John nodded. “Your temper is more powerful that you could ever imagine, Ms. Price. Especially in such a cutthroat environment. This is a far more dangerous job than international relations for the U.N. And it will use yourevery skillto navigate successfully. Should you choose to accept it.”
“What is this, Mission Impossible?” Layla lifted an eyebrow again. “What if I say no?”
The big man shrugged, his massive shoulders sliding beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. “Then you go your way and Mr. Rhakvir will go his. Though he’ll still send me along to tail you until he believes all danger from your brief association with him has passed.”
Pulling out his phone, John tapped through a few screens, then glanced up. “Mr. Rhakvir has authorized a show of goodwill. If you would check your student loans, please.”
“What?” Layla’s brows knit, but John just gestured to the phone in her hand. Glancing at him sidelong, Layla opened her lock screen and logged in to her student loan account. Hating to look, knowing that it was over two hundred thousand dollars from undergrad and grad school, she set her teeth. The app logged in, the balance window popped up and – nothing.
Zero balance.
And athank you for your recent paymentmessage just above that.
Glancing up, she stared at John, incredulous. “Hepaid offmy entire student loan account?”
“Mr. Rhakvir values freedom, Ms. Price.” John gave her a level look. “It’s something he strives to have, all his life. But because of familial obligations, he will never be free. He hates to see others be financially bound. His show of goodwill comes with no strings. You are free to accept or reject this position as you will. But know that if you turn away from this offer now, there can be no going back. Even though Mr. Rhakvir would be willing to give you a fourth chance to accept, the Hotel Board is not so lenient with potential new hires.”
“So this is it, then?” Layla narrowed her eyes at him.
“This is it,” he agreed genially. “Change your life and become who you were meant to be, in Paris and around the world. Or fall, drowning here in Seattle and struggling to get by on tips. I’m sure you know which Mr. Rhakvir wishes for you.”
“What about you?” She eyeballed him.
“What about me?” The big man chuckled, his Southern drawl coming out slightly stronger with amusement. “I get paid either way for watching your ass.”
Heavy clouds colored the afternoon slate-grey above the tops of the trees, and though Layla couldn’t see it, she knew from the darkening sky that the sun was setting over the hill to the west. A cool breeze stirred the foliage, smelling of the rain that would pummel Seattle for the next eight months, perfuming the heavy air with the scent of ozone. But even as Layla had that thought, she caught a whiff of cinnamon-jasmine musk on the breeze – the smell of him.
Adrian Rhakvir.
Aqua eyes surfaced in Layla’s vision, endless like the Mediterranean Sea, flecked with bright gold like dunes glinting under the Saharan sun. His image rose in her mind again, how he stood casually but solidly in her sleepwalking dream beneath the flooding diamond darkness, watching her. His intensity; his magnetism. The feeling of his breath easing around her, licking up her skin; the touch of his soft lips upon her fingers. Layla shivered, pulling her cardigan closer under a brisk wind that suddenly shook the leaves.
“That night,” she murmured. “Was he there in my back garden, watching me?”
John smiled, and it was kind but mysterious. “He was there. I drove him. Don’t think Adrian too frightening a man, Ms. Price. He just has strange ways.”
“Is he psychic or something?” She shivered again. “I thought it was a dream – I thought I was sleepwalking. And all the dreams since…”
“He is psychically gifted.” John’s gaze was intense, his brown eyes penetrating. “Mr. Rhakvir has a number of strange abilities some might call fantastical. But for him, they are very real. And they color the outcome of his life, every day.”
Though Layla didn’t generally have an opinion on the supernatural, she could feel it now. The searing, molten presence of Adrian Rhakvir in her dreams, the intensity of him in her mind and on her skin. How the Moroccan cuff had burned her when he’d clasped it to her wrist that day in the gallery. And now she wondered – had that been the cuff, or had it been him? Had this heat and searing passion that now flowed through her body been placed there by his strange abilities, or was it something inside her that she’d had all along – just awakened now by his touch and the hamsa cuff reacting as one? Had he been searching for her this whole time with his psychic gifts – calling to her, even after she rejected his offer and walked away from it all?
Was that why she had been dreaming of him, and finding the Moroccan cuff on her wrist night after night?
“What is he?” Layla asked, needing to know.
“I am not at liberty to divulge that information right now,” John spoke kindly, watching her. “But trust me when I say that Mr. Rhakvir will illuminate you as to what precisely he is, in time. And at a secure location.”
“This isn’t secure?” She lifted an eyebrow. “We’re outside, at a random spot. No one can bug the outdoors.”
“Even the wind has ears sometimes.” John shrugged. “So are you in – or are you out?”
Was she in? Layla’s mind whirled, thinking through her options. Adrian Rhakvir. What kind of a name was that? It didn’t sound Moroccan, though he’d said his father was from the same country as Layla’s mother. Layla’s life was pushing her out of Seattle. This mystery man, this Adrian, had cleared her student debt with a wave of his hand. The position sounded challenging, and would most likely use every scrap of gut intelligence and smarts Layla could throw into it. It was also international, and she’d not missed John’s mention that she might travel the world.
And then there was Adrian. If she took the job, she might see him again. And find out about his mystery – exactly who and what he was.
And what, if anything, that had to do with her.
Taking a deep breath, Layla squared her shoulders, letting her arms unwind. It was a reckless decision, but like she’d felt five weeks ago when she’d applied to the Red Letter Hotel, it felt right. Something was pushing her out of Seattle, and something was pushing her into this new mystery. Despite John’s stalking, despite the strangeness of the Hotel’s initial response to her application, despite every warning bell that flared in her mind, there was only one thing that mattered.
