She spins away, her heels clicking as she gushes about the event space.
I trail behind her, focusing on the back of her neck.
I’m not sure what Maeve knows about Declan’s business dealings. And I suspect she may not have any information on the accountant at all.
But whenever I mention her father, even indirectly, she closes herself off. She hides things, diverts attention, shifts the conversation.
Practiced, but obvious to a con man like me.
Brody is deeply involved with his father’s work, and after the conversation I witnessed yesterday—Maeve’s scowl, Brody’s insistence—I’d be willing to bet she’s not completely naive about what Declan is planning in the coming weeks.
I need to tap into Maeve’s head and find out what she knows.
Until then, I’ll work with the information I already have.
And that includes the obvious fact that she’s proud of her hotel. As she should be. It’s beautiful, elegant, and popular. As I follow her through every hall, on every floor, her excitement draws me in.
The more distance we put between us and the first floor, with its reminders of extra security and mystery penthouse guests, the more she relaxes.
By the time we walk the perimeter of the sprawling rooftop oasis, she’s practically glowing. “I worked closely with the architect on designing this space.” She talks with her hands, using animated gestures as she points out different facets for my examination. “Lounge chairs, an infinity pool, plants, hedges for privacy, and two postmodern water fountains, all set againstthe backdrop of Santa Monica, the City of Angels only twenty minutes away.”
“It’s just as gorgeous as the rest of the hotel.”
She beams, and something in my chest catches.
When she directs all that glow at me, it feels like the first sunny day after a brutal winter.
“Thank you. I wanted to model the hotel off some of my other favorites scattered around the city, and the architect was able to help us blend different styles to create an aesthetic that has both old world charm and entirely modern comforts.”
Before she can share more about the intentionality that went into the hotel’s design, her phone rings.
Lenora’s voice blasts through the speaker, just loud enough for me to hear. “Maeve, you’re needed downstairs.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Beneath Maeve’s low, steady volume, alarm pulses. “Is everything all right?”
A pause before Lenora responds. “Minor emergency.”
“Be right there.” Maeve sighs and tucks her phone away. “Kellin, please forgive me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She disappears down the elevator, leaving me to stare at the empty space on the roof.
I intended to treat this time with her as an opportunity to plot my next move. Instead, I allowed her to suck me into her excited gushing about furniture and wallpaper designs.
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who loved their job as much as she loves this damn hotel, and that passion intoxicates me. I can’t help but wonder how much of that passion carries over into the bedroom.
Lust swirls through my blood, inky tendrils toasting every inch of me.
Fuck.
I’m desperate for a distraction.
I find a quiet spot in the corner of the rooftop behind a giant fern to check my phone.
A text from Rory with a progress update. Thanks to the USB drive I slipped into the computer, he managed to get his hacking software onto the hotel’s private network.
Now he can extract some data from the back end, which is perfect.
Due to the time crunch, I need to explore every potential avenue for information on Doyle’s whereabouts, no matter how unlikely.
