“Shane is cooking dinner for you and Reg tonight at the restaurant. You can talk about it then.”
Daniel filled his daughter in on the outcome of a meeting he’d had with the human-resources director earlier that day while she’d been on the flight. And about a resolution with a furniture distributor for their hotel in St. Thomas.
Mention of the island brought a wry half smile to Audrey’s face with the memory of that weird moment with Shane a decade ago. To this day, the recollection still replayed often in her mind.
It was at the Hotel Girard St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands that she’d first met the Murphy brothers. When she’d first encountered the volcanic force of nature known as chef Shane Murphy.
Audrey had been a short eighteen-year-old, hiding in baggy shirts because her body hadn’t yet settled into its shape. Shane Murphy was the enfant terrible of the culinary world at just twenty-four. Reg, the staid older brother at twenty-six. Connor was opening the Lolly’s café at the hotel and Shane was there to do a tasting menu in the hotel’s formal dining room. The first Shane’s Table had already become the hottest dinner reservation in New York, making Shane an instant star.
The two brothers couldn’t be more different. Though both were tall, Reg was thin and tidy, save for a perpetually sweaty upper lip. He kept his hair closely cropped and always donned a tailored suit. In contrast Shane’s dark curly hair brushed the shoulders of the rock band T-shirts he wore with his jeans. Reg, the immaculate professional, and Shane, the soulful artist. Black and white. Night and day. Shane had made an impression on her that she still carried to this day.
She hadn’t seen Shane in person in many months other than through teleconferences, which he would often leave before they were halfway done. Audrey wondered how much his impatience or inattention had to do with the death of his wife two years ago. She knew firsthand how a loss like that could color everything that came after it.
Helping herself to a glass of icy cucumber water from the clear pitcher on the office bureau, she took a much-needed sip. As always seemed to be the case, mere mention of Shane Murphy made Audrey thirsty.
She paced in front of the windows of Daniel’s third-floor office. Prior to the renovation, there had only been a couple of picture windows on that exterior wall. With the new sweeping vista she could look out to the hotels and casinos, or peer down to see street-level activity on the always-crowded Strip.
Audrey’s eyes fixed on a couple. The young woman, blonde, short and curvaceous like she was, wore a white minidress and a clip-on bridal veil that looked like it hadn’t cost much money. Her groom had on black suit pants and a white shirt with his tie loosened. The two laughed and passed an open bottle of champagne between them to sip from. The bride held her left hand up to the sunlight to admire the ring on her finger. They stopped walking and threw their arms around each other for a passionate kiss.
Las Vegas.
Land of hope. Of gambles. Of chances. Of love.
What would it be like to arrive in Vegas to wed the person you were in love with? Audrey wondered. To embark on a life together, sharing ideas and dreams and romance?
Audrey had no time for thoughts like that. She had her own, practical marriage to plan.
* * *
Having made her way from her father’s office to the central courtyard of the hotel, Audrey stepped outside into the dry Nevada breeze. The main structure of the building formed a square with a public space in the center with walk-throughs to the Strip and parking so that patrons could enter the restaurants, bars and shops from both inside and outside the building. She was eager to settle into one of the freestanding suites at the back of the property they called the bungalows, where she’d make her home for the time being.
For the past couple of months, she’d been utterly buried by work in her small office at the hotel chain’s Philadelphia headquarters. There were splashy incentives to organize and newsworthy stories to cull in order to promote all of the seven hotels for the summer season. Winter had thawed into spring without her really taking note of it.
Along her walk, she said hellos to construction workers and to staff members who were onsite to begin readying the hotel for the opening. This week she’d check in with every department to see what was new and noteworthy that she could use for publicity.
For now, though, she wanted to drop her luggage and check her emails and messages and texts. And see Reg, who had sounded so tentative when she last spoke with him.
As she crossed diagonally through the outdoor public area, she froze on her heels. The Shane’s Table restaurant, not yet open for business, appeared to be fully finished, at least on the outside. In front of its door stood a life-sized cardboard cutout photo of chef Shane Murphy.
What the heck?
Audrey was director of public relations and any kind of promotion that went on at Girard hotels came across her desk. It was she who authorized press releases if one of the hotels even so much as bought new towels. If a landscape designer decided on an unusual type of plant for the grounds. When one of the hotels offered a Valentine’s Day package that included breakfast in bed.
Yet she’d heard nothing about this horribly tacky six-foot-two-inch shrine to the male ego. What a monstrosity! Not at all befitting the elegance and restraint Girard hotels represented. Nor worthy of the Shane’s Table reputation for integrity and excellence.
She didn’t know who approved this amateur-hour attempt at marketing for the restaurant. But she was going to find out.
Bustling over, Audrey stopped dead in front of the display. Barely clocking in at five-foot-two herself, she had to crane her neck back to fully study Shane’s likeness. The discomfort she always felt in his presence was just as palpable here in this massive photograph.
A wild toss of dark hair seemed to grow from his scalp in every direction as though it belonged on a mythological Medusa. A folded blue bandanna was tied across his forehead and under his hairline. Those black-as-night eyes were framed with long eyelashes and crowned by heavy brows. A straight nose led to full lips, parted slightly, surrounded by beard stubble above his mouth and across his lower cheek and square jaw.
The look on his face was a dare. To say this man was smoldering and dangerous was the understatement of the century. He was almost too much to take in, even in cardboard form. Thank goodness she was marrying safe Reg.
Audrey bit her lip to stay grounded and continue her survey of Shane.
His chef’s coat fit well from one broad shoulder to the other. The coat’s sleeves were cuffed twice to reveal hefty forearms with a dusting of dark hair. The arms crossed at his chest showcased black leather cording that formed bracelets wrapped around each wrist. One huge hand held a chef’s knife.
An embroidered insignia on the chest of the chef’s coat depicted his restaurant logo of a four-legged table with the name Shane scripted above it. The coat’s hem hit Shane at mid hip, shorter than a typical chef preference. Fitted jeans encased the lower half of his body, with its straight hips and muscular legs. The jeans gave way to black motorcycle boots. One foot crossed over the other in a defiant stance.
Audrey’s eyes did a ride up from the boots to the powerfully built chest to the heart-stopping lips. She followed individual locks of jet hair as each made a different wavy descent down around his face.
All she could say to herself was “Whoa!” as that flush swept across her neck again.
Audrey hated cardboard cutout displays that presented a person as some sort of whacked-out Greek statue or national monument. To her, they were a crass and crude form of advertising. But there was no question that Shane Murphy was a drop-dead sexy man. She was painfully aware of it every time she was around him. While it didn’t directly have anything to do with his cooking, she wouldn’t doubt that his fiery good looks contributed to his restaurants’ success.
Nonetheless, Audrey was not about to have t
hat eyesore muddy the sophistication of a Girard hotel. So she lifted cardboard Shane Murphy at his waist, tucked him under her arm and proceeded to her bungalow. As soon as she swiped her key card and let herself in, she propped Shane in a corner of the room facing the bed.
Dropping her bags, she made a three-hundred-sixty degree turn as she took in the finished renovation of the bungalow. The photo and video tours she’d seen didn’t do it justice. An interior archway divided the suite into two distinct areas. In the sleeping portion, teal and brown bedding appointed the king bed, a palette that evoked the original sixties style. But a flat-screen smart TV mounted on the wall and tech stations on the two lightwood nightstands brought the room straight into the needs of today’s guests. An armchair upholstered in stripes echoed the teal and added in green and cream colors. A reading lamp perched on an end table beside it.
Through the archway, a lightwood desk and chair provided a place to work or eat. Bright abstract paintings adorned the walls. A sitting area with a sleek gray sofa and low coffee table gave way to the sliding-glass door. Each bungalow had a private patio with two forest-green lounge chairs shaded by a partial veranda to give protection against the desert sun.
Audrey delighted at the perfection of the remodel. This was what put the Hotel Girard brand on the map. Everything carefully crafted from fine materials and designs perfectly executed.
Except for that stupid cutout of Shane Murphy, of course.
* * *
“There he is.” Daniel nudged Audrey as they sat in a finished section of one of the hotel’s cocktail lounges.
They both stood as Reg Murphy approached. Audrey’s future husband was a slim man who stood ramrod straight. He wore a three-piece pinstriped suit. Audrey couldn’t remember the last time she saw a man wear a vested suit.
She hadn’t had a chance to unpack but had pulled an outfit from her garment bag for the evening. A conservative gray sheath dress and black sandals.
“Nice to see you, Reg.”
“I guess this is finally it,” he said as he extended his right hand as if to shake hers. Then he seemed to change his mind midstream and instead lifted her hand and turned it over to kiss the back of it. His supple palm pressed her fingers against his open lips. The whole maneuver was awkward and a bit moist.
“How was your flight?” Daniel asked as Reg vigorously shook his hand up and down.
“Fine, sir.”
Audrey remembered Reg as being a bit more poised. Perhaps it was wedding jitters that made him appear so nervous. He stared at Daniel slack-jawed like he wanted to say something, but instead pulled a white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and dabbed his upper lip.
“Are you in Vegas now until the opening?” Audrey asked.
“I may have to fly back to New York. You?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’ve got our wedding to coordinate.”
“Right.” Reg nodded as if it were just sinking in. He glanced at his phone and read something on the screen that brought a huge smile to his lips. “Please pardon me a moment while I return this message.”
He tapped onto the screen, grinning the entire time.
“Well,” Daniel said using his right hand to pat Audrey’s back and his left to tap Reg’s, “I’ll leave you two to your evening.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
After Daniel walked away, Reg and Audrey each perched on a stool beside the table. One of the four bars on the property, this space was located inside the main lobby and had stylish fun in mind. The decor was done with white barstools upholstered in deep purple velvet set around chrome pedestal tables. Behind the chrome cocktail bar was a giant glass tank filled with undulating purple goo similar to the lava lamps of the 1960s.
Once again, Girard’s interior designers had worked through an idea to perfection. And then capable crews were able to bring the vision to fruition. Audrey could imagine the lounge with chic music playing in the background and filled with trendy patrons choosing drinks from a cocktail menu that offered libations with names like Flip-Out Frappe and Yin-Yang-Yum.
“After all of the talk about us marrying, this has come about rather suddenly, hasn’t it?” Reg asked.
“Is there a problem with that?”
He seemed to be a million miles away. “Not at all.”
“I think the extra push makes sense. Do everything at once. Open the hotel and Shane’s Table. Shane’s cookbook. Our marriage. It’s a cascade of publicity on several levels.”
Audrey knew that the Girard hotels had never really recovered from the events of three years ago. When her mother was dying and her father was unable to concentrate on the business. Audrey had tried as best she could to fill in for him. It was a gift to have the work to focus on since her mother hadn’t wanted her at her bedside.
All of her life, it had been assumed that she’d grow up into the family business. As a teenager, she developed a knack for coming up with advertising ideas and events. The marketing side of the brand was a perfect fit for her after college.
Hotel Girard Incorporated was Audrey’s entire world. Running around the properties as a kid, she had known every secret passageway. Every painting that hung in every guest room. Every item sold in the gift shops. Any happiness she could recollect took place within the borders of the hotels. The staff were loyal to Audrey and she was loyal to them. She’d do anything needed for their good. Even get married.
Besides, she thought Reg was a good match and she had become quite amenable to the marriage idea. He was smart. Nice-looking, too. Maybe a little too much hair product. Those short curls might look better if they weren’t so stiff. He was poised and polite and she didn’t know what the medical condition was that made a person have a sweaty upper lip but, hey, she thought she could overlook that.
And he was, safely, nothing like his brother. That split second ten years ago on St. Thomas flickered in her mind again. A freeze-frame in time that she still secretly compared everything else to.
“Should we go to dinner?” she asked. Reg seemed so uneasy tonight, perhaps a change of atmosphere would help. Devotion to the hotels was one thing but she wasn’t going to go as far as to beg him to wed her if he didn’t want to.
“Shane is cooking for us in the restaurant.” Reg took Audrey by the bony part of her elbow and lead her out of the bar. “We are essentially the first guests at Shane’s Table Las Vegas.”
Along the way, Reg stopped to read and respond to another message on his phone. The same amusement that had come across his face earlier returned while he typed.
But he hesitated when they reached the restaurant’s entrance. “Where is the display that’s supposed to be here?”
“You mean that awful stand-up photo of Shane?”
“Name recognition is what Shane’s Table is all about.”
“I’m well aware of that. But that cardboard cutout was absurd. Brash advertising like that is not how Girard maintains its reputation for taste and understatement.”
Not that a life-size photo of hottie Shane Murphy was hard on the eyes, but it was, nonetheless, inconsistent with the Girard style.
“You personally removed my advertising?”
She’d stood it up in her bungalow for the time being and now didn’t seem the right time to confess that. “Reg, I’m head of public relations. I work alongside a marketing team and together we decide when and how best to...”
“I built Shane’s Table into what it is today.”
Wow, Audrey wasn’t expecting this. She assumed Reg would respect her authority on this topic. He should have at least proposed the display prior to just having it planted it in front of the restaurant’s doors, which was technically Girard property.
Audrey attempted to smooth ruffled feathers. “You know, Reg, perhaps I’m not a hundred percent clear on what our contracts state about my role concerning the PR specifically for the restaurant.
”
“I’ll have my lawyers call yours in the morning.”
She stroked his thin arm once up and once down in a gesture of calming affection. “That’s a great idea. Can we just put the issue aside for now and enjoy our dinner? I can’t wait to see the completed dining room.”
The pacifying technique worked because Reg pulled from his pocket a deadbolt key and an access fob to open the front door of the newly finished construction. He reached to flick on a temporary lamp that stood just inside the entrance.
Rock ’n’ roll blared from the far end of the restaurant. Reg gestured for Audrey to follow him across the dark dining room and through the double doors leading into the kitchen.
The lone man in the cavernous space stood with his back facing them, but Audrey easily recognized that long curly hair and the broad shoulders that filled out his chef’s coat. The music was turned up so loud that he hadn’t noticed anyone had entered. His head bobbed and his hips ground to the beat as he sautéed something smoking hot on the stove in front of him. Reaching for a spoon, he tasted from the pan.
“Garbage,” he decreed and, in frustration, threw the spoon into the nearby sink.
Only then did he turn enough to be startled by Reg and Audrey’s presence. He grimaced. His gorgeous full lips twisted. A pulse beat in his neck. His eyes locked on Audrey.
“Audrey,” Reg yelled above the music, “you remember my brother, Shane Murphy.”
Copyright © 2018 by Andrea Bolter
ISBN-13: 9781488089497
A Baby in His In-Tray
First North American publication 2018
Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Douglas
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
A Baby in His In-Tray Page 19
