style="font-size:15px;"> “Nothing your old dad can’t handle. Don’t be late. I want tonight to be all about you.” He kissed her forehead and strode away to handle whatever situation Dante had whispered to him.
Either her father didn’t think she could understand the problem, or he simply didn’t want to worry her. Maybe Dante would be more forthcoming.
She tipped her chin to meet his dark gaze. “What is it?”
He chewed once on the gum that seemed to be perennially in his teeth. Maybe the man had given up smoking, or used the subtle action as a stress-reducing ritual. But since her father had hired his firm a couple of years earlier, she’d never once seen him without the sticky wad in the side of his mouth. “Storm’s coming up. There’ll be more rain tonight. Snow higher up in the mountains.”
She arched a confused brow. “You talked to Dad about the weather?”
“It changes plans.”
“What plans?”
“Weather like this brings unexpected guests.”
Samantha curved her lips into a wry smile. “We are a hotel.”
“One that’s not open for business yet.” Dante gave her a look that lacked any emotion—or any real explanation—as he tapped the radio on his wrist and summoned one of the bodyguards who worked for his security team. “Filly Number One is on the move. Metz? You’re up.” The bodyguard typically assigned to watch her at public events must have responded in the hearing device wired to the security chief’s ear. “Copy that. Pellegrino out.”
“Having unexpected guests show up for a party is a security issue?”
“It is tonight.” His mustache danced atop his lip as he shifted his gum from one cheek to the other. “It’s my job to make sure everything goes as planned. If you’re not at that podium at eight o’clock, I’ll come get you myself.”
Was that a threat? Or just a reminder that she was a commodity in Dante Pellegrino’s eyes? Protecting her was no different from guarding the diamond jewelry Joyce and her father were wearing tonight. Grumbling a curse under her breath, Samantha turned and left as quickly as her toe-pinching shoes would let her.
Filly. Although it was a word she was familiar with—she was Number One and Taylor was Number Two when it came to coded security team communications—the nickname only added to her anxiety. She felt like prize livestock tonight, being paraded around for a group of wealthy investors, high-powered executives and gossipy reporters looking for a sensational headline. Joyce was probably hoping that marrying Samantha off would allow her to shift the spotlight over to her own daughter and maybe snag the interest of one of the wealthy guests here tonight to send a son or nephew to come court Taylor. Samantha might have had her fill of socializing, but Taylor would relish all the attention. And she was welcome to it.
Samantha wasn’t good enough for her stepmother. She was invisible to the guests. Her father worried too much about her. And she might as well be a horse in the family’s stable as far as the security chief was concerned.
“I am so taking a private honeymoon with Kyle,” she muttered, hurrying her steps to the trio of elevators. She didn’t think her numb toes could handle the staircase up to the mezzanine floor. Even if Kyle wasn’t in their room primping for his big moment in front of the cameras, Samantha needed the time away from the people and noise to give herself a pep talk and get her extrovert on. If she was lucky, Kyle would be in the room. A few private words and a kiss would go a long way toward reassuring her that she was making the right choice in saying yes to his proposal.
The bodyguard Pellegrino had summoned appeared in the hallway behind her. Brandon Metz might be the closest thing she had to a friend here tonight. Even though he was part of the elite security team her father had hired to safeguard the family and top executives at the company two years ago, Brandon was usually assigned to her at public events. Although sworn to be discreet, he knew her embarrassing idiosyncrasies. He knew she’d rather be almost anywhere else than dressing up and giving a speech in front of a microphone and flashing cameras.
Samantha pushed the elevator call button as Brandon’s long strides quickly ate up the hallway behind her. “Samantha?” he called to her as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “What’s the hurry?”
If she could get in and close the door before he caught up to her, he’d be forced to take the stairs up to the next floor to keep an eye on her. She darted inside and pushed the button, eagerly anticipating a whole fifteen seconds or so of peace and quiet.
But Brandon caught the door and stepped into the elevator with her. “Didn’t you hear me?”
She sagged against the back railing. “Sorry. I just needed a break.”
His golden-brown eyes narrowed in a reprimand that she probably deserved. “I know you’re crawling out of your skin dancing through hoops for your family tonight. But it’s my job to keep you in my line of sight at all times.” Ironically, he turned his back on her, facing the front of the elevator while he spoke into his radio. “Filly One is secure. Heading to mezzanine.” He glanced over his shoulder to question her. “The anniversary of your mom’s death getting to you?”
“A little,” Samantha confessed. Although the grief wasn’t as intense as it had been growing up, she still felt the hole in her life that the woman who loved her unconditionally was supposed to fill. But if she started down the trail of all the landmark events in her life her mother had missed, and would miss, then she’d become the weepy little girl pushing her way through a crowd of reporters, asking them where her mother had gone. She was years past allowing herself to be that vulnerable again. A tart tone of sarcasm was one of the defensive tools she’d developed as she’d grown up. “I have to go fix myself so I’m up to my stepmother’s standards and don’t embarrass my father when the paparazzi start flashing pictures.”
Brandon chuckled and finished his report as the elevator stopped. “Will keep you posted when she moves again. Yes, I know the timeline,” he groused. “Metz out.” He held the door and checked the hallway before ushering her out ahead of him and following her to the room she shared with Kyle. “And here I thought you were skipping out on the party to go have a rendezvous with Loverboy.”
“I wish.” She slipped her hand beneath the hem of her skirt to pull her key card from the leg of her shapewear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Kyle the last half hour or so, have you?”
“He’s not my assignment.”
She slid the card into the lock and opened the door to the faint garble of muffled voices. Maybe Kyle had come up here to catch the market report on the news or listen to one of his motivational podcasts. If he’d abandoned her to watch television or psych himself up for tonight’s show, she’d be angry, but at least she’d have an explanation for his disappearance. Samantha nodded to the settee and chairs where the private hallway opened onto a dramatic picture window above the lodge’s front entrance. “Relax if you want. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He nodded toward the closest chair and side table with its fake potted fern. “I’ll give you five minutes. After that, I’ll come knockin’.” With a lopsided grin, he pulled his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket and retreated into the hallway. She heard him calling someone with another Filly One update while she locked the door.
Samantha’s deep exhale buzzed her lips as she sagged wearily against
