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,
