Flirting with Felicity

by Gerri Russell

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Your father wouldn’t eat his dinner last night, and he won’t eat his breakfast this morning. You asked us to call you when he won’t eat what the kitchen here serves. He’s too thin, and it’s a constant worry. We all know he’ll eat anything you bring him.”

  Felicity stopped climbing. She looked at Blake, then silently sighed. Her father had to come first. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Felicity hung up and turned to Blake. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “One of your employees?” he asked with a frown.

  She shook her head. “It’s my father. He needs me.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No.” She ran her hand through her hair. Her father not eating two meals was no emergency, but it usually indicated something else was going on with him. “I don’t know.” Felicity looked up and down the stairway, trying to determine which direction would be faster to get to the street and a taxi. “It’s not urgent, but the sooner I get there, the sooner we can get back to our day.”

  Strong fingers wrapped around hers as Blake pulled her forward, up the staircase. “This way will be faster.” He said nothing more as he reached for his own cell phone. Felicity’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. She heard only terse words from Blake’s side of the conversation. He hung up quickly and gave her an encouraging look.

  They reached the top of the stairway in no time, and Blake led her through the early-morning crowd with an expertise that told Felicity he’d been to the market before. They reached the front of the market near Rachel, the famous bronze pig, just as a large black car pulled up. “In here,” Blake said, reaching for the car door and holding it open for Felicity to enter.

  She climbed into the backseat. Blake slid in beside her. “Where to?”

  As much as she wanted to get to her father right away, she was uncertain about revealing that part of her life to the man beside her. He was still an unknown. “Take me to the Bancroft Hotel,” she said. “I can make my way to my father from there.”

  Blake informed his driver, then sat back.

  “How did you do this?” Felicity asked when her breathing settled to a more normal rate.

  “My driver is always on call.”

  “And he just happened to be in the area?”

  Blake looked straight ahead, his expression serious. “Peter knows where I am at all times.”

  Felicity sank back against the plush leather interior, grateful for the transportation, but also a little unsettled by this obvious wealth. “I don’t even own a car, and you have a driver,” she breathed.

  She sat stiffly in her seat as they quickly made their way up the hills, toward the hotel. She would gather something from the kitchen to tempt her dad with, then be on her way to Saint Francis House.

  When the driver pulled up into the drive of the Bancroft Hotel, Felicity opened the door before the driver could assist her. “Thank you,” she said to Peter. To Blake she said, “I appreciate your help.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?” he asked, his hand poised on the door handle, ready to follow her.

  “I’ve got things covered from here. Perhaps I can call you when I’m done?” she asked.

  Blake reached for his wallet then withdrew a business card. He held it out to her. “The bottom number is my cell, but if you call any of the numbers, someone will know how to get hold of me.”

  She accepted the card, then shut the door, and tucking the card into her pocket, she hurried inside. She knew exactly what to bring her father to get him to eat.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Blake’s gaze stayed on Felicity a moment before she stepped away from the car and turned to go in to the hotel’s lobby. She looked so forlorn. His hand clenched on the leather seat beside him as he fought the urge to go after her. Her features had been heavy with worry as she stood there, her platinum blonde hair fluttering in the soft August breeze.

  “You have to admire her resilience,” Peter said from the front seat. “She’s been through a lot in the last couple of days.”

  He had to agree, given the emotional highs and lows she must have experienced since his uncle had died. And still she’d displayed a determination that surprised even him. In spite of his offer to buy the hotel for more money than she would get if they went to court, she persevered. And in spite of his annoyance over that fact, he found himself reluctantly admiring her courage.

  Good God, if he continued in this vein, in another minute he’d be feeling sorry for her having to deal with him.

  “Peter, take me to Mount Pleasant Cemetery. I need to see my uncle’s grave.” It was one of the few places open at the early morning hour and somewhere he’d intended to go since he’d flown in yesterday.

  “You think he left you any answers there?” Peter asked.

  Blake leaned back against the seat as the car set in motion. “No. I’ll probably never know why he did what he did.”

  Peter’s eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. “Why he left the hotel to Felicity? Or why he sent you away all those years ago?”

  “Either.”

  “Then let’s hope for your peace of mind that you find those answers somewhere,” Peter said as he headed toward the North Queen Anne area of town.

  “I prepared myself for the worst years ago. The old man can’t surprise me much anymore.”

  “He surprised you by leaving the hotel to Felicity.”

  Blake released a pent-up breath. “That he did.”

  “Would you like to go for a run around Greenlake after the cemetery? Your usual hour?” Peter asked.

  “Sounds perfect,” Blake agreed.

  Peter knew his habits, knew him so well, having been his driver, butler, and confidant for the past ten years. It was rare for Blake to let someone past his guard, but then again Peter was more brother to him than employee. Blake started at the thought. Was that what Felicity felt toward her workers? His little chef had called them her family.

  His little chef.

  How easily possessiveness crept into his thoughts when they concerned Felicity. He’d been with her for barely an hour this morning and already she was winning him over to her side. “Christ,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Better make that run an hour and a half. I think I’ll need more distance to put my mind at ease.”

  Peter’s shrewd gaze fixed on Blake’s face. “She’s getting to you, is she?”

  Blake expelled his breath in a long, irritated sigh. “In more ways than one.”

  Felicity stepped off the elevator and made her way to her father’s room. She looked down at the bundle in her hands. She’d brought a ramekin filled with still warm and gooey macaroni and cheese. It was her father’s favorite meal, the one that brought a tiny shimmer of vitality into his eyes as he took a bite. Perhaps it would work its magic now. She pushed the door open.

  Silence greeted her. Taking a deep breath, she closed the door and headed toward the silent man in the chair by the window. The room was lit by the sunlight coming through the window. It would be another warm August day, but inside her father’s room it would remain the usual seventy degrees. At her father’s side, she reached out and brushed an errant lock of gray hair away from his face. “Hi, Dad.”

  She sat down in the empty chair beside him and searched his features. There was nothing there. No response. No recognition. Nothing. So she did what she always did and launched into a one-sided conversation about her day so far. As she talked, she unwrapped the food she’d brought, and, using a fork from the undisturbed tray the kitchen had provided this morning, she offered it to him. He took the fork and ate.

  She waited breathlessly for him to smile at her, though she knew the latter was wishful thinking. But he eagerly finished every bite of the macaroni and cheese. At the action, tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. If she’d ever needed an affirmation that the treatment she’d scheduled for tomorrow was the right thing to do, she had her answer
now. “You’re still in there, aren’t you, Dad?”

  When he’d finished his food, she slipped her arm gently around him, pressing her head against his. She had no idea how long she held him, breathing in the scent of his soap, until she was roused at last by a knock on the door. “Come in—”

  The door opened and Marguerite entered the room. “Sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to check and see if you had any success.”

  Felicity pulled away from her father and stood. “Yes, just like always. He’ll eat my macaroni and cheese.”

  “I’m so glad.” The elderly nurse smiled. “Sometimes I think he just holds out, so you’ll come down here and sit with him again.”

  That would mean he’d have to know she was with him in the first place. Holding on to the hope that he really did notice her presence, Felicity kissed her father goodbye, then left her father in Marguerite’s care.

  When she was back at the Bancroft, Felicity reached for the business card Blake had given her earlier today. She stared down at the bold letters and numbers printed on the stark-white card. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.

  A ring sounded three times on the other end before an unfamiliar voice picked up. “How may I help you, Miss Felicity?”

  Felicity startled. “Who am I speaking with?”

  “This is Peter, Mr. Bancroft’s driver.”

  “Yes, of course. Hello, Peter,” Felicity said. “Is Mr. Bancroft available?”

  “He’s detained at the moment.”

  A feeling of deflation settled in her stomach. “Oh. Well, just tell him I called.”

  “Is it urgent?” he asked.

  “No. Just let him know I need to speak with him when he’s available. I’ll be in room six twenty-nine at the hotel.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “Okay, Peter, thanks.” She ended the call. She stood and slipped her phone back into the pocket of her chef’s pants before leaving her room. A quick glance at her watch told her she had a couple of hours yet before she needed to get started prepping for lunch at the restaurant. In the meanwhile, it was time to do the one thing she’d been putting off for a week. It was time to box up Vern’s things and hand them over to Blake.

  Felicity stood outside of Vern’s room, the electronic key in one hand, a big, empty box in the other. Four other big boxes waited by the door for her to fill. The hotel room’s door looked like any other, but behind it there would be memories of Vern, things about his life she didn’t know, and perhaps didn’t want to know. As owner of the hotel, it was her responsibility to see that his things were returned to his family.

  Grief rippled through her as she stared at the plain white door. She couldn’t make herself move. She just stood there, seeing Vern as he’d been just last week, sitting in the dining room chatting with her over end-of-the-meal decaffeinated coffee with two Splendas, one cream. She knew he liked sweets even though he was diabetic, hated mushrooms, and begrudgingly added powdered fiber to his morning coffee. She knew a lot about his dietary habits and needs, but almost nothing about the man himself.

  Behind the door were possible answers about why he kept his true identity a secret or why he hadn’t shared the fact that his heart was growing weaker. If she’d been able to get him the medical help he’d needed, perhaps . . .

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. She’d been killing herself with what-ifs for the past week. It was time to move past that pain. She tilted her chin up, knowing there was no further point in putting this off, in pretending she didn’t need to do this, and opened the door. A swath of sunlight from the window filtered out into the hallway, and she followed the light inside.

  Housekeeping had taken care of cleaning the room, but it was up to her to see to Vern’s personal possessions. She moved about the living room, collecting stacks of paper here and there, placing them gently in the box. Inside one of the drawers in the living room, she found three pictures of a man, a woman, and a child who looked remarkably like Blake. Were these pictures of his childhood? Carefully, she added them to the box of things to be sorted through later and continued gathering Vern’s belongings.

  At the desk, she stopped when she saw a framed picture of herself and Vern that had been taken a month ago when she’d thrown him a party to celebrate his eighty-third birthday after hours in the Dolce Vita. At Felicity’s request, all the restaurant and hotel staff had come.

  The cardboard box slid from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud. Tears came to her eyes as she picked up the frame and traced the cool surface of the glass. Both of them were smiling, and there was no worry in their eyes in that moment. “Oh, Vern . . .”

  “You really did care about him, didn’t you?” Blake’s voice sounded behind her.

  She turned to face him, the picture still in her hands, and nodded. “I’m sorry. I was going to wait for you to do this . . . but I’ve put it off too long already. Do you want to help me now?”

  “What do we need to do?” he asked, a look of understanding in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll both find some answers about my uncle . . . and your friend.”

  Despite the fact he felt weighed down and heavy, the words slipped out easily and without blame. That was new for him when it came to his uncle and Felicity. Maybe his run this morning had calmed him more than usual, or maybe he was starting to accept she’d had a place in his uncle’s life more so than he ever had. The picture Felicity clutched to her chest was proof of that. His uncle didn’t look manipulative or angry in the moment with her. The thought both cheered and depressed him as he looked about the room.

  Felicity moved toward him, stopping by his side. “Do you want to work on the bedroom together, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” she asked, gently touching his arm.

  He looked down at her delicate fingers on his arm and the cold inside him dissipated. “I’d welcome your help.”

  They worked silently, side by side, going through Vern’s clothing and boxing it up. Most everything his uncle had left behind would go to charity, only a few personal items, such as the papers she’d gathered, his watch, and the picture of him and Felicity had been put aside.

  “There isn’t much here to indicate Vern had a family,” Felicity commented.

  Disappointment shot through Blake, not at her comment but at the fact they hadn’t found anything to indicate why his uncle had regarded him with such disdain Blake’s whole life.

  “There was nothing to indicate his wealth either, except for a few financial statements near the bedside,” Blake added as he removed the last of the sweaters from the chest of drawers. He moved them to the box nearby when a small, leather-bound book fell to the floor.

  Blake’s fingers were steady but not his heartbeat as he picked up the book. He flipped the book open to find a black and white picture of two young men.

  “Do you recognize the photograph?” Felicity asked.

  “I don’t know who the man on the right is, but the one on the left is most likely my grandfather.”

  He set the picture aside and looked at the pages of the book. The first page was blank. He flipped to the second and frowned.

  “What does it say?” Felicity asked.

  “It’s an unfinished note of some kind addressed to me. It reads Blake, I—then stops.” He couldn’t keep the pain inside him as he spoke. “Why was everything between my uncle and me unfinished? Was he leaving me an explanation? A warning?” He slipped the picture back inside the book and snapped it closed.

  Blake rammed his fingers through his hair. For years, he’d wondered what was so horrible about himself that made people push him away. His teachers had. His parents had. His uncle had.

  “Maybe Vern was starting to rethink some of the things he’d done over the years. At dinner each night, he was starting to talk about some of his regrets in life.”

  “Did he ever mention me?”

  She hesitated, then finally said, “No.”

  Blake clenched the book in his hands. “I don’t kn
ow why I expected anything more.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He frowned at the sympathy in her eyes. A lump of constricting sorrow tightened his chest. He shrugged the sensation away and set the book alongside the watch and the picture. “I stopped needing my uncle’s approval a long time ago.”

  Blake went back to emptying the dresser. He closed up the last box and set it outside the door. He looked over the few possessions his uncle had left behind, feeling suddenly that his own life had very little worth as well. He might be obscenely wealthy, but what did he have to show for anything? He had no family left, and no one special in his life. He had plenty of employees, but none who would particularly miss him when he was gone. His only legacy, much like his uncle’s, would be in the hotels he left behind.

  Not liking where his thoughts had led him, Blake stiffened. “Since we are done here, I’ve got something I must do.”

  Felicity picked up the watch. “Do you want to take this with you, or should I send it somewhere?”

  “Donate all of it,” he said, keeping his tone bland.

  She frowned down at the watch. “I don’t know much about antiques, but I’m certain this is valuable.”

  He turned and headed toward the door. “As a matter of fact, it’s completely worthless. Do whatever you want with all of it.”

  Without looking back, Blake headed for the elevator, ready to leave all remnants of his uncle’s life and advice behind him.

  On his way back to his own room, Blake grabbed his cell phone and placed a call to Marcus, in an effort to fight the ache inside him that made him long for things he knew he could never have. Things that could only hurt him more. And he’d been hurt enough for one lifetime—by both his uncle and his parents.

  He opened the door to his room and stepped inside, waiting for Marcus to pick up. Work was what he needed to focus on to get his equilibrium back.

  “Blake,” Marcus greeted him, obviously recognizing the number. “Can’t you ever go on vacation and just relax?”