He would bet money that Judith had underestimated Charlotte in one very important way: her devotion to her mother. Coupled with, of course, the fact that Anne was the true owner and the only one who could sign the final agreement. She had other daughters employed at the hotel and, in addition, a staff that had been with her for years. Keeping Remy’s name on the place would appeal to her, but Judith surely had economies in mind. Still, she was animated in a manner he hadn’t seen from her since her return.
And he was curious. “So how do you make this a good deal for Regency Corp.?”
Her eyes sparkled as she realized he wasn’t arguing. “We cut down on staffing, first of all, then we gut the restaurant and turn it into more rooms, do the same with the family quarters, and we give the guests dining privileges at The Regency. It’s only two blocks away.”
No way in hell would Anne see Remy’s restaurant shut down. “That restaurant has been a premier dining experience in New Orleans for many years.”
“We can blend the menu at The Regency and include Remy’s signature dishes. Guests will lose nothing and gain economies that will please them. Today’s traveler cares more about the bottom line, and we can cut room rates and still put that property back in the black.”
“And what happens to Anne?” And me, he wanted to add.
But he needed to proceed carefully. Judith was his child, and he loved her. Worried about her.
“She’s retired, or nearly, after that heart attack. Two of her daughters are likely to leave town with their new husbands, and Melanie and Robert could certainly succeed with their own restaurant. Charlotte will be taken care of.” Her eyes were bright in a way he hadn’t seen in too long. “Glen thinks it’s brilliant. Oh, he’d prefer to slash even more—he actually said that it was a pity building permits in the Quarter are so hard to come by, otherwise we could just raze it and build a bigger hotel on that choice spot. But I understand a woman’s pride—” Her expression held a wisp of sorrow. “And I convinced him that we had to take that into consideration.”
He was proud of her; with more experience, she could be formidable. She’d done her homework, uncovered information about Anne’s daughters even his sources hadn’t managed.
But…sweet mother of mercy, he didn’t know where to start.
One place, however, would be with a summons to Glen Schaefer.
In the meantime, he couldn’t make two competing offers for the Hotel Marchand, even if there weren’t all the complications of explaining the existence of and reasoning behind the one already in motion—and the potential for disaster, should Anne ever hear about the one his daughter proposed.
“Daddy?” Judith’s look said he’d been silent too long. “You don’t like it because of her, isn’t that right? Once you wouldn’t have flinched at my proposal. It’s a good one, and you know it.”
Careful now. He took one step out on the tightrope, determined not to harm either of the women he cared about. “Honey, I understand that you loved your mother. I did, too. I would do nothing to diminish what she and I shared. But I have feelings for Anne Marchand.”
She recoiled as if he’d struck her.
She paused, then adopted a milder tone. “Look, Daddy, I know you’re lonely…”
His own back went ramrod-straight. “So I’m merely a lonely widower whose judgment must now be considered suspect?”
Something in his voice must have warned her that she was treading on dangerous ground. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, you most certainly did.” He moved behind his desk in an effort to calm the temper they shared. “I’ll remind you that I am still CEO of this company which, I might add, I built without benefit of your advice and managed to make thrive for all these years.”
Her face went white around a tightly-pursed mouth. “I know you’re in charge.” But there was mutiny in every syllable.
“Whatever I feel or don’t feel for Anne Marchand, what I do about it is my decision. Not one bit of it is intended to hurt you or show disrespect to your mother’s memory, and I would appreciate it if you would give Anne a chance. As for the Hotel Marchand, how much of your plan is intended to cause me problems with her?”
“Someone’s going to wind up with that hotel. It should be us.” Her chin jutted in a manner he knew he had seen in a mirror countless times in his life. Regardless of his banked fury, part of him wanted to applaud the return of her spirit.
He had no desire to damage that recovery. He’d intended to clue her in about his offer at some point, should he need to exercise it, but not until absolutely necessary, for the very reason of her anticipated reaction to Anne.
He calmed himself and granted her a nod. “Good for you. I applaud, as well, the thought you put into your proposal.”
“But you’re going to reject it.” She was withering before his eyes.
“I didn’t say that. The situation is…complicated.”
“By her,” she accused. “That woman.”
“Be careful, Judith.” He mourned the loss of the small girl who thought Daddy could do no wrong.
He tried again. “Honey, what is it that you have against a good woman? Do you think I’m being disloyal to your mother, is that it?” He’d always been faithful to Isabel and mourned her passing. Judith’s actions were those of a child, not a grown woman.
“She’s after your money, Daddy. Can’t you see it?”
“You know nothing about her,” he said through a clenched jaw.
“She and her daughters are fighting to hang on, but it’s a losing battle.”
“I wouldn’t count her out. All of New Orleans did after Remy died, but she kept everything going.” Through sheer will and guts, he might have added.
“She won’t, not this time.” She paused for a beat. “Unless you charge to her rescue.”
The very image of himself on a white charger, with Anne as the maiden passively awaiting salvation, made him grin.
“How can you laugh about this? New Orleans is full of women who want you for your money, none more than Anne Marchand.”
“Enough.”
And as if she understood that she’d gone too far, she subsided. He fought his temper back under control. “I choose not to take offense that you obviously see nothing a woman could want in me but my money—”
“Daddy, I didn’t mean—”
He held up a hand. “I’ll overlook that you’ve decided I’m too old or feeble or whatever to have sound reasoning.”
She opened her mouth but fell silent at a curt shake of his head.
“But what I will not tolerate is your assumption that Anne Marchand is some evil person with nefarious designs on me or—” here he had to smile “—that she would ever, in a million years, consent to anyone usurping her authority or treating her as if she were weak. I assure you she is not, just as she has no designs on my money.” He paused. Took a deep breath for patience. Then one more.
“Leave your proposal with me. I’ll study it.”
“It makes sense. You know it does. As a businessman.” Her inference was clear—that he wasn’t thinking that way now.
She was right; he couldn’t deny it. Once he would have been leading the charge.
But it was Anne’s hotel they were talking about.
Anne’s heart.
All his daughter’s questions were on target, her points apt. She was his child, his only child…and she opposed the woman he wanted in his life.
William was not a man accustomed to feeling powerless, yet at this moment he was caught between the daughter he loved and the woman who, each day, occupied more of his attention.
“I’m going to have to ask you to trust me in this matter, Judith. To give me time to consider if there is any compromise that could work.” He didn’t want to have to remind her that he had the final authority. He’d been trying very hard to help her build a future and regain her self-confidence.
But the balance was too delicate. He didn’t like what he was seeing going on at th
e Hotel Marchand, and he couldn’t shake the sense that Anne was in danger. He couldn’t risk having her informed that he was behind any offers and seeing her back away from him. He’d never be able to protect her then.
“And I’m also going to ask for your word that you will not be a party to Anne learning of any of this. There are forces at work that you don’t understand.”
When she looked wounded that he would need to ask for her promise, he didn’t explain because he didn’t want her mixed up in whatever was going on. “How about you and Anne and I have dinner sometime in the next week or so? That way you can determine for yourself what she’s like.”
“No, thank you.” Judith rose, graceful as always, and stood tall as a young queen, her mask once again complete. “As you said, it’s none of my business.”
Just as he was about to respond, his assistant buzzed him. “Mr. Armstrong? London on line one.”
“Ask them to hold for a minute, please, Margo.” He turned back to talk to his daughter.
But she’d already made her way from the room.
William swore softly and vowed to seek her out and somehow make this right.
But for now, he had business to attend.
FOR THE SECOND TIME that day, Anne was nervous.
And once again, William Armstrong was the cause.
Ridiculous. She was no green girl. This wasn’t a date. It was only—
She pressed one hand to her stomach.
—dinner. Simply a meal between two old friends.
But she sure didn’t feel old in that instant; more like a giddy girl, actually. And were they friends? She supposed they might have been, once, long ago, had she not been a lowly freshman in a girls’ school while he was the dashing football captain, class president and champion debater in his own, and a senior, to boot.
By the time she’d returned from college, he was already ensconced at The Regency, following in his father’s footsteps, a man of business making his mark in a city she longed to escape. Their mothers were best friends, conspiring so obviously to link their families that he and she were constantly being forced into proximity. He’d been charming and attractive in an intense way that could make her stomach flutter, but clearly not ready to settle down any more than she was.
And then she’d met Remy, and all bets were off.
Forty years later, her stomach was fluttering again, despite her best intentions.
A knock on her door kicked the sensation into giant flapping wings.
She emerged from the cool mint-and-peach oasis of her bedroom into the living room of the family quarters, smaller than they had been when she and Remy were raising the children. Once the girls were all grown, they’d kept only their bedroom and living room with its small kitchen, returning the two rooms shared by their girls to paying guest suites.
Nonsense, she lectured herself as she crossed the room to the door.
She turned the knob. As the opening widened, William perused her from head to toe.
And whistled.
“Stop that.” But she couldn’t help responding to his wicked grin with one of her own. “Mon dieu—I’m a grandmother.”
He arched one dark eyebrow. “Do you feel like one?”
“After a day at the zoo, frankly, yes,” she responded tartly.
He leaned in and captured a quick, heated kiss, but backed off before she could protest. “You smell wonderful,” he murmured.
His nearness was going to her head. Scrambling her brains in a manner she no longer knew how to handle. “I’m starving.”
In a glance, he communicated his comprehension of her dodge—and his amusement that she felt the need for it. “Then, by all means,” he said, “Let’s restore your strength.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to order in.” Challenge danced in his tone.
He’d been a bachelor out on the town for several years. She’d had only one lover. The playing field was uneven.
But she refused to concede the advantage. She’d always been a quick learner. “I don’t think you want any more tongues wagging around here than are already.”
“I’m not the one who is uncomfortable about being seen together.”
She couldn’t find a proper response.
He rescued her, tucking her hand into his elbow and turning them both toward the door. “So tell me how the delightful Daisy Rose is doing, G-mama.” His grin was quick and sinful and made it perfectly clear that her attempts to hide behind her status as grandmother were transparent…and doomed.
“She asked after Bo. She wondered if she might play with him and ‘Mr. Will’ again soon.” Sometimes when Anne and Celeste were babysitting, Daisy Rose had joined Anne and William on their walks.
A quick slash of white teeth. “Mr. Will and Bo would be honored,” he answered. “Perhaps I’ll call her myself and invite her to visit—” a waggle of dark eyebrows “—with the suggestion that she ask her G-mama to drive her.”
A dangerous man, William Armstrong. Anne experienced the headiness of being pursued and, despite all the worries that surrounded her, couldn’t help but think that she hadn’t felt so…female…in a very long time.
“You are ruthless,” she said, but couldn’t suppress her smile or the little lift inside her. “Now stop flirting with me and buy me dinner.”
“Dinner you may have.” He captured her free hand and brought it to his lips. “The other…not a chance.”
Anne held her breath in anticipation as his mouth hovered over her skin.
Warm breath whispered against her flesh, and she shivered.
He came no closer.
But his smile said he’d noticed.
He’d been around for months with increasing frequency, but suddenly, everything seemed to be moving too fast. If she weren’t careful, she could be swept off her feet by this handsome, charismatic man only too easily.
But she couldn’t falter now, not when her children’s legacy seemed to be more precarious by the day.
OUT ON THE STREET, a man withdrew into the shadows, observing the couple who approached the gleaming black Jaguar. After the woman was seated, her escort shut the door and rounded the hood, a smile playing over his features. He settled into the driver’s seat, and the car started with a predator’s throaty roar.
The observer flipped open his phone and punched two keys. “He’s with her again,” he said to the party listening. “Want me to follow?”
“Not tonight,” was the answer. “Stay where you are for now. Let me know when he brings her home.”
“If he does. They looked pretty cozy to me.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Hmmph.” A long drag on a cigarette. “I don’t like this. I don’t have anyone to relieve you tonight.”
“They’re old. Chances are, they’ll only have dinner, then call it a night. Though she’s pretty great-looking for an old lady.”
Another pause. “I’m calling the boss. I don’t like this,” he repeated and hung up with a click.
The observer closed his phone and settled in to watch for girls lifting their shirts, practicing for the Mardi Gras parades just around the corner.
“WHERE DID YOU find this place?” Anne asked as she shucked the spicy shrimp. “The food is amazing.”
“It’s not exactly your kind of environment.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Which would be—?”
“White linens, candlelight. Fresh flowers.”
She glanced around at the modest shotgun cottage, located on a street in a part of town she’d never visited. Its walls were simply decorated with old Mardi Gras posters, and the metal tables were covered with plastic. “We have a candle.”
“In a dime-store pot.”
“Yet you brought me here.”
“I thought you needed messing up.”
She was certain her brows neared her hairline now. “Funny, I only thought I needed more napkins.” An errant impulse prompted her next remark before she could censor it. “Of course, I could just lick my finge
rs.”
His eyes darkened. His nostrils flared. “Then we wouldn’t have to flip a coin, after all. We’ll be headed straight to my house.”
“Oh?” She didn’t look away, though she felt a little like she was baiting a wild animal.
He opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t give him the opening. “What about that corn on the cob you promised me?” Coward, she said silently.
With a small sound of impatience, William signaled the lanky teenager who’d served them.
“Anything I can do for you, Mr. Armstrong?”
“Tell Miss Celia she’s outdone herself,” William said with a wink. “The lady would like the corn on the cob. And leave us with a pile of napkins, please.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man wheeled to comply.
“Oh, and—”
The boy turned back. “Don’t tell me. More hush puppies.”
“You take good care of me, Jerome.”
“Granny would still be cooking for that nursing home without you—”
Anne realized that William was shaking his head in an effort to forestall him.
The boy frowned. Cut a glance at her.
“Why don’t you sit down, Jerome. Tell me more.”
His gaze shifted to William. “Well, ma’am, see, I’d better be gettin’ back now. Granny might skin me.”
His obvious discomfort at being caught between his hero and her forced a laugh from her. “I understand. I’ll just work on Mr. Armstrong here, instead.”
Relief blossomed on his features. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just be gettin’ those napkins for you. And that corn.” He made a quick escape.
She wiped her fingers on the remaining napkin. “So you’re Granny’s angel, William?”
To her surprise, he seemed uncomfortable, something she’d never witnessed in this very urbane man. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”
Love Is Lovelier Page 4
