Under The Mistletoe

Under The Mistletoe Kristin Hardy HE GAVE NEW MEANING TO THE TERM TURNDOWN SERVICEThe devastatingly handsome manager of the Hotel Mount Jefferson, Gabe Trask, was all too eager to offer a wide array of amenities to Hadley Stone when he thought she was just a holiday guest. But once he learned that she was really there as a representative of the cost-cutting management company that had just acquired his hotel, Hadley expected Gabe to really be on her case. And he was–just not in the way she'd imagined….For Gabe knew that despite all her down-to-business, cost-cutting talk, Hadley was a romantic at heart–one whom he was inexplicably finding hard to resist. And he could see in her eyes that the feeling was becoming mutual. Now all he had to do was convince her to check her business instincts at the door–and focus on the personal…. “You’re shivering. Do you want my jacket?” When Hadley shook her head, Gabe shifted closer to her and tucked in the blanket more tightly. Even through the thick wool, his touch made her dizzy. Gabe leaned closer to her. “It’s your call. Do we go on, or do we stop here?” She needed to tell him to go back. But when he reached out to trace his fingertips up the line of her jaw and curl them around the nape of her neck, it was already far too late. She was sinking slowly. There was every reason to avoid this, and she couldn’t make herself even try. She felt his breath before she ever felt a touch. When his mouth fused to hers it seemed inevitable. His lips were cool at first from the frozen night, and then she felt the heat. She could have held out against demand, but his touch was more an invitation. And it made her want more. Dear Reader, If you’re eagerly anticipating holiday gifts we can start you off on the right foot, with six compelling reads by authors established and new. Consider it a somewhat early Christmas, Chanukah or Kwanzaa present! The gifting begins with another in USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Mallery’s DESERT ROGUES series. In The Sheik and the Virgin Secretary a spurned assistant decides the only way to get over a soured romance is to start a new one-with her prince of a boss (literally). Crystal Green offers the last installment of MOST LIKELY TO… with Past Imperfect, in which we finally learn the identity of the secret benefactor—as well as Rachel James’s parentage. Could the two be linked? In Under the Mistletoe, Kristin Hardy’s next HOLIDAY HEARTS offering, a by-the-book numbers cruncher is determined to liquidate a grand New England hotel…until she meets the handsome hotel manager determined to restore it to its glory days—and capture her heart in the process! Don’t miss Her Special Charm, next up in Marie Ferrarella’s miniseries THE CAMEO. This time the finder of the necklace is a gruff New York police detective-surely he can’t be destined to find love with its Southern belle of an owner, can he? In Diary of a Domestic Goddess by Elizabeth Harbison, a woman who is close to losing her job, her dream house and her livelihood finds she might be able to keep all three—if she can get close to her hotshot new boss who’s annoyingly irresistible. And please welcome brand-new author Loralee Lillibridge—her debut book, Accidental Hero, features a bad boy come home, this time with scars, an apology-and a determination to win back the woman he left behind! So celebrate! We wish all the best of everything this holiday season and in the New Year to come. Happy reading, Gail Chasan Senior Editor Under the Mistletoe Kristin Hardy www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) To Paul Ronty Jr. and Martha Wilson of the Mount Washington Hotel for their time and generosity and to Stephen— this love will last KRISTIN HARDY has always wanted to write, starting her first novel while still in grade school. Although she became a laser engineer by training, she never gave up her dream of being an author. In 2002, her first completed manuscript, My Sexiest Mistake, debuted in Harlequin’s Blaze line; it was subsequently made into a movie by the Oxygen network. The author of nine books to date, Kristin lives in New Hampshire with her husband and collaborator. Dear Reader, I first got the idea for Under the Mistletoe a couple of years ago while taking my parents on a leaf-peeping trip through northern New Hampshire. I brought them to one of my favorite places, the Mount Washington Hotel, a hundred-year-old grand resort hotel in the White Mountains. One night, I was walking through the lobby past the walk-in granite fireplace and I had this flash of a couple in love, waltzing before the fireplace on Christmas Eve—and Under the Mistletoe was born. I modeled the Hotel Mount Jefferson in Under the Mistletoe on the Mount Washington. You can see for yourself, if you’re lucky. Please see my Web site—www.kristinhardy.com—for details about an exciting contest I’m holding! I’d love to hear what you think of Hadley and Gabe’s story, so please drop me a line at [email protected]. And stop by my Web site for future contests, details on upcoming books, recipes and more. Happy holidays. Kristin Hardy Contents Prologue (#u53653dd2-4afd-5d0f-bb10-890964ffd92c) Chapter One (#ued24cf0b-a46f-5504-8fd2-9cde76587d31) Chapter Two (#ucb758a7b-df4c-5d7b-bc43-4ecfe3672e69) Chapter Three (#uc34cf352-c8c7-5ad1-b1f3-ee1257005218) Chapter Four (#u2a88a5a1-0268-51bd-924e-db8b9f34e61a) Chapter Five (#uc0a4944d-6903-52c8-8259-4406f3c915fc) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Prologue Manhattan, August 2005 “Because I didn’t meet the Wall Street number?” Hadley Stone stared at her father incredulously. Robert Stone looked back with the same mix of dispassionate censure he’d offered her most of her life. “The stock price of Stone Enterprises has dropped two dollars since the earnings release for Becheron Minerals. That division was the highest profile buy we made last year. Your job was to turn it around.” “I did turn it around,” she protested. “We beat our in-house earnings target.” “But Wall Street expected you to do better.” What the hell did a bunch of Wall Street analysts know about the inside dealings of their company? Hadley thought furiously, remembering the hours she’d spent flying halfway around the world to various Becheron facilities, the countless jet-lagged meetings while she struggled to bring the shaky mining company back from the brink of bankruptcy to meet the punishingly high profit margins demanded by Stone Enterprises. And now, to be told that the division was being taken out of her hands because she hadn’t met the inflated expectations of Wall Street analysts? Grimly, she shoved the frustration down. Showing emotion to Robert Stone was an invitation to be totally discounted. “I know Becheron inside out,” she said instead. “You put someone else in there, it’ll take them a month just to get up to speed.” “Eliot Ketchum’s taking over. I’m sure he’ll be quite capable.” “So I’m demoted?” “Think of it as a reassignment. It was my error to push you too far, too fast.” Protesting that it wasn’t fair would fall on deaf ears, she knew from experience. Her big opportunity, she’d delivered the goods and all she’d earned was a smack down. The frown on Robert’s face softened. “It’s not your last chance, Hadley. You know I have big plans for you at Stone. I always have.” Since toddlerhood, to be exact. For as long as she could remember, he’d orchestrated her life—her school, her friends, her career. Relentless standards, unyielding discipline and occasional and unpredictable praise, doled out just often enough to make her knock herself out to earn more. Another child might have rebelled. Hadley only worked harder to be the heir Robert wanted, a stand-in for the son he’d never had. To be what he wanted? For the umpteenth time of late, she wondered if that were even possible. She didn’t want to go there, though—couldn’t, not after spending twenty-eight years of her life trying to please him. Robert’s intercom buzzed. “Who is it, Ruth?” he asked. “Justin Palmer, to talk with you about the W. S. Industries restructuring.” “Send him in.” Robert clicked off the intercom and looked at Hadley. “I’ll be with you in just a minute. WSI takes precedence.” Indeed. Everyone at Stone Enterprises was dying to know just what Robert Stone planned to do with the company of Whit Stone, his bitterest rival—and the father he’d been estranged from since childhood. Robert had labored all his professional life to outdo Whit and to destroy him financially. In the end, he’d been unequal to the task. Whit had died with his holdings stronger than ever. To have the point rammed home by Whit leaving him the entire conglomerate had to be burning her father up. Not that Hadley was about to ask. The graying, hawk-faced legal counsel of Stone Enterprises handed a bound report to Robert and took a seat in one of the plush leather client chairs. “WSI, in a nutshell. You’ve got the preliminary assessment of holdings, value, et cetera. It’s all in agreement with the estate declaration, though slightly over-valued by my estimate.” He smiled faintly. “Any surprises?” “Not really. Most of it is a matter of public record.” “The list of underperformers is longer than I’d expected.” An expression of satisfaction spread across Robert’s face. “Do you think they were cooking the books?” “Unlikely. If you flip to the page of overall holdings, you’ll see that those are a minority.” Robert nodded. “I don’t care. We need rid of them.” “I’ll notify mergers and acquisitions to get on it.” “You misunderstand me. I don’t want them sold off whole. Take them apart and sell them off piecemeal.” Palmer stared at him. “Robert, about seventy percent of the companies on that list are running in the black and another twenty are looking at profitability within a five-year time horizon. You run them all through a chop shop, you’re going to lose value and revenue.” “It’ll lower the hit from the estate taxes.” Stone flipped closed the briefing book. “Get our salvage specialists to work on it. I want those companies to be history within the month.” “I don’t think we can entirely execute on that.” Robert’s brows lowered. The only occasions Hadley had ever seen him lose an iota of his iron control involved his father. “I don’t want to hear arguments, Justin. I want to hear ’yes.’” “How about ’the terms of the will won’t allow it’?” “Explain.” “Your father’s will identifies one holding that cannot be sold or dismantled. It has to be held by the Stone family and run in good faith or else the entire estate reverts to charity.” Hadley watched, fascinated. After years of being the puppet master, Robert was now a puppet himself. And not even he could walk away from thirty billion dollars for the sake of principle. “What is the business?” “An old hotel up in New Hampshire.” “What the hell would he want with a hotel?” Robert demanded. “He specialized in high tech and industrial manufacturing, not hospitality.” “I get the impression he dealt in whatever he wanted to.” “And Stone Enterprises deals in what I want to,” Stone said icily. “Find a way to break the terms.” Palmer shook his head. “We’ve been over and over it. It’s ironclad. You can do what you want with the rest, Robert, but this one has to stay in the family.” Robert’s jaw tightened visibly. Long seconds passed while Hadley waited for the explosion. Finally, he relaxed a fraction, the struggle for control won yet again. “All right. If we can’t unload it, then we need to turn around the earnings. I won’t have this kind of an operation showing up on our financials.” “We’ll need to put someone else on it in a hurry.” “I know.” Robert turned to Hadley. “Well, it looks like that new opportunity I was telling you about has cropped up sooner than I expected. Get the Becheron transfer rolling. You’re going to New Hampshire.” Chapter One New Hampshire, December 2005 Opportunity, her father had said. More like banishment, Hadley thought, as she swung into a curve on the narrow road that threaded through the White Mountains of New Hampshire. From vice president of one of the most high profile divisions at Stone to triage specialist for an antiquated hotel out in the sticks with the squirrels and chipmunks. Forget the flights to Zurich, Cape Town and BuenosAires. Now it was Montpelier, Vermont, which was still nearly an hour and a half from the hotel. No direct flights there, of course, which had meant cooling her heels in Boston while she’d waited for a connection on some crop duster. After all, demoted V.P.s didn’t rate the corporate jet. Her cell phone rang and she answered it absently. “Hello?” “Good morning, sweetheart,” said a voice filled with perfume and gardenias and air kisses. “Hello, Mother.” “Can you stop by the house before you leave so we can talk about the holidays?” Hadley resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Too late. I’m already here.” “The wilds of Maine?” “New Hampshire.” “Ah. And how is New Hampshire?” “Cold,” she answered. “Lots of trees and snow.” “Sounds wonderfully rustic. Your father seems to think you’ll be gone for a while. At least through the holidays.” Nice that he had such faith in her. “We’ll see how it goes. I should be able to take a day or two over Christmas, anyway.” “Actually, that was why I called.” Irene hesitated. “You see, we’re going to Gstaad over the holidays. The twins are mad for the idea.” Eight hours of flying each way, not counting time spent on the ground. “Sounds great,” Hadley said slowly, “but I don’t think I can take that much time off right now. Any chance of going after Christmas?” “Well, the twins really want to be there for the holiday. A bunch of their friends are planning a big party and they don’t want to miss it.” Hadley could imagine the spark in her mother’s eyes on the other end of the phone. “And next year the girls will be in their debutante season, so we can’t possibly go then. This is really our only chance.” Debutante season? “Sure, the debutante season,” Hadley said, biting back a sigh. “No problem.” “Oh, and if you’re trying to think of something to get them, they’ve been absolutely crazed for those new Louis Vuitton bags, the ones with the cherries.” Hadley looked at the pine covered mountains around her. “I’ll see what I can come up with.” “Wonderful. Anyway, I should let you go—I know you’re busy. I’ll call you before we leave.” “All right. Love you, Mom.” “Love you, too, dear.” And the line went silent, leaving Hadley with another unsettling reminder that when it came to the Stone girls, there were her mother’s twins and her father’s daughter. They shared the same wheat-colored hair and gray eyes, the same delicate features that Hadley often thought put her at a disadvantage in business. They’d grown up in the same household. And yet not. Robert had taken command of Hadley’s life early. Perhaps it was only human nature that when Irene Stone finally gave birth to the twins, she’d made them hers. It became more apparent each time Hadley saw them that her mother and the twins inhabited an entirely different world than the one she lived in. Theirs revolved around shopping and hairstyles and parties, all the things Hadley had never had time for. All the things her mother loved. And every time she talked with her mother, that world seemed farther and farther away. Enough! It wasn’t a crisis. They had plans for Christmas and she was a grown woman with a job to get done. Checking her directions, she turned onto the highway that led to the hotel—if you could call the pockmarked asphalt that threaded through even denser forest a highway. She could tell the first problem with the Hotel Mount Jefferson sight unseen—location. Skiers and hikers, the people most likely to go to the mountains for recreation, were not the kinds of people to pay a bundle for a glorified bed-and-breakfast. They were far more likely to camp out or, if they had the kind of money that the hotel hoped to attract, choose the stylish condos she’d passed a couple of miles back. How, then, was she supposed to meet her father’s astronomical expectations? Hadley’s hands tightened on the wheel. Instead of running a division with seven locations, three business units and a head count of more than two thousand, she was now responsible for turning around a superannuated hotel with a few hundred employees, most of whom were probably missing teeth. Evaluate, set a strategy and implement it, her father had directed her. Double the profit margin within six months, quadruple it within twelve. If she had any sense, she’d tell him to go jump in a lake. After all, she had choices. She could update her r?sum? and shop it around. But who out there would hire her without worrying she was a mole for Stone Enterprises? And Robert Stone was a jealous god. When you left his world, he made sure the departure was permanent—home would be home to her no longer. Did she want that? Could she give that up? Hadley sighed. She didn’t want to be in this car, on this road, heading for oblivion. But she didn’t really have a choice, not when she thought about it. No, her only real option was to do the job, give Robert what he wanted. So she kept driving to the Hotel Mount Jefferson, a place in all likelihood few people other than the misbegotten souls who worked there cared about, she was sure. Misbegotten souls who were about to get a big surprise. “You’re kidding.” Gabriel Trask stared at Mona Landry, his head of housekeeping. “No water in the entire laundry room?” The stout woman glowered. “Burst pipe. Apparently laundry wasn’t a priority when they redid the plumbing last spring.” “Burke?” Gabe turned to his head of facilities. He spread his hands. “We only have so many months to work with. Guests come first. I was planning to run new pipe out to the facilities building this spring.” “And what are the guests going to say when they don’t have any clean sheets or towels?” Mona asked tartly. “Mona.” Gabe raised his hand. “We’ve got a problem to address. Let’s fix it. Burke, have you isolated the break?” “I’ve dug a couple of sample holes. As near as I can tell, the pipe out to the laundry plant is split. Frost heaves.” “As near as you can tell?” “We’re still trying to dig down to it.” Gabe frowned. “It shouldn’t be that hard.” “Frozen ground. Winter staffing levels. Plus it’s ten degrees out there and dropping. We can only keep the guys outside for short stretches.” Gabe nodded. If he cursed a blue streak in his head, it was nobody’s business but his own. “How long?” “We’re working on it. No later than tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to repair the whole line while we’re at it. Otherwise, it’s just a matter of time until this happens again.” Not what Gabe wanted to hear at the start of a heavily booked weekend. “Mona, how’s our linen supply look?” “Enough for today and maybe half of the rooms tomorrow. After that…” She shrugged. “I keep telling you we need more.” New linens, new plumbing, new pillars to replace the rotting ones on the west porch, new carpeting in the ballroom. Old budget. When his coal-dark hair eventually turned gray, he’d know where to place the blame. Gabe suppressed a sigh. “All right, we go to the laundry in Montpelier. Mona, get the number from Susan. One of the grounds guys can truck it over.” “Not if you want that trench dug,” Burke reminded him. Gabe closed his eyes a second. “Right. Okay, find a bell hop but get on it now. We need the laundry to turn the job around by the end of the day.” Pulling from the bell staff would leave them short up front during checkout, but they’d manage. If necessary, he’d drive the damn truck himself. Trees, unending trees. Hadley yawned. No wonder she was in a bad mood. Taking the morning flight out had sounded good when she’d bought the ticket. It had only been when the alarm sounded at five that she’d realized she’d been out of her mind to book it. When she got to the hotel she could give them their first test—how they dealt with grumpy early arrivals. She swung the sporty little rental car into another curve, and the line of trees fell away, revealing the valley ahead. And her jaw dropped. The Hotel Mount Jefferson perched on the hillside like a white castle, a sprawling fantasy of turrets and porticos. The roof glowed red under the rays of the winter sun. Flags atop the towers snapped in the breeze. Hadley could practically see women in pale Victorian gowns and parasols promenading along the veranda that ran the length of the building. A snow-covered hillside rolled away from the hotel. It would be green in summer, she thought, green and magical. The pictures hadn’t done it justice. She’d done her homework, of course. She knew the financials by heart, understood that it wasn’t just a little mountain lodge. But she hadn’t been at all prepared for a place that looked as though stepping through the doors would be to walk back in time. For a place that instantly made her think of ball gowns and afternoon teas, of hot toddies sipped by a roaring fire. She hadn’t been prepared to be enchanted. This isn’t about enchantment, she could practically hear Robert saying. It’s about business. And with that the enchantment dropped away. How did they heat that many rooms, no doubt drafty after withstanding nearly a hundred winters? Radiators, probably. Radiators installed by Civil War veterans. How often did the radiators break down? Hadley sighed. However enchanting the hotel was on the outside, she had to meet her numbers or else she’d be in exile a whole lot longer than she’d like. And even enchantment got old. She considered her strategy. Come in like an ordinary guest and spend the weekend looking for ways to economize, ways to increase occupancy. Shameless romance was one angle to play, she mused as she drove past the white, Victorian-style lampposts that marched up the access road to the hotel. Hopefully, they had an in-house consultant for that part, because that one she was going to have to delegate. At the pillared portico of the hotel, Hadley paused for a moment. Up close, the Hotel Mount Jefferson was all her first glimpse had promised. The front facade of the building gleamed with broad windows. Marble steps led up to a green-carpeted porch where a small fleet of shiny brass luggage racks held the bags of departing guests. To one side sat an antique sleigh, painted gleaming red. Christmas was drawing near and whoever ran the place was laying it on just right, she admitted. The valet opened her door. “Welcome to the Hotel Mount Jefferson. May I get your bags?” “In the trunk.” “Very good.” He passed her a green ticket in trade for her keys. “If you’ll just call this number when you get to your room, we’ll have your bags brought right up for you.” Hadley walked up the steps and over to the sleigh. The cut glass lamps reflected the daylight, the brass fittings gleamed. Someone at the hotel paid attention to detail, she thought, tracing the graceful curve of the front panel. Someone knew the little things counted. A smiling doorman in a caped greatcoat opened the wide white front door with its curling brass handles. “Welcome, miss,” he said, tipping his cap. Hadley stepped through the door and straight back to the turn of the previous century. For a moment, she simply stopped and stared, carried back to a time when the world was a slower, more graceful place. Nineteen oh three, or so her research said. From where she stood, the lobby seemed to stretch the entire length of the east wing of the building, all space and light, airy and open. Ornate white pillars soared to the coffered ceiling twenty feet overhead, their inset panels gleaming with gold luster, capitals at the top curling elegantly. Overhead, bronze-and-crystal chandeliers threw a warm glow that competed with the sunlight spilling in the enormous picture windows. And yes, there was a carved granite fireplace with a leaping blaze. All she needed was a fancy-dress ball and a hot toddy before bed to make the fantasy complete. Shaking her head, Hadley approached the front desk. “Welcome to the Hotel Mount Jefferson.” The young, au burn-haired and obviously pregnant clerk gave her a friendly smile. Angie from Albany, or so her badge said. “Checking in, name of Stone,” Hadley said, sliding her credit card over the polished wood. “I know I’m early but I was hoping you might have something ready.” Angie looked at her apologetically. “I can take your card and get you signed in, but we won’t have any rooms ready in your class until at least two-thirty. I’m sorry, but we just had a big group check out. We were full up last night.” Impressed despite herself, Hadley raised a brow. “Full?” “Oh yes. A big corporate meeting.” Hundred percent occupancy, Hadley mused. Perhaps things weren’t quite hopeless. Maybe it was just a matter of making some cuts to control costs, and things would be fine. “All right, you’re all set.” Angie handed her card back. “If you’ll just come by at two-thirty, we should be able to get you in. In the meantime, Cortland’s downstairs is open for lunch, and we have a complimentary afternoon tea at two. We also have changing rooms if you want to go ski. The shuttle runs to the slopes about every fifteen minutes.” Balls. Afternoon tea. Hot toddies by the fire. “Thank you so much,” Hadley said. “It’s perfect.” Afternoon tea was set up in the semicircular conservatory that arched off the lobby, a fantasy of white wicker and greenery. Hadley poured a cup of Earl Grey and picked up a pair of the pretty little tea sandwiches. Gorgonzola and pear on rye, watercress on white, no crusts. Balancing plates, she settled in a chair near one of the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows. The view was breathtaking, the snow-topped mountains across the valley practically sitting in her lap. A burst of laughter had her glancing over at a couple settled side by side on a wicker love seat. And for a sudden, lost moment, she imagined herself as the pretty young blonde, sitting next to the handsome man who looked at her with love. Hadley’s pleasure fizzled as her imagination suddenly failed her. She stared at the couple as though they were exotic creatures at the zoo. Were they really happy? How long would it last? “You have too much money,” her father reminded her often. “You have to be cautious.” Which was an easy thing to do with the men she ran into, who either feared her or pursued her for the thrill of getting near Robert Stone. Anyway, what was she really missing? An icy d?tente like her parents’ marriage? Any of the countless paths to divorce that she’d seen her relatives and acquaintances follow? Acquaintances, because she hadn’t become friends with anyone since she’d left school, her classmates scattered to whatever ports of luxury or business they or their families fancied. There had never been time. It was hard to hook up for dinner when you were always on a plane somewhere or staying in the office late for a telecon with the Tokyo office. It was easy to fall into the trap of wishing for love, here in a place outfitted like a movie set. For wasn’t that what love was—a movie fantasy? Among real people, infatuation waned and affection was always conditional; she’d learned that lesson long ago. It depended on what you could do for people. Far safer to remain on her own. Even though she always had had a soft spot for the movies… Setting aside her teacup, Hadley rose. It was just the demotion, that was all. A walk would get her out of this funk. A walk and a chance for some fresh air would make her stop taking stock of her life and coming up wanting. Gabe pulled the truck into its parking place at the side of the hotel and turned off the engine, rolling his shoulders to relax them. He hadn’t really meant the part about driving the laundry himself, but who’d have figured that he didn’t have anyone in the place with a Class A truck license? He definitely wasn’t crazy about being away from the hotel for several hours in the middle of the day. Cell phone reception was so bad in the mountains that he could hardly connect most of the time. If he had to be away, at least he had the staff for it. He’d never understood managers who preferred to surround themselves with ineffectual subordinates. He wanted people who knew how to think, who could act without direction when necessary. Management held challenges enough without setting up a brainless ant colony that fell apart when you weren’t around. As a result, he’d been able to mostly enjoy what was a gorgeous day, with a sky so brilliantly blue it hurt the eyes, and a snow-covered landscape still new enough to be charming. It had felt kind of like playing hooky. The brightly clad figures whizzing down the slopes of the ski area opposite the hotel reminded him that working Saturday wasn’t normal for everybody. One of these days he needed to find time for the slopes. For now, he climbed down out of the truck, slipping on his bomber jacket to ward off the outside chill. A quick stop at the manager’s house to put his suit on again and he’d be back in business. Gabe skirted the rear of the hotel, heading toward the path that led to the three-story farmhouse that predated the hotel. Free on-site housing in very plush digs, one of the bennies of the job. Of course, it worked for the ownership, given that he was around 24/7 in case of crisis. Ownership, he thought, and felt the familiar tug of regret. It wasn’t going to be the same without Whit Stone. Lost friends, new challenges. Still, the hotel was a constant. He turned to look at it in all its palatial whiteness. It wasn’t the view of the hotel that made his footsteps slow then, but the figure on the little loading dock outside the employee entrance. A woman, standing with her arms wrapped around herself in the winter cold, strands of her pale hair shifting in the breeze. She wasn’t staff. He knew the face and name of every person who worked for him. It was a point of pride. This woman he’d never seen before. He’d have remembered. She gazed at the sweep of the Presidential Range behind him, her face angled a little away. She looked like a faerie come down from the mountain, all silvery-blond hair and pale skin, wrapped about in a cape of dark green. There was a magic there that drew him, something compelling in the tilt of her eyes, the temptation of her lips. Then she turned her head a bit and he saw the faint air of wistfulness that hovered around her mouth and shadowed her eyes. Without conscious decision, he headed toward her. She probably wasn’t supposed to be in this area of the hotel, but it was the only place Hadley had found that had the view she wanted and an absence of people. She’d get over her funk as soon as she started working. It was just the unfamiliar experience of having time to herself that was throwing her off. The air was crisp and cold enough that her breath created a white plume each time she exhaled. So beautiful, the sweep of valley, the rise of the mountains, the snow-iced trees. She stared out at the panorama, wishing she knew how to draw, to capture that sweeping vista, that soaring openness in practiced, flowing strokes. “Beautiful view, isn’t it?” a voice said. Hadley jumped and stared at the man who approached her on the flagstone path. Beautiful view? Beautiful man, more like it. It was almost bad form to be that gorgeous outside of a movie or a magazine. Tall, dark and handsome was such a clich?, she wanted to tell him. Maybe she would. If she could get her tongue to work. “Sorry I startled you.” She moved her head, the desire to avoid attention immediate. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It isn’t polite.” Which was a good thing; after all, there had to be something wrong with anyone who was that perfect looking, all cheekbones and honed jaw, dark hair flopping down over his forehead. The humor in his eyes only made him more attractive. “Well, I can’t have that said of me. Please accept my apologies.” “Maybe.” She hadn’t heard him approach; he’d just been there, long and lean in his charcoal crewneck and expensive leather jacket. Not a staff member, not with that kind of clothing. She recognized designer quality when she saw it. “So are you blowing off the Employees Only sign?” “I wanted to see the mountains.” “I don’t blame you. But I’m betting there are better places to do it here. Places where the heat’s on, for example.” His feet crunched on the flagstone path as he crossed it and came to a stop before the railing behind which she stood. “You’re outside.” He looked up at her, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Only for as long as it takes me to find a door.” If he’d stepped just a bit closer she could have moved her hands from the railing and pushed his dark hair back off his forehead. She stared at him, wondering if his eyes were really that green or they just looked that way because of the backdrop of pines. The sudden pull that she felt caught her by surprise. “I’m fine,” Hadley said, putting her hands in her pockets. “It was just too crowded inside.” “A loner.” He nodded as though confirming something to himself. “Or choosy.” “Is that a polite way of telling me to get lost?” Not yet. She wasn’t ready for this to end. “It’s a public place. You pay the rates, you ought to be able to go anywhere you want, I guess.” “Well, it is pretty here. I like the view.” “But you’re not even looking at the mountains.” He grinned. “You noticed that?” Hadley felt the flush creeping across her cheekbones and, dammit, she couldn’t help smiling back. She could just imagine what Robert would say. She was on assignment. She was supposed to be working, not flirting. Flirting was foolish, anyway. There was a girlfriend somewhere, had to be. Men who looked like him didn’t come to places like the Mount Jefferson solo. She had no business looking at his mouth and wondering just how it tasted. She had no business talking to him at all. She belonged in a winter landscape, Gabe thought, with her white-blond hair and those gray eyes. The soft, wistful gaze was gone now, replaced by a guarded expression he felt an illogical urge to wipe away. He’d seen the startled look flash across her face a few seconds before, though, had seen her eyes darken. As hotel manager, Gabe was always talking to guests, but his interest in her was far from professional. Down, boy. Okay, he was a grown-up. He could chat with her a little bit without drooling all over her. After all, charming the guests was his job. “Well, I guess you’re right to enjoy the blue skies while you can. I hear it’s supposed to snow tonight,” he said. Her expression brightened. “Really? I love winter, it’s my favorite time of year. I envy anyone who gets to live here.” “Of course, you don’t have to shovel snow for five months running.” She laughed, and Gabe felt the jolt right down to his toes. Forget all the foolish stuff about faeries and pixies. With her eyes dancing as she looked down at him, she was flat-out beautiful. “Spoken like someone who lives in snow country. Look at it as a cheap way to get in shape. Some people spend money on health clubs.” He shook his head. “I grew up on a farm. I always swore I’d never pay good money to lift weights.” He had grown up on a farm, and he’d left it as soon as he decently could. If he could point to any one character flaw, it would be an unreasonable affection for luxury. He was happy to work hard, as long as it was on his own terms. The Hotel Mount Jefferson suited him like a comfortable pair of shoes. “Where I live,” she said, “snow’s rare enough to be fun.” “Where’s that?” “Manhattan.” He wouldn’t have picked her for a city girl. She belonged in this kind of setting, among mountains and snow. “It’s not that rare there. It’s just that the city clears it away as quickly as they can.” She opened her mouth to speak, then looked beyond him, her eyes widening in alarm. “Oh God, there’s a fire. Look.” She pointed at the plume of smoke that rose from the distant slope. Gabe peered at it. “That’s not a fire, that’s the engine from the cog railway.” “The cog railway?” “There’s an old railway up there. It’s open now for skiers.” “A train goes up the side of that mountain?” she asked, staring at the steep slope that rose from the forested valley. “All the way to the top, in summer. You can only ride it half way this time of year. Ski down, too, if you want to. Do you ski?” “I’ve never found the time to learn.” “Maybe while you’re visiting. Either way, you definitely shouldn’t miss the railway.” In his pocket, his combination walkie-talkie/cell phone chirped. Gabe frowned at himself. Getting distracted chatting with a guest—however lovely—when he should be inside wasn’t like him. He’d already been gone too much that afternoon. “Something wrong?” “I’ve got to take this call. Excuse me.” He flipped open the phone and walked a few paces away. A consultation with the chef before dinner. Another crisis to deal with. The twinge of regret he felt surprised him. He turned back to his mystery girl. “Duty calls. Are you staying here long?” She hesitated. “I’m not sure. A few days, at least.” “Then back to Manhattan?” “Of course.” Time to go, he reminded himself. “Well, I hope I see you around before you leave,” he said. And tried not to feel like he’d lost something as he walked away. Chapter Two “You look like you’re having a good afternoon,” said Angie at the front desk as Hadley walked up. She was smiling, Hadley realized. It was probably a sad statement on the state of her personal life that it took so little to cheer her up. “Any chance you’ve got my room ready now?” she asked. “I checked in earlier.” “Let me see.” Angie leaned awkwardly toward her computer, trying to shift her stomach out of the way. She looked very pregnant, Hadley realized—like about ten months. Hadley cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to get personal, but should you really be up and around at this point?” “I know,” the receptionist said in amusement. “I look like I’m ready to drop any minute. Believe it or not, I’ve got another month to go. The doctor says Trot’s going to be our New Year’s present.” “Trot?” “My Hank’s a Red Sox fan. I wanted to name him Milo but I didn’t have a chance.” “Maybe he’ll be a distance runner,” Hadley said. Angie laughed. “Maybe.” She set the room folio on the polished maple counter. “So let’s see, you’re up on the third floor.” She passed Hadley a key on an ornate brass disk the size of a coaster and gestured at the wall of numbered pigeonholes behind her. “Just drop the key here on your way out and pick it up when you’re ready to head back to your room. Any questions?” It was a quaint arrangement that Hadley had only seen in the older hotels of Europe. Something about it made her feel connected, cared for. “I’m all set,” she told her. “Good luck with Trot.” Angie smiled. “The elevator is behind you. Enjoy your stay.” Next to the elevator, the broad grand staircase swept down, all rich carpeting and curving elegance. Hadley could imagine couples descending for dinner back in the old days, the women’s gloved hands on the arms of their tuxedoed escorts, their silken skirts trailing behind them as they made their entrance. And she found herself wishing she had someone to see it with. The polished brass doors of the elevator opened to reveal a spare-looking elderly man. “Good afternoon, miss,” he said, pulling back the accordioned metal gate. “My name’s Lester. Where can I take you?” “Third floor, please.” Hadley stepped on and watched him shut the gate. The control panel had no buttons, just a lever, right below the inspection certificate. “So just how old is this elevator?” “Original to the building.” He beamed. “Mr. Cortland wanted all the modern conveniences when he built the hotel. Got his friend Tom Edison to wire it for electricity.” The car began to rise smoothly. “Hot and cold running water and fire sprinklers in all of the rooms, even. That was a big deal back then.” “How long have you worked here?” He considered. “Oh, about fifty years. I started when she was in her prime and saw her through some dark times before Mr. Stone bought her and started turning things right.” She should have expected it, but the name still jolted her. “You mean Whit Stone?” “The same. Top drawer, a prince of a guy. He spent a week here every summer for almost as long as I can remember. ‘Course, when he started, I was on outside staff.” He gave a raffish smile. “These days, I have to take it easy a little.” The car stopped at her floor and Lester opened the gate. “Enjoy your stay, miss. I hope to see you again.” A prince of a guy. Top drawer. Not exactly the way her father described Whit. Hadley crossed the octagonal elevator lobby, her mind buzzing, and went through the double doors that led to her wing. Even the third floor boasted ten-foot ceilings and hallways twice as broad as any she’d seen at a hotel before. Antique fixtures on the walls cast a soft light over the striped wallpaper and rich floral hall runner. Brass plates engraved with room numbers in curling script adorned the doors. Hadley unlocked hers to a spill of golden sunlight through the windows that ran across nearly the entire wall. The room was enormous, bigger than the living room in her loft at home. She caught the scent of freesias from a small clutch sitting in a little vase on the bureau. A feather duvet covered the bed. Again, attention to detail. Someone cared about the guests. And in some obscure way she felt comforted, and some of her soul-sickness ebbed as she settled into one of the overstuffed wing chairs by the window. Gabe sat at his computer. The screen displayed the previous month’s occupancy charts, but he stared into space, remembering a pair of sober gray eyes sparking into laughter. Sometimes a small taste stuck with a person longest. Amid the quiet of snow and winterscape he’d talked with her just enough to know he wanted more. And then there was that instant when her eyes had darkened and something flashed between the two of them…. He blinked and shook his head. What he needed was to finish preparing for his department heads’ meeting, not think about guests. Off-limit guests, he reminded himself firmly. And unless his little winter faerie had some pixie dust that would help bolster his midweek occupancy, she needed to be off his mind. The project to winterize the hotel for cold weather business five years before had cost a bundle. With Whit’s agreement, Gabe hadn’t tried to pay it off all at once, but continued to do the kind of necessary renovations a century-old building required. Whit had happily plowed most of his profits back into upkeep, hoping to rescue the Mount Jefferson from the decay it had been in when he’d bought it. Who knew what the new owners had planned? “Mr. Trask.” Gabe glanced up to see his administrative assistant at the door. “Yes, Susan?” “I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go home.” He glanced at his desk clock, stunned to see it was already after seven. “You were supposed to be off two hours ago.” “What about you? You were here when I got in.” Twelve hours and counting, to be specific. “Goes with the territory,” he said with a shrug and rose. “Anyway, I’m just about finished here. I’m going to do a quick walk-through and head out myself.” “Mr. Trask?” He turned in inquiry. “You’ve lost your badge again.” Gabe glanced down at his lapel and bit back a mild curse. He’d gotten the magnetized name tags to save wear and tear on clothing, especially his own. Unfortunately, they didn’t stick so well to jacket lapels if a person wasn’t careful about putting them on. And that afternoon, he’d been a little bit rushed and a little bit distracted by a pair of gray eyes. “Looks like the magnet flipped off again.” Susan clicked her tongue and looked around the floor of the office for it. “Want me to see if the shop has another?” “If no one’s turned it in by Monday. No sense in worrying about it now, though. I’m not likely to forget who I am. It’s Saturday night. Go home and relax.” “Yes, sir.” Someone had once said that the octagonal dining room was big enough that each end was in a different area code. It was Gabe’s last stop every night. There was something about the glow of the pale salmon walls in the soft light of chandeliers and candlelight, the semicircular Tiffany windows ringing the upper gallery where the orchestra had played back when the hotel was first open. When Gabe looked at the unapologetically opulent room, he forgot his ongoing struggle to find plasterers who could restore the complicated capitals of the pillars and the ornate ceiling medallions. He just appreciated the reminder of a more gracious time. “Good evening, Mr. Trask,” said the ma?tre d’. “Good evening, Guy. How’s everything going? Full house?” Guy’s Gallic shrug was expressive. “Eh, if I had a roomful of tables by the window, everyone would be delirious. As it is, they are merely very happy.” “That’s the way we want to keep them.” In the background, a four-piece combo played a complicated, syncopated tune to an empty dance floor. It wasn’t an easy composition; a tune more likely to inspire indigestion. Gabe looked over. “What exactly is that?” “Miles Davis, I think.” Gabe frowned as the trumpet player wandered off into a spiraling solo. While he could appreciate it as a music aficionado, he wasn’t crazy about it as a manager. “No one’s going to dance to this.” “Just as well. Dancing…” Guy sniffed in disapproval. “People getting up, sitting down, complaining about overcooked meals because of the rewarming. We should stop it, you know.” “Not a chance. There’s always been a dinner orchestra at the Hotel Mount Jefferson.” And there was nothing like walking in to the sound of soft music to make a guest truly feel transported, he thought. He crossed to the bandstand as the combo finished its song and stepped down to take a break. “Richie,” he called to the trumpet player, “can you hold up a minute?” “Sure, Mr. Trask,” said the ponytailed redhead. “We just thought we’d take five.” “Sure. How’s it going?” Richie shrugged and looked across the dining room. “Not too many takers tonight. They like the music, I assume—I hope—but it would be nice to get some people on the floor.” Talented, Gabe thought. A bit temperamental and insecure, as all good musicians were. “Then you need to play dance music.” He flushed a little and straightened his tie. “We started out with the usual. No one came up so we thought we’d just get a little of the rust off.” “Do that on your midweek gigs,” Gabe advised. “You don’t have to play standards, but stick with something that’s got a beat people can work with.” “Even if no one dances?” “They’ll dance if you give them the music.” Gabe glanced across the room, resigned to working it a little before he left for the night. He’d stop at the tables, chat with the guests, suggest a turn on the floor. “Come back from your break and—” Suddenly he froze, staring at a table by the window. “Mr. Trask?” “Play something danceable,” Gabe said slowly, absently, staring at a woman with pale hair and gray eyes. “You’ll get your dancers. I guarantee it.” “I’m all finished,” Hadley told the waiter, gesturing to her nearly full plate. “Was there something wrong, madam?” he asked. Hadley shook her head. She’d eaten little, but she chalked that up to her state of mind, not the food or the menu. Dinner had actually been a pleasant surprise. She’d anticipated stodgy French or chophouse surf and turf, not an intriguing fusion menu that would have done any pricey Manhattan restaurant proud. Seared ahi tuna and Thai lobster spring rolls side by side on the menu with pecan-crusted pork loin and duck in huckleberry reduction suggested someone creative was at work. And the guests were tucking in with gusto. Conversation stayed at a low buzz, a tribute to good acoustics. Women in evening dress smiled and toasted with their escorts. Jackets required. How long had it been since she’d dined anywhere with a dress code? How long since she’d dined in a room so permeated with luxury? Sure, there were plenty of stylish restaurants in New York. None, though, that so vividly brought back the memory of another era. And the sharp longing for someone to share it with. Turning her head to ward off the thought, Hadley stared out the dining room window at the snow that had begun drifting down outside. Across the way, the lights of the conservatory bled out into the frozen night. She’d sat in countless hotel restaurants on her own during one business trip or another. It had never bothered her before. Probably it was the romance of the place that was getting to her. The Hotel Mount Jefferson was a haven for romantic getaways, a place where couples could glide across the dance floor and toast to love at their tables. But she wasn’t part of a couple. She wasn’t part of anything, just a solo person trying her damnedest to stay out of the funk she’d been fighting for days. She didn’t need anyone, she reminded herself. She’d seen what it brought. So how was it that all she wanted just then was to be held? “Having a nice evening tonight?” asked a voice behind her. Hadley turned her head to see not a waiter, but the stranger from the afternoon. And her funk was forgotten. He’d made an impression in the cold light of afternoon. Now, he jolted her system into awareness. No jeans and sweater this time. Instead, he wore an exquisitely cut gray suit that only made him look taller, leaner. Cuff links gleamed at his wrists. A silver chain made a graceful sweep across his blue patterned tie. He looked as if he belonged in a plush VIP lounge somewhere, swirling a balloon glass of brandy while he talked high finance. “You’ve dressed up, I see,” she said, wishing for those moments in the afternoon when she’d had him to herself. “So have you.” She’d worn a drape-necked tank in cream silk jersey. Paired with a narrow black skirt, it had seemed demure enough. Until he stood looking down at her. Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the temperature rose on her arms. She glanced at the windows. “Your snow has started, I see.” “Good thing you decided to come inside. We’d have had to send a Saint Bernard out looking for you.” “With a keg of brandy as my prize?” “You can get a brandy in here if you want it, with no risk of frostbite.” “The benefits of civilization.” “Indeed.” There was something in his eyes, a light, an invitation to fun. She felt a little flutter in her stomach and glanced down. She should be more disciplined; she wasn’t here to play around and he was probably with someone. But it was so tempting to for once not think about work, to be just Hadley, just a woman. Too tempting. “Don’t you have to get back to your party?” she asked abruptly. Gabe didn’t answer right away, trying to avoid staring at the pale gleam of her throat in the soft light. He’d worked his way across the room to her, stopping at a number of tables to greet the guests, chat a little, charm a lot. And the whole time, he’d been utterly and completely aware of her as she stared out at the night, that wistful look back on her face. He wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to see the spark of fun again, the spark of heat, the expressions that brought that delicate face alive. Just for a moment he’d stop by her table and chat with her, as he had the other guests. Harmless. And then he registered the bare tablecloth across from her. “I don’t have a party to get back to. I saw you and thought I’d stop by and say hello.” And to look at her one more time. In the candlelight, she was luminous, the extravagance of bare shoulders backlit by falling snow. “Mind if I join you?” She nodded to the bottle of wine on the table as he sat. “Would you like some wine? It’s a very good cabernet.” “No. Thank you, though. So how was the rest of your day?” “All right. I wandered around for a bit, caught up on work. How about you?” “Wandered around, caught up on work.” Thought about you. “Doesn’t sound too fun to me.” “You’re one to talk. I thought you were here for a break before work heated up. What is it, a business conference?” She shook her head. “Just some meetings next week.” “But right now it’s the weekend. You should be relaxing. I don’t know…going to the spa for a massage.” Naked on the table, her back smooth and gleaming. “No one to play with, I guess.” “That’s a tragedy,” he said softly. “We really need to do something about that.” The candlelight threw shadows in the hollows of her cheekbones. She swallowed. “Do you have any ideas?” In the background, there was a thump of bass and the snick of brushes on snare as the combo tuned up. Gabe remembered his assurance to Richie. “I can think of one. Do you dance?” “Dance?” “Yeah, like to music.” He rose and held out an arm. It was on the tip of Hadley’s tongue to say no. She never danced. On her very rare nights out, she might go to a ballet, but that was about as close as she came. Certainly, she wasn’t in the habit of taking to an empty dance floor in front of a roomful of people. Somehow, though, she found herself pushing back her chair and rising. She had to look up at him, even in her heels. Amusement flickered in his eyes. In the subdued light, they looked darker than before. Hadley hesitated, then tucked her hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the fine-weave wool soft against her fingers. She was far more aware of the hard solidity of the arm beneath the fabric as they threaded their way between tables. He smelled of something clean and woodsy and completely male. On the polished wood of the dance floor, he stopped and turned to her. “Do you know how to waltz?” From somewhere in the distant sands of time, she dredged up cotillion lessons. “I did when I was thirteen.” He laughed and took her hand to pull her into dance position. “It’s like riding a bike. Just hold on and go where I lead you.” Heat sang up her arm at the shock of palm against palm. In defense, she rested her left hand against his shoulder. He was close, so close. Close enough for her to see faint flecks of gold in his green eyes. Close enough to kiss. “The count is one, two, three. Back, side, touch, basic box step. Smile,” he said. “It’ll be fun.” The song was “Moon River,” dreamy and slow. His hand pressed against her back; if he pulled just a bit more, they’d be embracing. Suddenly, it felt as outrageous, as daring as dancing must have back in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries, when women and men barely touched in public. At first, he counted the steps for her, but with the urging of his hands the old motions came back. The awkwardness evaporated and they began to move, dipping and flowing around the floor. Hadley laughed aloud. “This is wonderful.” “Didn’t I tell you? You should trust me.” Expertly, he led her into a whirling turn. Then several other couples drifted onto the floor. Aware of the people behind her, she stiffened, stepping forward when she should have gone back, stumbling on his sleek leather shoes. He stopped for a minute and leaned toward her. His eyes darkened. Adrenaline sprinted through her veins. A touch? A kiss? “Look at me,” he murmured instead, his mouth just a breath away from hers. “Trust my lead.” This time, when they started again, they moved as one. It was like floating, she thought, anchored by his eyes, the light press of his fingertips at her back. When she’d walked into the hotel she’d felt as if she was stepping into another world. And she had. This wasn’t her, this woman being swept around the floor in the arms of a handsome stranger. The rest of the room ebbed away until only his face mattered. The rest of the world—the rest of her life—was irrelevant. In that moment, that glorious moment, all she wanted was him. She didn’t notice when the music ended. She couldn’t look away. It was as though she was diving into him, seeing the answer that he wanted as much as she did. When he leaned his head toward her it seemed completely natural. Her lips parted. Just a taste, just a touch. She held her breath— “You are extraordinary,” he murmured. And bowed. Blinking, Hadley realized the band was on to a new song, a swing tune, and he was leading her off the floor. It was over. “You should tell your parents to tip your cotillion teacher,” he said as they walked back to her table. “You did well.” “Was that before or after I stepped on your toes?” His arm under her fingertips felt natural now. She didn’t want it to end. “It’s always hard with a strange partner. You slid right into it.” “You were pretty good yourself,” she said, sitting in the chair he pulled out for her. “Where did you learn all that?” “During the swing dance craze I dated a woman who wanted to learn ballroom.” “And you indulged her?” “We aim to please.” “I’d like—” “Nice moves, Mr. Trask,” commented a waiter walking by with a silver-domed tray and Hadley froze. She knew the name, dear God she knew the name. “Your name is Trask?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “Gabriel Trask,” her dashing stranger confirmed, holding out a hand. “I suppose I should have confessed earlier. I’m not just a dance host. I’m the general manager of the hotel.” Chapter Three Hadley’s feet thudded on the treadmill with metronomic regularity as sweat trickled down the side of her face. Idiot, idiot, idiot. The word repeated in her mind in time with her stride. What in the hell was she thinking, flirting with a stranger on a business trip? Losing her focus, getting all doe-eyed over a man she knew absolutely nothing about. And look where it had gotten her. It was embarrassing, the sort of mistake a rank beginner might make. And on a personal level… On a personal level it was downright humiliating. She stifled a groan. That moment at the end of the dance when she’d thought he was going to kiss her, she could only imagine the look on her face. She’d been thinking romance; he’d been the hotel manager attending to a guest dining solo. And now she had to work with him. She was disconcerted, annoyed, mortified. She’d have crawled over broken glass before admitting she was disappointed. Of course, if he’d told her who he was up front, everything would have been different. The treadmill chirped, informing her that she was shifting into cool-down mode. Cool down? Not likely to happen anytime soon. A day and a half later, irritation still bubbled through her. There was no way she’d have chatted with him, certainly no way she’d have danced with him if she’d known who he was. All it would have taken was a name badge, something that was standard in every hotel she’d ever been in. Apparently Gabriel Trask was more interested in preserving his Armani than being professional. Even spending all day Sunday searching out flaws in his hotel and drafting a plan for cuts hadn’t salved her pride. She still had to contend with the embarrassment of facing him. And that would be today, of course. Monday, glorious Monday. Still, the best move was to get it over with. She wiped her face with a towel and headed toward the door. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d thrown herself at him or anything. All she’d done was dance. And wait for a kiss. She squeezed her eyes shut. With any luck, he’d be the one embarrassed once he found out what was going on—and maybe a little concerned about his job. As well he ought to be. There were big changes in the offing. She needed a manager who could help her implement them, not one with mixed up priorities. She needed a professional who understood how things were done. And if that meant someone other than Gabe Trask, so be it. Gabe sat at his desk, finishing his November month-end report. With a few brisk key strokes he sent it to Susan, who would gussy it up and send it off. There had been a time when he hadn’t worried about letterhead, just shot quick e-mails directly to Whit or called. These days, he mailed formal documents to the executors of the estate, who presumably forwarded them to the new owners. Or maybe just tossed them in the round file. Who knew? Almost five months after Whit had died, Gabe hadn’t heard a word about what came next or who even owned the hotel. In the absence of direction, he supposed he could have played it safe and socked the profits into an interest-bearing account until the new owners appeared. Instead, he’d stubbornly continued investing in improvements. If no one was going to give him guidance, then he’d continue with the plans he and Whit had laid out in January, as they’d done every year. The old lady deserved as much as he could give her, no matter what happened next. Clicking on an e-mail from his executive chef, he opened the attachment of menus for the following week. He stared at the list of meals, ingredients and estimated costs, and his thoughts drifted back to the last time he’d been in the dining room. It had taken willpower to stay away from the hotel the previous day, the one day off each week he granted himself. No one on staff would have thought anything of him doing a walk-through, of course, but Gabe knew why he found himself debating it instead of skiing or heading over to Vermont to visit his family. It had to do with a certain slender blonde laughing up at him on the dance floor, with the feel of her soft, cool hand in his, the lingering memory of her scent. And that moment at the end when he’d thought only of kissing her. Off-limits, he reminded himself. Just his luck that when he finally met a woman who knocked him back on his heels, she was a guest. All for the best that he’d been called away—talking with her had been entirely too tempting, and he had no business taking it any further. He knew where the boundaries were. And he’d thought about them all day Sunday. Shaking his head, he turned back to the menu estimates and began to crunch numbers. A few changes here and there would bring the costs into line with budget. He was in the midst of sending a reply to the chef when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up to look out the door across from his desk, Gabe saw the head of personnel walk into her office across the hall. Eight o’clock, he realized, wondering how two hours had whipped by since he’d sat down. One of his first actions after becoming manager had been to unbolt and open that hallway door. Sure, Susan was an efficient interface with the outside world. Visitors still came to him through her office. Staffers, though, were a different matter. If people wanted to talk to him, it was simple enough—walk down the hallway and knock. If he wasn’t in a meeting or a telecon, they were free to come in and chat. It meant giving up a little time and privacy, granted, but over the years the communication had paid off. He was wired into the workings of the hotel in a way his predecessors never had been. And around him the pulse of the hotel quickened. Hadley headed toward the executive wing of the hotel. The soft, drapey sweater was gone, replaced by a trim taupe suit, matching pumps. Brisk, professional, ready to take care of business, a leather portfolio in her hand. First impressions were everything. If she couldn’t have that opportunity back, at least she could start fresh with a show of strength. As she approached Gabe Trask’s office she slowed, looking for his receptionist. Beyond, a man in chef’s trousers leaned into an open door, talking animatedly. And she heard Gabe Trask’s voice in reply. He was there, just inside that room. For an instant, she could only think of his eyes, his smile, his touch on her back as they moved around the dance floor together. And the embarrassment of finding out afterward what was really going on. What must he have thought of her—a poor flower that needed his pity? She needed no one’s pity. In fact, that particular shoe was about to be on the other foot. His, to be precise. She banked the embers of her anger and walked up to rap on the door. “Good morning, Mr. Trask.” There were people he’d have been more surprised to see standing there, but Gabe couldn’t think of any offhand. It was as though he’d conjured her by thinking. One moment she was in his mind, the next she was in his doorway. And all he could think of was that moment she’d been in his arms. “Hey,” he said, rising to escort the chef out and go to her. “You disappeared the other night.” “Yes, but I’m here now. May I sit down?” she said, crossing to one of his client chairs. She was different today, he thought. Still cool and blond, but the mischief, the vulnerability, was all but hidden beneath a hard, glossy shell. “Please. I’ve got a few minutes.” It wasn’t strictly true—he never had a few minutes, but no way was he going to let work interrupt. “How are you? Everything all right with your stay?” “More or less,” she said, taking a seat. He looked at her. Something was definitely off. “Care to be more specific? It’s my job to take care of the ‘less’ part. Has business services supported you all right? You look like you’re off to your meetings.” It wasn’t quite a smile, more an impression of enjoyment. “That’s true, I am.” She sat upright with almost military precision. Her hair hung smoothly to her shoulders, her bangs just brushing her brows. Under them, gray eyes stared back at him, as level as a gunfighter’s. “Is your meeting here?” Definitely enjoyment. “Why, yes.” She crossed her legs with a quick whisper of hosiery. “In this office, actually.” That stopped him for a moment. In the back of his mind, suspicion began to brew. “Care to be more specific?” “Certainly. I’m here to meet with you.” “I don’t recall seeing anything on my calendar.” “You wouldn’t. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d clear some time for me.” “To discuss what?” Now the smile did spread across her face—but it was anything but friendly. “You gave me a surprise Saturday night. Now it’s my turn.” She rose and offered her hand. “I’m Hadley Stone, with Stone Enterprises. We’re the new owners of the hotel.” She gave him a cool look. “And I’m here to talk about what happens next.” It was just a handshake, a professional gesture she’d made countless times. She’d touched him the night before; the contact now shouldn’t have surprised her. But it did, carrying with it an intimacy, a connection that went far deeper than skin. For an instant, she felt laid open to him, thoughts and emotions. And he was furious, she could feel it. When he released her, she turned back to her chair without a word, resisting the urge to rub her hand against her thigh. “And what does happen next?” he asked calmly. “Changes. We’ve got to assimilate the hotel into the Stone organization.” “I see.” It was like being out on the water when a squall swept through, changing everything from sunny and warm to blustery wind and churning seas in minutes. It wasn’t a surprise to her that he was unhappy about it all. What was a surprise was how deeply the diamond-hard anger in his eyes cut. Not that what he felt would change anything, of course. Gabe crossed to the hallway door and closed it, his expression taut. Still, his voice remained even as he returned to his desk. “Stone Enterprises? As in Whit Stone?” “My grandfather. He left the company to my father, Robert Stone.” “Nice to get that cleared up,” Gabe said pleasantly. “Excuse me?” “Whit passed away five months ago. For five months, I’ve been stonewalled by the lawyers every time I’ve tried to find out just who’s responsible for the property besides me. All it would have taken was a letter.” Hadley smiled. Payback for the night before was about to begin. “WSI is a multibillion dollar corporation. This hotel represents a fraction of a percent of the whole. First things first. You were on the list when we could get to you.” “Which is now.” “Exactly. My job is to bring the property up to speed.” That got to him, she saw. “If you’ll look at the books, you’ll see the property is making a profit and showing revenue growth year over year. We’re in good shape.” “Not as far as we’re concerned.” “What’s the problem? We’ve been operating in the black for the last five years,” he said, a faint edge in his voice. “That may have been adequate under my grandfather’s ownership. Not anymore. We expect double or even triple your profit margins from our holdings.” Or Robert did, anyway. “I’ve looked at your balance sheets. You’re not even close to target.” “How about that.” Hadley stared at him a moment. “Don’t mistake how serious this is.” She opened up her portfolio and pulled out a printed sheet. “Fortunately, we should be able to meet the numbers with the right approach. I’ve been making notes. You’ve got some unnecessary amenities that are driving up costs. They can go.” “Really.” Gabe leaned forward with interest, propping his chin on his tented fingers. “And they would be?” “Flowers in the rooms, for one. It’s a nice touch but a waste of money.” As a guest, she might want to keep them; as a Stone employee with targets to meet, she couldn’t afford to. “Stick with flowers in the public areas only.” “I see. Go on, please.” The other night he’d embarrassed her personally. Now he was trying to do it professionally. “All right. Your dinner portions could probably shrink, you could reduce the menu options,” she said, her tone intentionally dismissive. “The food is more exotic than you need. Skip the lobster and seared tuna, stick to lamb and sole. For that matter, your breakfast buffet is far in excess of what it should be.” “What it should be?” He let a beat go by. “I assume you’ve got hospitality experience to support these directives?” She leaned forward, resisting the urge to bare her teeth. “Let me make this clear. I have bottom-line experience. As far as you and I are concerned, that’s all the experience I need.” “You don’t think you need to understand an operation before you wade in demanding wholesale changes?” Hadley snapped her portfolio shut. “I think some of the changes required are obvious, but to answer your question, I’m not coming in here on the fly. I spent three weeks reviewing major chain hotels and compiling a database. Almost across the board you’re spending dollars on services, amenities and staffing that they don’t. Your rooms are twice the size of a conventional room, which we can use to double the hotel’s capacity once we can afford to spend money on construction.” Gabe straightened, his eyes sparking with temper. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are not a major chain hotel. We offer a totally different value proposition to a very different guest. Our client base is about couples and romance.” “At least part of your client base is corporate, particularly during the week,” Hadley corrected. “They’re not looking for romance, they’re looking for value.” “If they wanted that, they’d find a big chain hotel. They’re here because of the location, because we offer that something extra, the luxury that the others don’t. Your cost-efficiency models don’t apply.” “That’s what you think. We succeed with new acquisitions because of our skill in finding and applying the right models.” “Stone focuses on light industry and high tech, right? What was the last operation you managed?” She glared at him. “Becheron Minerals.” “Mining.” He nodded. “It’s got a lot in common with hospitality.” “You’re about to find out how much, Mr. Trask,” she snapped. “If you’re lucky, that is. I can read a balance sheet and I can formulate a business strategy to address problems. And one of the problems I see here is the manager.” “You think the hotel’s exhibiting signs of mismanagement?” His tone would have made anyone he knew take care. “I think the manager’s exhibiting signs of bad judgment. Failing to recognize and deal with new fiscal realities, for one. Getting excessively familiar with the guests, for another.” Her voice rose as she spoke. “You have no business running around incognito, playing up to guests. You’re the ultimate representative of the hotel. We expect you to act like it.” “Running around incognito?” His tight control slipped a notch. “What about you, coming in here without telling anyone who you are or why you’ve come? A professional would have called ahead instead of playing games. And as to talking with you, I’m the manager, it’s my job to put guests at ease. I saw someone who looked lost and unhappy, and I came up to try to help. I would have done it with anyone. It just happened to be you.” The blood drained from her face. “I’d suggest you curb your friendly impulses going forward, Trask.” She fixed him with an icy stare. “And before you say a word about the other night, remember who you’re talking to.” He stared right back at her. “And who is that, Ms. Stone—the new manager?” “No, the head of the transition team.” “And where’s the rest of your team?” “I’ll know that when I find people who can get this hotel to stand up to inspection.” “My operation does stand up to inspection and the revenues have always stayed to plan. If we’re not up to your numbers it’s because your grandfather was happy to put almost every penny of profit back into the hotel, trying to bring it back from where it was when he bought it.” “And that’s the first thing that’s going to stop until your margins get to where they belong. When we’ve got money for construction again, it’ll go to cutting room size.” “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded, rising to his feet. “You can’t stop renovations on a building like this. Do that and she’ll be falling apart in a year. This is a national historic landmark. It’s a public trust.” It was as though a house cat had suddenly transformed into a dark, dangerous panther. If she hadn’t been so angry herself, she’d have been alarmed. “This hotel meant more than just profit margins to your grandfather. Do you have any understanding of that?” he demanded. “Is there anything that means more than profit margins to you?” His eyes blazed at her, green and furious, and for a moment, the words clogged up in her throat. In defense, she rose. “We’ve got numbers, Mr. Trask, and we are going to meet them. The only question is how. If you’re not willing to cooperate, I will be more than happy to bring in management with a better appreciation of our objectives.” “Is that a threat?” “That’s up to you. Now if we can continue the discussion—” “Actually, I’ve got a telecon right now and meetings throughout the rest of the day. The earliest I can fit you in is tomorrow.” “Fine. Eight o’clock.” Stifling her temper, Hadley rose and walked to the door. “Until tomorrow, Mr. Trask.” She didn’t shake hands goodbye. Chapter Four Hadley stomped up the grand staircase, fuming. Gabe Trask had to go, pure and simple. The man was impossible. She’d come in with a simple list of action items and he refused to even talk about them. And he had the nerve to defend his unprofessional behavior by attacking her for coming in without warning. So what? Plenty of managers would do the same. Why should she have warned them so that they could put on a nice face? She wanted information, and information she’d gotten. So she hadn’t worked in hospitality before and maybe she didn’t have any experience with this particular hotel. That didn’t mean she couldn’t draw conclusions and make business decisions. And that didn’t give him the right to defy her. Is there anything that means more than profit margins to you? Robert would have laughed at him. And Hadley? She couldn’t go there. Her response didn’t matter; only satisfying Robert did. So it pained her to cut away the touches that made the hotel graceful. No matter. Her job depended on meeting the targets. And if Gabe Trask posed an obstacle to that, Gabe Trask would have to go. She stopped and took a deep breath. She hated getting angry. Irritation was one thing. Irritation could be useful. As Robert had shown her, there was power in controlled emotion, in focused disapproval. Anger, on the other hand, only left her shaky and unsettled. She didn’t indulge in the kind of altercation she’d just had with Gabe Trask any more than she’d screamed on the roller coasters the time the twins had badgered her parents into taking them to Disney World. Feeling jittery, she walked the rest of the way to her room. If she could get rid of the emotion, she could calm down, and the best way she knew of getting rid of emotion was working. With a grim smile, she unlocked the door and headed for her computer. It was time to write a memo. Gabe walked through his front door with the pizza box just in time to hear his mother’s voice on the answering machine. Cursing, he stepped swiftly into the living room, snatching up the cordless handset just as she was saying goodbye. “Hey, Ma.” “Gabriel.” Warm pleasure filled Molly Trask’s voice. “How’re you doing?” “I’m well. How about you?” Still carrying the pizza, Gabe headed down the hall to the kitchen. “Okay.” “You doesn’t sound all that okay. Is something going on with you, too?” “With me, too?” Setting the box down, he reached into a cabinet and pulled out a plate and a wineglass. “What’s that supposed to mean? What else is going on?” “I don’t know, exactly.” She hesitated. “Come on, Ma, you never just go quiet. Tell me what’s going on. Is it Jacob? Nick? Or both? I thought they worked things out at Thanksgiving.” And for all the times he’d played peacemaker, his mother had never been the one to ask him to do it. “It’s nothing to do with Jacob,” she said quickly. “He and Nick have mended fences, I think.” “So what’s going on?” Propping the phone against his ear with one shoulder, Gabe poured himself a glass of Chianti. “I don’t know,” she said again. “I talked with Nicholas today and he didn’t sound right.” “Define ‘didn’t sound right.’” “Down. Frustrated.” Frustrated? That made two of them. Gabe took a swallow of the wine. “Did he get the results of the firefighters’ exam yet? If he didn’t do well, that would be a good reason right there.” “No, I asked him. He says he probably won’t know for another week or so. I think he got in a fight with that nice girl he brought to Thanksgiving.” “Sloane? Jeez, they looked like they were on their way to three kids and an SUV. That was what, like a week ago?” “It only takes a minute or two sometimes. There were a couple of times I was happy as a clam with your father one minute and ready to take a frying pan to his head the next.” Gabe leaned against the kitchen counter and grinned. “You never are going to forgive him for buying you that vacuum cleaner for your anniversary, are you?” “I suppose I should finally let the poor man off the hook.” He heard the smile in her voice, a smile that had disappeared for so many months after his father had died, and felt a wave of relief. “Generous of you. Anyway, what’s the deal with Nick? You want me to give him a call?” “Would you? I hate to put you up to it, but I’m worried about him.” “It’s okay. Just call me Mr. Fix It.” Which he was, Gabe reflected as he hung up. He never set out to take care of people, but somehow he always wound up doing it. Hell, even his job was all about taking care of people. The funny thing was, he didn’t mind. Sometimes—lots of times—it made him feel like a world-beater. Then again, sometimes it backfired on him, like helping out Hadley Stone had backfired. Of course, that hadn’t been why he’d approached her, not really. And it hadn’t been why he’d pulled her into his arms in the warm glow of the dining room. He didn’t need to go there, though. The last thing he should be thinking about was what it would be like to taste that delectable mouth, to press his lips against her soft throat. It didn’t matter that he’d seen both heat and surrender in her eyes that moment on the dance floor. Things had changed. He needed to keep his distance, pure and simple. He needed to get her out of his mind. He definitely didn’t need to be thinking about her laughing at him in the candlelight, or the way she’d looked at the end, mouth tempting and full and waiting for his. With an oath, he carried his dinner out into the living room and sprawled on the couch. With one hand, he dialed his brother’s number. With the other, he picked up a piece of pizza. “Yeah.” Nick’s voice was flat and exhausted-sounding. Gabe understood, now, his mother’s concern. “Do you have a dog?” Gabe asked. “What? You know I don’t.” Irritable, which was at least a sign of life. “Good. ‘Cause if you had I’d have guessed it just died.” “You’re cute. How’d you get to be so cute?” “Just natural, I guess,” Gabe said modestly. “Jacob’s surly, you’re antsy and I’m cute. Except right now you sound like Jacob. What’s up?” “Talking with my brother the great conversationalist always does that to me.” In the background, a series of bells sounded. Gabe took a bite of pizza. “You at the firehouse?” “Yeah. It’s a call for another company, though. What’s going on with you?” “Pizza, right now,” Gabe told him, chewing. “And let me guess, you’re drinking some kind of fancy-ass wine with it instead of beer like a normal person would.” “Yeah, so?” “And with a fork and knife, instead of with your hands.” “No fork and knife, and you’ll be happy to know I’m using a paper towel instead of a napkin.” Gabe wiped his fingers. “What, are you turning into a savage?” “You just can’t stand the fact that I have style, can you?” “So are you calling to dangle your pizza in front of me?” “Actually, I’m calling up to bitch.” “Don’t tell me, you couldn’t get the right wine for pizza. What does a guy like you have to bitch about?” “Stone Enterprises.” Nick snorted. “Why don’t you add on Microsoft and Donald Trump, while you’re at it?” “Because Donald Trump didn’t just take over my hotel.” “Ah.” “And didn’t send in a flunky to take apart everything I’ve built in the past five years.” The frustration that had been simmering in him bubbled up afresh. “I take it you didn’t hit it off with him.” “Her.” “Ah.” “Yeah, ah.” “Our lives may be in sync. What about the her?” “Besides the fact that she’s a corporate shark in the skin of a goddess?” “Definitely in sync. A goddess, huh?” “Enough to make me change my religion. Except for the fact that her job is to turn my hotel into a low-end chain joint.” “That is kind of a problem.” “You think?” There was a short silence while Nick digested the news. “A wise man once told me that the way to get what you want is to help the people in a position to say yes get what they want.” “I was the one who told you that,” Gabe said. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant a wiseass. It’s true, though. People operate mostly on self-interest. Convince her that it’s in her best interest to do it your way. Unless you’re a screwup and you’re doing it all wrong,” Nick added. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Gabe’s voice was sour. “Fair and balanced, that’s our motto. So why does she want to do this?” “To meet some bogus profit targets that come from corporate clowns who are clueless about the hotel business.” “And what do you want?” To bring Whit Stone back. “I want it to be what it is, something special.” “Did you tell her that?” Gabe smiled faintly. “Let’s just say we didn’t see eye to eye.” “Lot of that going around.” “Ah,” Gabe said. “Goddess trouble of your own?” “My advice to you is avoid ‘em like the plague.” “I’m trying,” Gabe said, pushing the image of Hadley out of his mind. “So what, did you and Sloane get in a fight?” “We broke up.” It explained a lot. “When? You guys looked pretty tight at Thanksgiving.” “I think that was what freaked her out. And if that didn’t, the fire sure did.” “Fire?” Gabe sat up straight. “What fire?” “Oh, we had a big one here last week. Ugly building. A couple of guys got hurt in the collapse.” “One of those guys wouldn’t be you, would he?” There was a pause. “You going to tell Ma?” Gabe snorted. “How old are you again?” “I mean it. She doesn’t need to be scared, not when she’s still getting over losing Dad.” “Okay, sealed shut,” Gabe promised, invoking their child hood code. “I had to go in after one of my guys who got hurt. The building came down on us as we were getting out.” “And what happened to you?” “Nothing serious,” Nick said. “A few burns and bruises. It looked worse than it was—the people on the outside thought we both bit the big one. Sloane bolted.” “Well, you’ve got to admit, it would give a person pause. If the idea of waking up with you didn’t do it already.” “She lost her brother in that Hartford fire a couple of years back. What I do gives her bad vibes, I guess.” “It’s not as simple as what you do. It’s what you are.” Nick let out a long breath. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Gabe had never heard Nick sound quite so miserable. “Did she ask you to quit?” “She says that she knows I couldn’t.” “At least she gets it.” “That doesn’t really help,” Nick said with a little edge. “I know.” Gabe paused. “Do you love this woman?” “Yes.” Nick’s answer was calm, immediate, without question. “Then go after her.” Relationships had always seemed simple to Gabe. You were interested in a woman, you asked her out. If it worked, you kept at it until it no longer did. Eventually, you found a keeper. Unless the one you were interested in was completely off-limits. Gabe shook his head. “Talk to her, change her mind.” “It’s not that easy, charm boy. I can’t push her into living with a firefighter any more than she would push me into quitting. She’s got to come to it on her own. If she ever does.” “While you just sit and wait?” “While I just sit and wait.” “You’re not exactly a waiting type.” “You’ve noticed?” Because he knew arguments would be futile, Gabe didn’t bother. “That sucks, man.” Nick sighed. “Yeah, it does. What about you—are you stuck with this situation?” “Unless I want to get another job.” “Do you want another job?” “I don’t know. I love this place. If I left, I’d feel like I’d let down the old owner and the staff. And the hotel itself.” “You ever going to stop trying to take care of everyone?” “You ever going to stop risking your neck trying to save people?” Gabe asked by way of answer. “At least I get paid for it.” “I do, too, most of the time.” “So what are you going to do about your goddess?” “I don’t know. Try to do my job. Try to keep her from doing too much damage.” Try to erase Saturday from his memory. “Show her what matters to you about the hotel. Maybe it’ll become important to her, too.” What he loved about the hotel was the romance, the history of it. The way he’d felt on the dance floor with Hadley in his arms. The hotel belonged to lovers. If he could make her feel that, really feel it all the way through, maybe they had a chance. “I’ll give it a try,” he said thoughtfully. “Hey, Nick?” “Yeah?” “Why don’t you come up and ski next time you’re off? Beat the hell out of yourself on the mountain. It might not make things better, but it’ll sure as hell be a distraction.” “Maybe I will,” Nick said. “Maybe I will.” Chapter Five He’d had plenty of relationships in his time. Some had gone fast and furious, starting with a crackle and flaming out within weeks. Others had been slower burns that built and radiated heat long after the fire had begun to go out. He’d orchestrated seductions before, taken pains to give someone he cared about a special experience, a special evening. He’d never worked to make a woman fall in love with an idea before. It could work, he told himself. The woman he’d met on the back deck, the one with the fey faerie eyes, would fall for the romance of the Mount Jefferson. The question was whether he could make the businesswoman fall with her. Gabe glanced at his computer clock. It was after eight, their planned meeting time, and she still hadn’t shown. Interesting. He’d have picked her as the sort to be relentlessly punctual. Thoughtfully, he rose to walk across the hall. And saw her striding toward him over the twining vines of the burgundy carpet, wholly focused on the cell phone clamped to her ear. “Well, if you’re not getting a straight answer, I’d suggest flying to Johannesburg,” she told whoever was on the line. Today, her hair was swept up, her suit a cool ice-blue. Her manner, however, belied the calm. Tension tightened her shoulders; her eyes narrowed in irritation. “Eliot, you’re head of Becheron now, not me. I got moved to another project, remember? If you’ve got problems, you’ll have to work them out yourself.” Gabe raised a brow as she disconnected. Hadley stared at the ceiling for a moment and took a deep breath. “Sorry I’m late.” Her voice was brisk, but frustration still lingered as she walked into his office. “Not a crisis.” I got moved to another project, remember? He’d done his homework the night before. Becheron was the fifth largest division at Stone. How did a corporate hotshot go from heading up a marquee division to running a hotel that represented—how had she put it? A fraction of a percent of their holdings? She was on another project, all right, which might have explained some of the wistfulness. He felt a quick tug of sympathy. But only a small one. “Coffee?” “Please.” He turned to the coffeemaker that sat on a little table behind his desk, and poured her a cup. “Everybody’s got their weakness,” he said. “I’m a coffee snob. Cream or sugar?” She took the mug from him. “Black will do, thank you.” She shot him a suspicious look as she sat. “You’re all sweetness and light this morning.” “Sounds like you could use it after that phone call.” “It’s nothing.” But she couldn’t quite shrug it off, Gabe saw. No swingy earrings today, but discreet diamond studs to go with the stylishly discreet suit. “So we’ve got a problem to solve. Where do we start?” Hadley opened her portfolio. “I printed out a list of the target numbers for the next four quarters.” Gabe took the sheet and scanned it, resisting the urge to whistle. “You realize, of course, that a healthy business plan lasts longer than four quarters.” “Of course, but the Hotel Mount Jefferson is no longer private. It’s part of Stone Enterprises, and the Stone stock price swings with the quarterly financials. We can’t afford to ignore them.” The thing to do was to show her that it was in her best interests. “What would you say to a revised business plan that offered less short-term growth but substantially more in the long term?” “I’d suggest you should update your r?sum? before you mention it again.” He shot a quick glance at her. “They’re that tough?” “I’m that tough.” She stared back at him coolly. He thought of the way she’d looked on the dance floor. What would it be like to melt that coolness, he wondered suddenly. To have her heated and gasping in his arms? “The first thing you should understand,” she continued, “is that the numbers are the numbers. We’re going to meet them.” “Why do I hear an ‘or else’ in there somewhere?” “There isn’t an ‘or else’ because it’s not going to be necessary. I’ve been up against aggressive targets like this before. It’s not impossible. Management just has to be committed to meeting our goal.” “What I’m committed to is this hotel.” Time to draw a line in the sand. “If its survival means meeting your targets, then by all means, let’s find a way to do it. I warn you, though, I’m going to fight like hell against anything that’s going to turn the hotel back into the shape it was when Whit bought it.” “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” “I always did like an optimist.” The sudden, wry glance he gave Hadley sent something skittering around in her stomach. None of that butterfly nonsense today, she thought impatiently. Today was for business. It would have been easier if he’d been properly dressed. Instead, he sat in shirtsleeves, his suspenders dark and silky against the pin-striped cotton dress shirt, his suit coat hanging over a little rack in the corner. She’d always had a thing for men in ties and suspenders, the kind that buttoned into the trousers with the leather loops. It wasn’t him, it was just his clothing. And then he threw her a glance and she felt the adrenaline rush in her veins. Not him, her ass. Ignore it, she reminded herself. “Let’s get to work. I’d like to go over the books so I know the exact numbers we’re dealing with. The only financials I’ve seen are about six months out-of-date. Can your assistant set up a meet with the CFO?” “You can set something up with him yourself. Our weekly department heads’ meeting starts in about five minutes. I figured it would be a good primer.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kristin-hardy/under-the-mistletoe/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.