Layla’s gut instinct.
And it was telling her to jump.
“I’m in.” She spoke softly. “Call your employer. I’ll work for him.”
“You’ll work for the Red Letter Hotel Paris,” John corrected with a blossoming smile, “but you’ll report to Adrian. Copacetic?” Lifting his phone, he paused, eyeballing her.
“Copacetic.” Layla agreed, lifting her chin. At her go-ahead, John gave a big smile, tapping a few things into his phone and then putting it away in his inside jacket pocket – most likely notifying his employer of Layla’s acceptance. “And who are you, exactly?” Layla asked archly when he was done. “Is John even your real name, or do I just call you Big Buff Motherfucker?”
John laughed. He threw his head back and laughed a booming laugh, flashing his incredibly white smile. “My name’s actually John, yes. John LeVeque. Chief of Security for Mr. Rhakvir.”
“Creole?” Layla asked, noting how his Southern accent had come out more strongly again.
“Bayou baby,” he smiled. “I was born in New Orleans. Great!” He clapped his hands, beaming his big smile, his dark eyes twinkling. “So you’re in. Hop in the car and I’ll take you home. The Hotel will expect you to start right away. You’ll need to collect a few personal things and then we gotta hit the airport.”
“Just like that?” Layla asked, shocked at how quickly things were suddenly moving.
“Just like that.” John nodded, sobering and watching her intently. “Your life is gonna change, Ms. Price–fast. Working at the Hotel is a whole other ball game. You ready for it?”
Lifting her chin, Layla felt the wind on her skin and the heavy rain in the air, as if feeling Seattle say goodbye. At the fence behind her, the honeysuckle caught the breeze, swaying gently. Trees shuffled overhead, whispering to her of change. And then a desert-scape rose in her mind, sand sighing off dunes and flowing through shadowed arroyos. She smelled cinnamon in the wind, and jasmine – even a whiff of orange peel like a citrus grove grew up from the desert sands.
“I’m ready.” Layla nodded, feeling it deep inside her – knowing it was true.
“Then hop on in.” John stepped to the rear driver’s-side door and opened it like a chauffeur. Layla paused then moved forward, stepping into the black Bentley and settling into the soft leather seat as John shut the door on her old life.
Starting the engine and pulling her out smoothly into a new one.
CHAPTER 10 – LEGIT
“So who is Adrian Rhakvir, anyhow?” Layla spoke from the back seat of the Bentley, watching the neighborhoods of Capitol Hill go by through the tinted glass. They were taking a direct route back to her house, and she’d not really walked far before noticing the car following her.
John LeVeque chuckled from the driver’s seat, eyeing her through the rearview mirror. “I’m sure he’d like to fill you in on that himself, Ms. Price.”
“Just give me the gist of it.”
“Ok.” John smiled as he smoothly navigated a turn. “Adrian’s hard to get to know, but for those who do, he opens up. He’s intensely busy, always traveling. He’s involved in a number of high-finance situations around the world, a business mogul, and comes from a very old family in Morocco. His mother was Parisian, though, so he’s only half-Moroccan.”
“Explains those stunning eyes.”
It was out before she could put it back. John gave his big, genial laugh from the front seat. “It does. I got to meet Juliette, Adrian’s mother. Most stunning eyes you’ve ever seen, like the sky over the ocean. She was a lovely woman. Died a few years back though. Murdered. Pretty tragic, really.”
John sobered and Layla cocked her head as they turned to circle the block back to her house. “Were you working for Adrian then?”
“No, not yet. I was still interviewing at the time. It was a long and grueling process, and his mother was found dead before I was officially hired. Sometimes I think that’s why Adrian hired me. Her death really shook him up. He’s technically head of the Rhakvir clan now, powerful moguls each and every one of them, and intensely competitive to boot. Adrian’s having a time managing it, plus all his other international responsibilities, like his part-ownership in the Hotel.”
Pulling into the driveway of the house behind Layla’s old Volvo sedan, he parked, then cut the engine. Stepping out, he opened Layla’s door before she could, escorting her. She stepped out and he shut the door, watching her as the early evening darkness swallowed the porch.
“I gotta run a few errands before we light out for Sea-Tac,” John spoke, eyeballing her, “and you gotta pack for the Hotel.”
“What do I bring?” Layla asked, having no idea what was coming, but already feeling the thrill of an adventure rushing through her. Her inner wrist began to tingle and she glanced down, noting that the hamsa-burn was coming out again in her skin.
“Pack light.” John nodded at the house. “Mr. Rhakvir will send a moving team later to get the rest of your stuff and secure it in storage, plus your car, and will send the retrieval details to you once you’re settled in at the Hotel. Pack anything personal: contact lenses, prescriptions, toiletries, passport, birth certificate, your usual international travel stuff. No need to observe TSA compliance as we’ll be flying by private jet.”
“Wow.” Layla blinked, resting her hand on the car. “I guess I should have expected that.”
John chuckled in his rumbling voice, then continued. “Any important keepsakes, bring with you – photo albums, special jewelry or the like. Once you get to the Hotel, you’ll have a safe in your rooms to secure important items, to which only you will have access. You’ll be living on-site, and will have an apartment of your own. No weapons are permitted on Hotel premises, so if you have any guns or knives, leave ‘em here.”
“Yeah, let me just stow my Assassin’s Creed gear,” Layla joked, enjoying John’s direct affability. It helped put her at ease, and the more time she spent around him, the more she was coming back to her original feeling that applying to the Hotel had been the right move.
