he pocketed his room key and exited the hotel suite.
Twenty-five minutes later, he returned to the hotel, carrying a paper bag filled with a large cup of coffee and a chocolate éclair that he’d picked up at a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop located a few blocks from the hotel. While the crisp November air had refreshed him and tempered his restlessness, it had also awakened his appetite. One foot inside the tiny shop and he’d opted for the sugar-laden pastry.
“Evening, Mr. Hawke. I see you found the place I told you about,” the doorman remarked as he approached the hotel.
“I sure did, Alphonse. Bernice said for you to come by and have a slice of apple pie and a cup of coffee after your shift,” Jack said, relaying the message the waitress had asked him to pass on to her sweetheart.
Alphonse grinned, showing a mouthful of even white teeth. “That little girl makes the finest apple pie in all of New Orleans,” he boasted. “You be sure to try some before you head home.”
“I’ll do that,” Jack promised as he entered the hotel, his gaze sweeping over the lobby. He noted the magnificent chandelier, the marble floors, the artwork and massive urn of fresh flowers that spoke volumes about the hotel’s quality. As nice and lucrative as the newer chain hotels were, they couldn’t duplicate the old-world elegance and sense of history found in a place like the Contessa.
Despite the toll time and the lack of funds had taken on the hotel, the Contessa still exuded an air of luxury and privilege to those who walked through her doors. It was on the promise of that luxury and privilege appealing to the discriminating traveler, as well as the movie community that had adopted the city, that he had banked fifteen million dollars. It was a good investment, one based on numbers, not sentiment, Jack told himself as he pressed the button for the elevator.
After pushing the button again, he waited for one of the hotel’s two elevators to arrive. Two minutes turned into three, then four. When he hit the button a third time, he took another look at the large dial above the elevator banks that indicated the cars’ positions. He noted that one of the elevators remained on the eighth floor while the other was making a very slow descent from the twelfth floor. When it, too, stopped at the eighth floor, he frowned. Walking over to the front desk, he read the clerk’s name tag and said, “Charlene, I think there’s a problem with the elevators. They seem to be stuck on the eighth floor.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We’ve been having a little trouble with the elevators lately. I’ll notify maintenance right away and have them check it out. I’m sure they will be operational in a moment,” she advised him and picked up the phone to report the problem.
Making a mental note to add servicing and refurbishing the elevators to his list of immediate hotel improvements needed, Jack headed for the stairs. When he reached the sixth floor where the executive offices were, he paused before opening the door. He told himself he was simply going to check the status of the elevators and find out if they were moving again. But when he reached the elevator bank, he angled his gaze down the hall toward the management offices, where the lights were still burning.
A check of his watch told him it was after ten o’clock—long past quitting time, even for the hotel’s general manager. But as he approached the suite of offices, he didn’t have to wonder who’d be working so late.
Jack looked to his left toward Laura’s office. The door was slightly ajar and he could hear music—a hauntingly beautiful piece that was one of his own favorites. Obviously, he and Laura shared similar tastes in music.
Pausing in the doorway, he saw that Laura was seated behind the mahogany desk, her head tipped back against the massive black leather chair and her eyes closed. He used the moment to study her. The hair that he had classified as a color somewhere between red and brown that morning was a deep, rich red in the lamplight. Her skin was fair and had a smooth, creamy glow. Jack could just make out the faint dusting of freckles across Laura’s nose. His gaze dipped to her mouth. Her lips were bare—no splash of bright color, no slick of gloss—which made her far more attractive in his book. She’d shed the red suit jacket she’d worn earlier to reveal a long, smooth neck and more creamy skin. The white silk blouse gently skimmed her shoulders and draped breasts that were neither large nor small, but just the right size to fill a man’s hands.
As though sensing his presence, she opened her eyes. For the space of a heartbeat, she didn’t move. She simply stared at him. Then suddenly she straightened and reached for the stereo remote. The music died midnote.
“You didn’t have to turn it off. That CD is a favorite of mine,” he told her and stepped into the room.
Ignoring his comment, Laura’s voice was cool as she said, “If you’re looking for your room, Mr. Hawke, it’s on the top floor.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, Ms. Spencer,” he said. So she had discovered he was a guest in her hotel. He’d known that she would. A good general manager made a point of reviewing the hotel’s guest list. She had apparently reviewed hers and found his name on it, which, judging from her expression, had not pleased her. He walked over to her desk and set down the bag with his coffee and éclair.
“The business office is closed.”
“And yet you’re still here,” he pointed out. “I didn’t realize being the hotel GM meant working day and night. I’m surprised your boyfriend doesn’t object to the long hours.”
“Was there something you wanted, Mr. Hawke?”
He paused a moment, considered the loaded question and the woman. Evidently from the way she narrowed her eyes, Laura realized what he was considering had nothing to do with business. Deciding it was best not to go there, he finally said, “Actually, I was taking the stairs up to my room when—”
“Why were you using the stairs?”
“Because the elevators aren’t working.”
When she grabbed for the phone, he reached across the desk and caught her wrist. Gently removing the telephone receiver from her hand, he replaced it on the cradle. “The front desk has already alerted maintenance.”
Laura pulled her wrist free. “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” she told him. “I’m sure maintenance will have the problem fixed shortly. In the meantime, if you need to get to your room, you can use the service elevator. I’ll show you where it is.”
“That’s okay. I’m in no hurry. I’ll just wait for the elevator,” Jack told her. Deciding to take advantage of the fact that he had her one-on-one, he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “But since I’m here and you don’t appear to have any pressing meetings scheduled at the moment, maybe now would be a good time for us to talk about the hotel. I’m assuming you’ve spoken with the bank and confirmed my ownership position of the hotel.”
“Actually, I haven’t confirmed anything other than the fact that you purchased my mother’s note. And until I speak with my attorney and find out what your legal claim is on the property, I see no reason for us to have any discussion about the hotel.”
“All right. We won’t discuss the hotel. But I would like to drink my coffee before it gets cold. That is, if you don’t mind,” he added even as he removed the large foam cup from the paper bag. He took out the chocolate éclair that was wrapped in a thin white pastry sheet. Looking over at her, he noted that her eyes were trained on the treat. “Maybe you’d like to join me? I bought the large-size coffee.”
“No,
