by Joanna Shupe
He pushed it all down. Her disappointment. His longing. Milliken’s smug expression. The anxiety over the hotel. He wouldn’t lie to make this easier on her. He believed in telling the truth, no matter the damage that resulted.
“Eva, this project is bigger than anything you’ve been involved in before. It’s bigger than anything I’ve been involved with—and I must do what is best for the hotel. Not for you.”
She studied him intently, searching. “I am curious. Is it your family? Being in New York? You went from a champagne-drinking bon vivant to a business-driven thug in a matter of days.” She gestured at his bruised and battered face. “It’s as if you are two different people—one personable and fun, the other ruthless and stoic.”
This perceptiveness rattled him. Perhaps he’d grown more intense over the years as his responsibilities increased, but he was the head of the Mansfield family. The fortune and the legacy rested on his shoulders alone. In an unforgiving city with judgmental eyes at every turn, there were times when that pressure threatened to overwhelm him, like a pot boiling over on a stove. So he’d learned to adapt, keep under control. The occasional trip to McGirk’s helped.
It could explain why he looked forward to trips outside the city to any part of the world where he wasn’t expected to behave in a certain manner. Where no one had heard of Phillip Mansfield and didn’t give a damn about his family’s wealth or influence—or at least was less impressed by it.
Still, he resented her implication.
“I’m quite fun while here,” he said, though the words lacked conviction even to his own ears.
She nodded solemnly, pursing her lips to exaggerate for effect. “I’ve no doubt. Picking fights on the docks, apparently.”
That was the outside of enough.
Phillip closed the distance between them, unsure of his intention other than to try to prove her wrong somehow. To show her that, underneath, he was still the man from the ship.
At his approach, she retreated two steps and then planted her feet, as if forcing herself to stand her ground. Exactly what he’d expected her to do.
He came close enough that she had to tilt her head back to see him. The smell of vanilla and roses assaulted him and a low hum wound its way through his blood. Something flared in her hazel eyes, a fleeting thought he wished he could decipher. Was she thinking of how good it had been between them? How heated they’d become that night in his cabin? Or when she’d come on his fingers?
God knew he was having a hard time forgetting it.
The tips of his black leather shoes touched the hem of her dress as he leaned in, his voice low. “You act as if you’re not strung tighter than a bowstring as well. You are desperately in need of some reprieve.”
She drew in a shaky breath but did not move away. “Not from you—and not in the way you are intimating. We agreed. Professional distance.”
He hated that calm composure in her voice when he was so desperate for her. He prided himself on his control, yet she was the confident one tonight. “How do you know what I was intimating?”
The edges of her mouth kicked up and she retreated a step. “I may be unmarried but that hardly means I’m an idiot.”
“I’ve never believed that. In fact, I’ve always thought you quite clever.” From Chinese relaxation techniques and gargoyles, to drawings and her love of design, she had impressed him at every turn, not something he could say often of a woman outside the bedroom.
“There’s no need to flatter me. I am your employee. It is best we remain on those terms.”
Irritation swept through him, though he couldn’t say why. She was correct: he was her employer. Yet that suggested a distance he neither felt nor desired. He couldn’t pretend she was a stranger. “Are we not at least friends? I’d like to think we are slightly more familiar with one another, considering.” Considering I’ve had my hand between your legs and my tongue in your mouth.
Her gaze narrowed, and he could tell she was skeptical of the idea. As was he. He didn’t have many female friends, not ones he wasn’t bedding, but he liked the notion of Eva as his friend. They would be working closely together for the next few months, so it made sense. Animosity solved nothing.
“And what would that entail?” she asked.
A fair question. Unfortunately, all the answers that came to mind were salacious. He lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve never been friends with a woman, but I’m sure we can muddle through.”
“Fine, we’re friends.”
She said it dismissively, yet he had every intention of holding her to it. “Excellent. The first rule of friendship is you trust your friends. That means you trust me to make fair decisions that benefit the hotel. You trust that I am not taking Milliken’s position over yours.”
She let out a huff and crossed her arms. “You manipulated me merely to prove that point.”
“No, not exactly—but I want to be clear.”
“Clear that I’m to blindly follow your lead and not question you at any point. That’s not in my best interest, Phillip. This job means everything, and my entire future is at risk.”
“You mean your father’s future, don’t you?”
She waved her hand. “Yes, but he relies on me when he is not here. Perhaps it’s best to consider us the same person, if it helps.”
“It doesn’t. Downright disturbing, if you must know the truth.”
“Be serious—or we’re no longer friends.”
Her refusal frustrated him, and he found himself lashing out. “Now who is the one acting differently? Where is the bold woman who rubbed my wrists to cure my seasickness?”
“She came to her senses—and what happened on the ship was a mistake.” She spun on her heel and marched out the door.
He watched her go, emotion roiling inside him. A mistake? Inconvenient, perhaps, but not a mistake. He didn’t regret the evening they spent together, even if it had caused a bit of a headache once he first learned her true identity. But a mistake?
Striding to the sideboard, he poured himself a tumbler of whiskey. No, their night together hadn’t been a goddamn mistake . . . and somehow he would find a way to prove it to his new friend.
The rumble and hiss of multiple steam shovels greeted Eva when she arrived at the construction site. The summer morning was lush with humidity and she’d already begun to perspire under her clothing. Of course her governess would have said ladies do not perspire . . . but Eva knew better. Besides, she’d never been much of a lady.
Once through the wooden barrier, she took a moment to enjoy the chaos. A construction site was like a symphony, with lots of moving parts all working together in harmony. Due to the scope and Mansfield’s ambitious timeline for the hotel, two shifts of three hundred men each were working round the clock to dig out the foundation, creating a constant stream of noise and bodies. When they finished, the base of the hotel would contain almost two full acres of solid concrete resting fifty feet below street level.
She searched the crowd for Milliken. In the past few days she’d discovered the contractor preferred to work along with the laborers. He didn’t sit idly and watch from a distance. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and put in long hours aside the crew. Eva respected him for it.
If only he would begin to respect her.
Yesterday, she’d checked the excavation area of the east tower and discovered a miscalculation in Milliken’s measurements. Milliken hadn’t appreciated learning of the error, telling her she needn’t hover over the site like an old hen.
Eva had gritted her teeth to keep from uttering an angry retort. Though it had nearly killed her, she’d instead found Carew and calmly explained the error. He’d listened, verified her findings, and then approached Milliken with the change. Milliken had immediately seen to the correction.
Be patient. You’ll win him over eventually.
She spotted Milliken near the west wall where he was talking to a tall brown-haired man wearing a bowler. Her stomach sank as if she’d swal
lowed a handful of pebbles. Phillip.
He hadn’t visited the site in a few days, not since their conversation in his office, and Eva had been glad for some autonomy over the project. Now the boss had returned.
No doubt Milliken was busy lodging another compliant about her, though she’d made every effort to stay out of the way when here. Truthfully, there wasn’t much for her to do until the excavation finished. Still, how could she be expected to stay away from the excitement?
Phillip’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with Eva. Excusing himself to Milliken, he started toward her. The cut above his brow was now a slash of pink and the bruise on his cheek had nearly faded. The contrast, these different facets of his personality, fascinated her. He was a rogue dressed in a well-fitted morning suit.
“Hello,” Phillip said as he reached her. “I’m surprised to find you here.”
“I prefer to check in periodically during excavation. Good thing I did, too, as there was a mistake yesterday in the measurements for the east wing.”
“Was there? Milliken didn’t mention it.”
Eva snorted. Of course he hadn’t. “Instead of thanking me, Milliken said not to hover over the site like an old hen.”
Phillip’s mouth quirked and he thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “I can imagine how that went over.”
“I refrained from kicking him in the shin, though it was a struggle.”
“I bet.” They stood silently, the chaos of the machines, men, and dirt swirling around them, offering a bizarre sort of privacy. “They’ve never dealt with a woman in an authority position before, Eva. You must learn patience.”
She was the one who must adapt? Wrong. She would keep doing her job and the men would need to get used to her. “As long as he does his job—and does it well—then we’ll be fine.”
She could see the frustration in the tightening of his jaw but his voice remained calm. “Milliken is entirely competent. I wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. I hire only the best, as should be obvious considering the lengths I went to secure your father.”
“Well, at least you’ve begun to finally trust in me.”
His cocked his head. “Pardon?”
“The last two days . . . you haven’t been here. It’s none of my concern where, of course—”
“I had to travel to Boston. There was a small kitchen fire at the hotel and I wanted to examine the damage. I returned late yesterday afternoon and came here first. You’d already left.”
Goodness, she felt stupid. Here she thought he’d decided to give her a chance and not loom over her shoulder like a vulture waiting to pick at a decaying carcass.
“Miss me, Lady Eva?”
Maybe a bit. Afraid the truth would show, she shifted away from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I foolishly believed you’d finally trusted me enough to leave the project in my hands.”
He lost his teasing smile, a frown emerging instead. “It’s not a matter of trust. This hotel is my investment, my responsibility, with my name above the door. Every eye in Manhattan is on this city block, waiting to see how it turns out. I won’t allow it to fail, fall behind, or go over budget.”
Of course, her father’s name and reputation were on the line—as well as her future—but she refrained from pointing that out. If this project failed, she would be forced to sell her father’s house and move them outside of London in the hopes of escaping their creditors. A familiar anger at her father’s financial ineptitude burned in her lungs, along with the wish that he’d sought advice from others on how to invest wisely. If he had, perhaps she’d be spared the need to lie at every turn.
“By the way,” Phillip said, “as we are discussing all the ways this project could go wrong, I should tell you Milliken’s latest concern. Your father is a licensed architect in New York. You, however, are not. This puts us in a bit of a precarious situation, especially when you’re adjusting the plans.”
“It’s never been a problem before.” She’d acted in her father’s stead on many jobs across Europe. With a few forged letters containing his signature, her authority and skill had never been questioned.
“In any other city, it wouldn’t matter. New York works differently. Corruption here is as plentiful as the champagne. I think it’s safe to say that I’ll be forced to make another outrageous contribution if Tammany Hall raises a ruckus.”
“Another outrageous contribution? When was the first one?”
“I was forced into letting their crew handle the demolition. Tammany Hall likes to keep control over all the moving pieces in this city.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” she muttered.
The comment merely made him shake his head. “I suppose that’s true, but they’re hopeful for anything they can use with which to strong-arm me on this hotel.”
Guilt wound through her insides, an insidious snake feeding off her lies. She did not wish to add to Phillip’s burdens, and she could only imagine what would happen when it became apparent that her father would never relieve her on this project. But she was in too deep now and she’d not back out. This hotel was too important to her. “I’ll try to go unnoticed, then.”
“As if that were possible. Even if you weren’t incredibly beautiful, your confidence and bearing draw every eye in the vicinity. That’s another reason Milliken wishes you gone. He thinks your looks will distract his crew.”
Phillip thinks you are incredibly beautiful.
The compliment warmed her, chasing away the guilt from moments ago. Still, she bit her lip and tried to remain professional. “That’s ridiculous. No one spares me a glance when I’m here.”
“Because Milliken’s threatened them—and that’s because I’ve threatened him. I told him everyone would be replaced if you are harmed or offended in any way.”
“Phillip! You cannot do that.” Surprise rocked her back on her heels. The gesture both flattered and annoyed her. “They’ll all resent me.”
“I don’t give a damn, Eva. If I cannot prevent you from coming to the construction site, then I need to keep you safe.”
Was this merely out of a sense of responsibility? “Everyone will suspect we are intimately involved.”
“Again, I don’t give a damn—and they’re not altogether wrong, considering the ship.”
Heat raced along her spine, a fiery longing that settled between her thighs. Would he never let up? “Friends should be too polite to remind other friends of indiscretions.”
His mouth curved into a dangerous half smile. “This friend is not quite that polite.”
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told. Have a lovely morning, my lady.” He tipped his hat and strode toward the gate.
Chapter Seven
He purposely arrived late.
The dinner party guests were assembled in his mother’s salon, drinking aperitifs and champagne, when Phillip entered the room. On the sofa, the women tittered over the latest bits of gossip while the men had gathered on the other side of the room, no doubt discussing the exchange.
Phillip’s face hadn’t yet healed and his mother would be displeased. But one thing he’d learned early in life was to reveal unpleasant things to her publicly, where she’d be unable to make a fuss. Ellen Mansfield was nothing if not proper in front of her peers.
A footman approached with a tray of champagne and Phillip gratefully snatched a glass, downing it in one swallow.
“Phillip!” His mother approached, a wide smile on her face. “There you are.”
He turned toward her—and her nostrils flared sharply at the sight of his injury.
“Good evening, Mother. My apologies for being late.”
“We’ll discuss your face later,” she murmured for his ears only as he bent to kiss her cheek. “Come, let me introduce you to everyone.”
As if he were not already well acquainted with every person in the room. “Of course. Lead on.” He offered his arm and she took it, bringing him to the ladies on the sofa.
> There were five of them, women he’d known his entire life. He greeted them properly, as custom dictated, then decided to procure drinks. Anything to escape the prying eyes trying to make sense of what had happened to his face without outright asking. He had half a mind to tell them merely to enjoy the shock of it.
“May I offer anyone another cocktail?” he asked.
“Rebecca?” Mrs. Hall prompted with a pointed glance at the pretty blonde on her right.
“Excellent idea. I think Miss Hall would care for a refill,” his mother announced. “Won’t you escort her to the sideboard, Phillip?”
Christ, his mother was as transparent as glass. Wiggling out of it would’ve been rude, so he nodded. “I’d be happy to. Shall we, Miss Hall?”
Rebecca rose and drew closer, two bright spots of color on her cheeks. The blush complimented the pale pink color of her silk evening gown. “Thank you, Mr. Mansfield.” She accompanied him across the room to the sideboard, where they were blessedly alone. “God, Phillip, I’m sorry. This is dashed embarrassing.”
He chuckled and took her glass from her hand. “This is what we must endure to humor our mothers. What are you having?”
She threw a glance over her shoulder. “Would scotch be too bold?”
“Not for me.” He lifted the decanter and put a dram in her crystal glass. “Go ahead, I’ll hide you from the room.” He shifted to block her from the rest of the guests and Rebecca tossed the liquor back like a seasoned tippler.
She blew out a breath. “That’s better. What the hell happened to your face?”
“Would you believe I ran into a door?”
“Sure, if the door had fists.”
“I’m fine. Hardly hurts any longer. Tell me why you’re grabbing for the hard stuff.” He gestured to the scotch.
“Oh, it’s been awful lately. I’m sorry you are the sacrificial lamb tonight.”
From one of the best families, Becca Hall was a beautiful young woman with blond hair and green eyes. Moreover, she was intelligent and had a sharp sense of humor. She and Phillip never ran out of conversation and their interactions were always pleasant. They’d known each other so long that he considered her a friend. “I don’t mind escorting you, Becca. There are worse ways to spend an evening. So what’s upsetting you?”
