Hotel Liasion

by JLee Meyer

  “Oh, I’m so hungry. Thank you.” Despite her physical discomfort, she was having fun. Odd.

  Helping her hobble to the bathroom, Stef said, “The others are worried. Would you be okay with having pizza with an abbreviated version of the crew? I’m supposed to be in a meeting with Sika right now.”

  Laurel stopped. “I’m not sure I’m ready to face anyone. Ember is a student. I don’t want to see pity on their faces. I’m a professor of women’s studies, for God’s sake. And in this situation. Not much of a role model for my students.”

  “Laurel, it isn’t a ‘situation,’ it’s a mess. You were placed in that mess by the head of your department. That’s the hypocrisy of the whole thing. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Laurel involuntarily flinched at her tone.

  “Oh God, I’m not mad at you,” Stef said instantly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Seeking shelter from the storm of her life, Laurel leaned into her and felt herself encircled and gently pulled against Stef’s body. She gazed into the depths of Stef’s eyes and saw compassion and understanding and something else. Something she’d never seen before, and it drew her closer. She studied the soft lips that waited for her to choose. One part of her mind screamed that she shouldn’t, it was too soon. The other part, the one connected to her body and her heart, told her that the choice had been made for some time. This was only the expression of that choice.

  The pain of her sutures didn’t matter. Their lips touched, then touched again, then joined. Stef asked permission with her tongue, and Laurel granted entrance. Then she was in another place, a better place than she ever dreamt existed. She was breathless. At last, her caution kicked in, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about letting the kisses go on, or what she could do to stop them.

  She was sure that if she stayed here, alone with Stefanie Beresford, her life would get much more complicated than it already was.

  *

  Sika put a sheaf of papers and magazines on Stef’s desk and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. “Two things. We need an interior designer for the hotel rooms, especially the executive suites, and we need a designer for the restaurant. The kitchen itself I have ideas about, but I am calling a friend who I met in Paris when I was there. She and her partner live out here now, in West Marin County. She doesn’t cook professionally any longer, but she and I could design a beautiful kitchen together.”

  Stef had known this day was coming but had been so immersed in putting the bones of the place back together and thinking about Laurel, she’d put it on the back burner. She’d made sure that the whole hotel would have the infrastructure to support any technology someone might need, now and in the future, and doing so had cost three times what she had estimated, mostly because of the security features she was hoping to put in place. She might not have the money to do everything immediately, but the technology was changing so quickly, they were constructing so that even the wiring could be changed out rather easily, without ripping walls apart.

  Now, here was Sika with a real situation. Someone had to design what the public would see. The rooms, the lobby, the common areas, and the aesthetics of the hotel had to be unique. Stef was a meat-and-potatoes kind of girl, very good at making sure the building could survive an earthquake and the visitors would have all of their technology needs met and feel safe, zero in the design-for-the-eye department.

  “We have a problem,” she said. “The infrastructure renovations have eaten up a lot of money. I’m not sure how much we’re going to have for the designer. I know how important it is, too. I’m looking for a loan add-on to pay for it.”

  Nodding, Sika seemed not at all concerned. “That’s what I thought was happening. The hotel designer I’ve chosen is famous in Europe and is sought after in the United States, when she chooses to work. She has agreed to forgo her fee until after the hotel is up and running.”

  “You’ve chosen someone? How good is she if she doesn’t want her fee?”

  Sika gave her the look, and Stef squirmed. Privately, Denny and Stef laughed about that expression, but it was no fun to be on the receiving end.

  “Stefanie, who is in charge of this part of the project? Who did we decide, because of your and Denny’s lack of interest and my eye for color and texture, would pick those people? We have to get them going on their plans, and we have to do it now. She doesn’t need the money. She’s willing to trade.”

  “Who is this woman?” Stef couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.

  She wished Denny were here because sometimes they could gang up on Sika. Denny was spending all of her time working with Jock and keeping an eye on the subcontractors. But what Sika said was true. She was in charge of the look and feel of the hotel. Trade?

  Her eyes full of satisfaction, Sika said, “Carolyn Flemons. It was a real coup to get her.”

  “The name is familiar, would I know her?” Stef thought that the chances of her knowing an A-list interior designer were slim and none. But the name…

  “She was married to the owner of the football team. She’s a widow and her daughter runs it now. That’s probably where you’ve heard the name.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was cool when the daughter took over. Do we at least get to see some sketches before we agree?”

  “Yes and no. She’s working on the designs and we will all see them and decide which we like.” With that, Sika stood and put her hand on the stack of papers. “These are her resume, samples, and magazine layouts her work has been featured in. You and Denny read them. I have work to do.”

  She was almost out the door before Stef called to her. “Wait. You said ‘trade.’ What does that mean? Does she want free nights at the hotel?”

  Sika smiled enigmatically, which always made Stef twitch. “Perhaps.” And she was gone.

  Swiveling in her chair, Stef stared out the window and said to the city of San Francisco, “And don’t forget that I’m in charge.”

  *

  Two hours later a courier delivered two slim envelopes that needed Stef’s signature. One was from the bank holding the first mortgage on the hotel. The other had the return address of the private investment firm from which she had gotten the second mortgage. She knew the address well as the building was owned by her family. Beresford Hoteliers’ corporate offices were in the upper floors.

  The courier collected the return receipts and then asked where he could find Irina Castic. He was holding several sturdy manila envelopes that looked like they had traveled a long distance. Stef offered to deliver them for him, but he told her he had to have her personal signature and needed to check her identification, too. He seemed pretty impressed himself. She gave him directions and sat down to stare at the envelopes.

  She had requested additional money, and this must be their decision. She used the walkie-talkie feature on her cell and summoned Denny because she wanted some moral support. Sika had gone to an appointment with the interior designer. Laurel flashed in her mind, but she couldn’t bother a woman still in a state of shock over her injuries and her disintegrating life.

  Stef passed the envelope to Denny as soon as she walked in the door. She handled it like it had anthrax spores inside. Stef was starting to fidget by the time she read the contents and finally looked up.

  “Well? What is it, Den?”

  “They want a meeting. With you.”

  This didn’t sound good. “Who? Which letter did you open?”

  “Rat man’s company.”

  That would be the private investors. Stef didn’t know how to interpret that. “Perhaps to negotiate how much additional money we need.”

  Shaking her head, Denny said, “It says to contact their offices and make an appointment as soon as possible.”

  Stef felt her stomach twist.

  “We’ve made every payment, right?” Denny asked.

  “Right. Always on time.”

  “A simple yes, you have the money, or no, buzz off, would be fine. Why the appointment?”
>
  Sighing, Stef said, “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Something isn’t right about this. Open the other envelope.” She felt her hands trembling and balled them into fists in her lap.

  Denny dutifully tore the envelope open and read. Her jaw dropped. “Sonofabitch.”

  “Read it.” Stef responded on automatic.

  “The bank is accelerating our loan. They want the entire amount of the first mortgage within thirty days or they will begin foreclosure proceedings, which, according to them, they can expedite.”

  Leaning across her desk, feeling sweat on her upper lip, Stef ground out, “Based on what?”

  “Based on the fact that we didn’t have written permission to engage in a second mortgage.”

  Exploding, Stef was on her feet. “What? The bank recommended the investment firm. Our loan officer made the introductory call.”

  Holding up both hands, Denny said, “I know, I know. That’s what it says here, that’s all.”

  The air went out of Stef and she landed in her chair with a pop. She and Denny stared at each other.

  “Stef, how much money do we have left?”

  Struggling to keep her voice calm, Stef said, “If we continue the way we are, about two months. I’ve spent too much on the infrastructure. Even with that designer delaying her fee, we don’t have enough to finish all the floors, even minimally. We need more money, and when I requested it, that Trip rodent was happy as a clam. He said he didn’t think it would be a problem.” Stef was heartsick. “I’m sure they were sent a copy of this letter from the bank. They might accelerate, too.”

  “What are we going to do?” Denny looked daunted.

  “Don’t skimp on anything. Denny, make sure everyone is on schedule, help Jock secure the best prices, too. I need to meet with these people, to see what they want.”

  “We better talk with Mamaka.”

  “I’ll do that.” Stef wasn’t looking forward to admitting their situation was even worse than a budget shortfall. “I have some things to work out, sooner than I thought, but these circumstances have forced our hand. Let’s get to work and we’ll talk later.”

  After Denny left, Stef scheduled an appointment with Boynton and once again found herself staring out the window. She felt an overwhelming need to see Laurel. Just to see her incredible eyes, listen to her talk about the project, the mystery of the Elysium Society, the passion she experienced doing her research. It felt so normal, contained. Perhaps she just needed to be in their room, since she didn’t want to disturb Laurel.

  She snorted at the thought. A dank and musty place that was scheduled to be gutted soon, and still, she’d come to think of it as a small, private universe that was solely hers and Laurel’s.

  Unable to help herself, she visited the room briefly, content to see the files, ledgers, room diaries. The pad of paper that was always close by. She was suddenly clammy, fear skittering up and down her spine. What if Laurel went back to Rochelle? It happened all the time. Women made excuses for violent partners and returned to terrible situations.

  She made a full 360-degree sweep of the room, then backed out, closing the door behind her. She felt like running to her bedroom, as though Laurel’s presence there would prove something. Stef held herself back, reasoning that she had no need to panic. Laurel wasn’t going anywhere. She might be battered, but she wasn’t crazy.

  She went through the small living room and crept to the bedroom door and quickly pushed it open. A pair of frightened eyes instantly found hers, and before Stef could think of anything to say, she was stumbling toward the bed, reaching for the woman beneath the covers.

  “Are you okay?” she blurted.

  After a few seconds, she could tell Laurel recognized her. “Yes, of course. You just startled me. I was dozing and when you opened the door, for a moment I thought you were…her.”

  Laurel was trembling and Stef took her hands and tried to rub warmth into them. “I apologize. I suddenly got nervous and needed to see you, just checking to make sure you were all right. So I barged in and scared you to death. I’m such a klutz sometimes.”

  Stef knew she couldn’t gaze at Laurel’s bruised face without her anger showing, so she concentrated on finding another blanket. She got the throw that was on the couch and brought it back to the bedroom and fussed with tucking her in. A cold hand on her arm made her finally look up. She felt the sting of tears as her heart ached for this beautiful woman. How could anyone ever harm her?

  “It’s okay, Stef, I’m going to heal. Would you do me a favor? Would you mind holding me?” She asked so sweetly, Stef was helpless to do more than nod. Kicking off her shoes, she started to settle on top of the covers.

  “No,” Laurel said. “Under the covers. Take off your clothes.”

  Complying, Stefanie shed her pants and shirt. Only her underclothes remained as she stood uncertainly before Laurel, knowing she would do anything for this woman. Anything.

  “All of it,” Laurel said. “And help me get out of my pants at least. I’m pretty sure I can’t get the T-shirt off because of the pain, but I’m willing to try.”

  Stefanie felt no shyness at all, and discarded the rest of her clothes, then helped rid Laurel of hers, even freeing her of the T-shirt. Within moments she was under the covers holding Laurel gently in her arms. She gazed beyond the bruises and cuts and saw only welcome. She kissed Laurel’s sweet lips lightly, so as not to hurt her. Laurel’s hands ran over Stef’s back, drawing her closer. She traced the line of Stef’s jaw and outlined her lips with her finger, staring at her mouth in what seemed like wonder.

  They continued their slow, delicate exploration for what seemed an eternity. Stef tenderly caressed Laurel’s body, careful of places that might hurt, amazed at how familiar, how right every plane and soft curve felt to her. She allowed Laurel to do the same to her, and then they settled into each other’s arms, never having spoken a word.

  As Stef started to doze, she realized that she’d never been so intimate with another person and yet she and Laurel knew next to nothing about each other. But that wasn’t important. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love.

  If it wasn’t, it should be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning found Stef marching into the Beresford building determined to make nice with Trip Boynton. She’d never known a hard money firm to turn its back on profit, and she was certain she could work out whatever problems their first mortgagee had. There were more people’s livelihoods at stake than her own. He needed to understand.

  The offices of the firm were on the tenth floor, with all the floors above them devoted to Beresford corporate concerns. The receptionist studied her with frank interest. Stef had experienced that kind of appraisal all of her life. People felt entitled to look over the rich kid and decide if she measured up. The woman told her to be seated, then walked into Boynton’s office to announce her arrival. A few moments later she returned to tell Stef he’d be available soon. Stef understood the tactic. She was supposed to stew, to realize he had the power. It chafed, because whatever she was, she was a Beresford.

  She took the aggravation for five minutes, then threw her magazine on the coffee table and marched into his office before the receptionist could block her. There, with their feet up on the desk, smoking cigars, were her brother George and Trip Boynton, the man who had been so eager to lend her money.

  George grinned and checked his watch. “Four minutes and forty-five seconds. I win, pal. You owe me twenty bucks.”

  Trip and he high-fived each other and looked at her expectantly.

  “You know each other?” It was all that came out of Stef’s mouth. She was trying to make sense of the scene.

  George removed his feet from the desk and put the cigar down, but not before he took another drag and blew it in her direction. “Know him? We were college roommates, sister dear.”

  “What’s this all about? I don’t want Beresford Hotels involved.”

  She was going t
o have a talk with her dad, and with Jason for blabbing. But in some ways, she was relieved. Maybe her father would see the merit in lending them more money.

  George stopped her in her tracks. “Dad has nothing to do with this. You, sweet sister, belong to us. Only to us. And your hotel will be perfect for our plans.”

  Stef toyed with the idea of lunging at him and beating the smug look off of his face. Fighting to control the adrenaline racing through her veins, she asked, “What the hell are you talking about?” To Boynton she said, “We’ve met all the terms of the loan.” Her voice was thin, but steady to her ears.

  Boynton shot a grin to George. “George is one of the investors in this firm. And we’ve decided against additional funds for your project.”

  George stuck his cigar back in his mouth, talking around it as he delivered the next blow. “Yeah, about that. Can’t see the profit in it. Women don’t need or want a hotel that excludes men. They want hotels where they can pick guys up.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” Stef’s eyes were burning but she held back any tears. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Letting out a stream of smoke, George said, “Remember the men’s club down the way from you? The one where the big boys in the world meet and mingle and entertain each other? The one where they pick the next president. That one?”

  “Yes.” She knew it well. The proprietors also owned the Bohemian Grove, an enclave in northern California where they gathered on weekends all summer long and did God knows what. They were the richest and most powerful men in the world.

  “Well, seems their building needs complete renovation, too. Has to be retrofitted, et cetera, that type of thing. They also want all that security that you’re building into your little establishment. Got to protect your peeps, you know?” Her brother’s eyes, like hers in color only, were hard and brittle with malice.

  “Get to the point, George.” She had to get out of here before she threw up in front of both men.