to where they kept the ever-ready mop and bucket and rolled it over to him. “Okay, this I have to see.”