her hand, which felt odd. Considering what had happened between them six weeks ago, his departure warranted something closer to an embrace and a kiss on the cheek.
He walked outside, relieved that the PR was now sewn up, but conflicted about everything else. He couldn’t stop wondering about her fiancé—who he was, and more specifically, how he’d swept her off her feet in such a short amount of time. Judging by the rock on her hand, the guy had money. Did Sawyer know him? He really hoped not. What did he look like? What did he do? And why was this bothering him so much?
He climbed into the back of his waiting town car and pulled out his phone to call his brother. He needed to get his mind on work and off Kendall, which would be a near impossibility now that she was on the project. But the reality was she’d never called him after their night together, and judging by the cool composure she’d radiated during their meeting, she’d done it with good reason.
Starting with the ring.
Kendall stepped out of a cab in front of the Grand Legacy Hotel in midtown Manhattan a few blocks from the touristy chaos of Times Square. Fall leaves fluttered down the city street, a mix of drizzle and cool wind whipped at her cheeks. From somewhere beyond the hotel entrance came a buzz of saws and clamoring of metal against metal.
She walked into the shadow of the looming building she’d seen a few times before in passing. Right now, it didn’t look like much—obscured by a maze of metal scaffolding, a tall chain-link fence and a temporary facade of gray, painted plywood. Four intimidating muscle-bound men dressed in black, wearing wraparound sunglasses and earpieces stood sentry at the entrance, sending a clear message: no trespassing. Kendall couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to mess with those guys. Whoever had taken the pictures that appeared in the Times had risked life and limb to do so. After researching the Locke family and the hotel last night, she had to wonder if Sawyer’s dad was behind that story. From where Kendall sat, the passing of the hotel to Sawyer couldn’t have gone over well.
“Good morning,” Kendall said to the least menacing of the security guys. “I’m here for Sawyer Locke. He’s expecting me.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a security camera panning in her direction. Sawyer was probably sitting inside behind a massive desk, a wall of TV monitors allowing him to survey his kingdom.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Locke is waiting for you inside. I’ll walk you in.” The man opened a ramshackle, temporary door and Kendall followed him into an area stacked high with building materials. “You’re going to need this.” He reached into a bin and pulled out a yellow construction helmet, handing it to her.
“Is this really necessary?” I’m having a spectacular hair day.
“Mr. Locke’s orders.”
“But you aren’t wearing one.”
“Most of us aren’t, but Mr. Locke insisted you do.” He opened one side of a glass double door cloaked in dirty construction paper. The hotel’s revolving door was closed off with caution tape.
Kendall grumbled under her breath, putting the helmet on her head. Yellow was so not the right color for a redhead who avoided the sun at all costs. Was this Sawyer’s way of getting in a dig after she’d refused to fess up about the ring? He had to know how stupid she would feel.
They walked into what she could only assume was the lobby. The floors were blanketed in a patchwork of heavy paper. Sawdust was everywhere. Her pumps were going to be filthy by the time she left. Workers milled about, and the noises that had seemed loud outside were practically deafening. Judging by everything she was seeing, the newspaper story had been correct—this project was nowhere close to completion.
“Where do I find Mr. Locke?” she called out above the noise.
“Over there,” the man yelled, but then he pointed to one of the workers.
“No. I need Mr. Locke.” Kendall screamed in as ladylike a fashion as possible, while scanning the room for the hunky billionaire in a killer suit.
“He’s right there,” he replied, annoyed.
All Kendall could see was a man in jeans, a blue flannel shirt and brown work boots crouched down in front of the elevator. The guy had a nice rear view, and he certainly had the right hair. She took a step closer and he turned, a slight but familiar smile crossing his lips. I’ll be damned.
Sawyer straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. Kendall was going to have to be on her A game today. Otherwise, she might die from a lethal dose of shock and handsomeness. He approached her, the sight of his shirtsleeves rolled up over his firm forearms making her heart flutter. She couldn’t afford to botch the most important job of her professional life, so she’d just have to learn to look at him as if he was a normal person and hope that over time, she’d build up immunity to his face and presence. Good luck with that.
“Hey there,” he said above the noise, raking his hands through his thick hair and knocking dust from it. “I should’ve told you to dress for a construction site.” He eyed her while she fought the part of her that wanted him to say something nice. “Not that you don’t look great. You do.”
Heat trickled through her veins. What was it about him that made his kind words so much more potent than any other man’s?
“Love the helmet,” he continued.
“I see you aren’t wearing one.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“How do you know I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“This is your first visit, and I have to keep you safe.”
She wasn’t sure she was buying it, but she had work to do. And her hair was going to be a wreck when she took the dumb thing off. “Fine. Just show me the hotel.”
“There’s not much to see down here. We’ll just get in the way.” He stepped aside as a worker carried a ladder past them. “I’ll show you the grand ballroom.”
He started past the elevator doors. Kendall hurried to catch up, her eyes stubbornly darting to him—that long and lean frame that looked good in, well, everything she’d ever seen him wear. And especially good wearing nothing. Sawyer in jeans was not what she’d prepared for today. Judging by his wealth and privilege, he did not strike her as a man who would get his hands dirty. It was more than a little bit sexy.
They turned down a wide hall and the construction noise faded.
“Busy morning?” she asked.
“I was going over the restoration of the metal overlays on the elevator doors. A lot of the original art deco features were lost over the years.”
“I researched the hotel last night. Everything in the older photos was so grand and luxurious.”
“It was once considered one of the most beautiful buildings in the city. I’d like to have it be seen that way again.”
It was indeed gorgeous in the pictures, but Kendall found the history she’d dug up more interesting than the architecture—it read like a tabloid magazine, salacious tales of events that she’d thought only happened
