cheek in the fashion so typical of Southern women.
“What about the actual running of the hotel? Word has it that Majestic likes to bring in their own general managers. Is that why you’re here? Do you plan to take over as the new general manager of the Saint Charles?”
Chase pulled his attention back to the reporter. His assessment of the woman as a cat was evidently on target, he decided. And from the hungry gleam in her eye, this one probably had sharp claws. Evidently she smelled another story behind Charbonnet’s decision to sell an interest in the family’s legacy to an outsider.
But it was a story he had no interest in telling. He had his own agenda where Charbonnet was concerned and had no intention of meeting someone else’s…no matter how tempting. “Now, Bitsy,” he said, addressing her by the first name printed on her name tag. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Oh, just a hunch.” She gave him an assessing look and Chase suspected she liked what she saw. “But I can see you’re not going to tell me anything more. So what’s the official line on your involvement here?”
He gave the woman his best smile and watched it take effect. “My role at the Saint Charles will be to oversee the implementation of new reporting and reservation systems, linking the hotel with Majestic’s mother systems. And I’ll also be working to get the renovations under way.”
“And Henri Charbonnet’s role?”
“Henri Charbonnet is the hotel’s executive director, as well as one of its owners. But I suspect you already know that. Majestic plans to work very closely with him in the operation of the Saint Charles.”
“What about his daughter, Madeline?”
“What about her?” Chase tossed back, resisting the urge to check on his rose.
The reporter cut a glance to Henri Charbonnet, then looked back at him. A thin smile spread across the reporter’s lips. “Well, I understand Madeline wasn’t very happy about her father’s decision to sell an interest in the hotel…that she had hoped to take over the operation of the Saint Charles herself someday,” the woman continued. “I was just wondering if you or Majestic Hotels saw Madeline’s position at the hotel as a problem.”
He had given little thought to Madeline Charbonnet when he had been making his plans. He had noted her name on the list of the sales department’s employees and dismissed it. He assumed she was one of the reasons the place was operating in the red. The fact that she had not attended the staff meeting he had held the previous day and had been missing from the sales department—on vacation they saidhad confirmed his opinion of her as a spoiled little rich girl playing at the hotel business. If the daughter was anything like her father, she would have only contributed to the financial drain. He had simply added her name to the list of problems at the hotel that he would need to fix. Of course, he had no intention of telling the reporter that. Instead, he simply replied, “I don’t see Madeline Charbonnet as a problem at all.”
Excusing himself from the reporter, Chase headed in Charbonnet’s direction. He told himself he simply wanted to get this dog-and-pony show on the road, that it had nothing to do with the brunette standing beside the older man. Stopping just behind Charbonnet, Chase waited for him to finish his conversation before suggesting they get the statements to the press out of the way. And he used the moment to study the brunette.
Damn if that skin of hers didn’t look even softer close up, he thought. Even her voice matched. It was all velvety and soft as she made plans to meet pretty boy for breakfast the next morning. Unable to resist, Chase gave her legs another once-over. Definitely roses. The long-stemmed expensive variety.
“McAllister.” Charbonnet stuck out his hand, motioning for Chase to join him. He made quick introductions of the men, then turned to the brunette. “And I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter, Madeline. Madeline, this is Chase McAllister with Majestic Hotels.”
He should have seen that one coming, Chase admonished himself. Quickly, he schooled his expression, looking at Madeline Charbonnet more closely.
The black-and-white newspaper photographs he had seen of her through the years—clips of her as a debutante, a maid for the old-line carnival clubs and society darling—none had done justice to the woman who stood before him. They hadn’t revealed that the lips now pressed together in a tight line were so full and sensuous or that the eyes set in that perfect oval face were such a deep green. The newspaper photographs certainly hadn’t prepared him for the fact that those green eyes would be a mirror of everything she was feeling.
And right now, judging from the fire flashing in those emerald gems, Chase had no doubt that Madeline Charbonnet would like nothing better than to deck him.
The thought amused him and Chase smiled, which only seemed to make those eyes of hers grow even darker. But he had to give her credit because instead of slugging him, she extended her hand. “Mr. McAllister,” she said, her voice as cool as the February wind that whipped at the flags flying outside of the hotel.
Chase bit back the urge to laugh at the regal tilt of her chin. “Ms. Charbonnet. It’s a pleasure. And please, call me Chase.” Damn if her skin wasn’t every bit as silky and soft as he had imagined. She even smelled like roses.
And no doubt she came with her own supply of thorns, a voice inside Chase warned. Before he could dwell on that thought further, the ear-piercing shrill of a microphone being flipped on sliced through the room.
Madeline pulled her hand free. She took a step back, then turned to Charbonnet. “Father, I believe they’re ready for you and Mr. McAllister to take your positions at the podium,” she told him.
“Would you like to join your father and me at the podium for the announcement?” Chase asked.
“No.” Madeline’s faced flushed an angry red. “Thank you, but no. The Saint Charles belongs to my father and…and to Majestic Hotels.”
“I know. But you’re still welcome—”
“Mr. McAllister, I don’t want to join you and my father at the podium. If it had been my decision, there would be no need for an announcement today.”
“Madeline, that’s enough,” Henri Charbonnet said firmly.
So the reporter had been right. Madeline Charbonnet hadn’t been happy about her father’s decision to sell. In fact, she was out-and-out furious.
“Madeline, apologize to Mr. McAllister for your rudeness,” Henri ordered.
Madeline looked as though her father had slapped her. She tipped up her chin. “I have nothing to apologize for. Mr. McAllister and his firm have no right to own a part of the Saint Charles. It belongs—”
“Madeline Claire—”
Chase touched the other man’s shoulder. “Forget it, Charbonnet. It doesn’t matter.” Guilt prickled at Chase momentarily, but he pushed it aside. Charbonnet was the one who had robbed her of her legacy. Not him. He had merely supplied the means. The fact that the deal would serve his own purposes didn’t matter. Ignoring the shimmer of tears in her eyes, Chase hardened his heart. “Then I guess it’s fortunate for Majestic Hotels and me that the decision to sell the Saint Charles wasn’t yours to make.”
Turning away from Madeline, he motioned to her father. “Come on, Charbonnet. Let’s get this thing over with.” Without waiting for a reply,
