not a bordello. Jesus, Trace, you’ve seen it yourself. I’m not ashamed about one thing at Hush. It’s first-class, all the way. More so than most of the Devon chain.”
“Its main selling point is vibrators.”
She sighed. “I expect that from Kyle, not you. The main selling point of Hush is excitement. You and I both know that when couples come to Manhattan, that’s what they’re looking for. They want a rush, they want to feel cosmopolitan, exotic. I’m giving them everything they could ask for.”
“Vibrators.”
“Yes, and all the other wonderful things consenting adults like to play with. Look, all the boutique hotels have some kind of gimmick. The Muse has a dream maker on staff. The Library Hotel uses literature, including, I might add, erotica. Hotel Giraffe has the sweet-indulgence thing. Hush just does it better, with something more people want.”
“You said it yourself, Piper. It’s a gimmick. Gimmicks aren’t what Devon hotels are about.”
“No, they’re not. They’re about boredom. Look at the statistics, Trace. You know as well as I do that the average customer at any of the Devon hotels is fifty.”
“Fine, you want to bring in a younger clientele, go for it. But not with sleaze.”
“Sleaze?” She felt herself priming for a major attack, and reined her anger in. She couldn’t stop the death grip she had on her fork, however. “There is nothing sleazy about this hotel.”
“Excuse me?”
She stood up, afraid she was going to stab him. “I have meetings this morning. I have to go.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“Piper, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’m here for a week. Get used to it.”
“Fine. We’ll meet later.”
“I’d like you to take me through. I want to see everything.”
“I’m sure you do. I’ll call you at noon.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” She grabbed her tray and headed for the exit, wondering what she’d done to deserve this…this nightmare. She knew he was watching her as she left, and she hoped he’d choke on his waffle.
TRACE WATCHED her walk away. Specifically that splendid rear end of hers. Today she’d worn slacks, black, that fit just right. A red silk blouse that curved over her breasts like a caress. And an attitude that made him want to…
He could do this. He was a professional. He dealt with some of the most cunning businessmen in the world. One young woman with personality issues wasn’t going to undermine his purpose.
He’d make her see the light. Get her to accept her responsibilities. Or die trying.
PIPER HUNG UP the phone, then turned to her desk calendar. At three she had an interview with a new bartender. Her CPA was coming at four-fifteen. She wanted Trace to be in on that one. Let him get a load of the projections.
She’d already made dinner reservations for the two of them at Amuse Bouche, but that wasn’t until nine, so if she could show him the hotel before her three o’clock, she’d have some time for herself after her last meeting.
She called down to the spa. “Caroline, can you fix me up with a massage at seven tonight?”
“Absolutely. What kind?”
“Whatever you think. I want to try them all.”
“How long do you have?”
“An hour.”
“Okay, you’re all set.”
“Thanks.” Piper put the phone down. Caroline was a real find to run the spa. She had years of experience at the Red Door in Beverly Hills, and she was serious about making the Hush spa the best it could possibly be. They’d hired five masseuses, and the equipment, except for the steam room, was all installed and working.
In perhaps one of the best perks of her job, Piper was trying every technique, every masseuse. Just like she was going to try everything on the menu at Amuse, go into every suite and room. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to insure that her hotel was perfect.
Not because her watcher was on the premises. Trace could go hang himself for all she cared. It was about pride. Making her own success.
Letting out a long slow breath, she picked up the phone again and dialed Trace’s room. He answered gruffly, as if she’d interrupted something important.
“Are you ready?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral despite the fact that just his voice was enough to provoke all kinds of inappropriate responses.
“I’ll be in the lobby in five minutes.” He hung up, not bothering to say goodbye.
She put the phone back in the cradle, and dropped her head to her hand. Why did she let him get to her like this? Every time she saw him, her thoughts went directly to sex without passing Go or collecting two hundred dollars. It was downright Pavlovian, and worse, it made her feel like a fool.
She stood up, pushing back her chair. She would not think of sex with Trace, not in any context. Too many memories there, too much history. What she needed to remember was how he’d rejected her, how her heart had been crushed.
She turned off her computer and headed to the hallway. With every step, she took a deep breath, picturing herself confident, uncaring, cool as a cucumber. All she had to do was show Trace the hotel. Once he saw it for himself, he’d get it. He’d see that it wasn’t sleazy in the least. Then he’d tell her father, and everything would be fine. It would.
She rode the elevator up to the lobby, and when the doors opened, there he was. He was staring at the painting at the end of the hallway, his hands in his pockets, the picture of debonair. She might hate him, but she couldn’t deny that his particular combination of looks, style and chemistry was her Achilles’ heel.
One last deep breath and she stepped to his side. “I thought we’d start at the top and work our way down.” Without waiting for a response, she led him back to the elevator, and put her key card in the slot above the floor buttons. This particular card would give them access to the roof. She had another that would take her to the penthouse suites.
The doors closed and the only sound in the cab was the soft music playing from the speakers. It was Norah Jones, and Piper focused on the lyrics instead of the man standing so close to her. The long seconds ticked by accompanied by a solo guitar and the briefest hint of his cologne. She kept her expression neutral, her back straight, even when she saw the reflection of his eyes staring back at her.
She blinked first, looking at the elevator’s progress as it went from the sixteenth floor to the seventeenth. Only a few more seconds and they’d be on the roof, and then it would be easier.
When they finally reached their destination, she held back a sigh, and simply led him outside. “This is the garden,” she said. “Mostly flowers, but some
