Meeting at noon. We’ll talk about finances.
That little spark of irritation ignites into an inferno. Another one of Declan’s famous demands.
I type out a quick reply and hit send before I can change my mind.
Can’t. I’m out on hotel business.
He’ll no doubt be pissed, but I’ll deal with that problem later.
I shove the phone back in my purse.
Looks like I’ll be spending the day with Kellin after all.
Breakfast at the Venice Café is surprisingly normal. We spent the last half an hour enjoying omelets and dark roast coffee at an outdoor table under an arched, cream-colored ceiling held up by decorative columns. The restaurant’s vintage charm and adjoining bookstore intrigued me the first time I visited several years ago. This place has remained a favorite ever since.
When we finish, Kellin insists on treating me, and I let him. If I’m honest, allowing him to perform these little niceties, like paying for my meal and pulling out my chair, feels like a nice change. Men in my world—my father’s world, at least—don’t tend to treat women this way. I may as well soak up the novelty while I can.
By the time we’ve toured two hotels, a weight has lifted from my shoulders, and I realize how much I’m enjoying myself. How much this tiny reprieve from running an upscale LA hotel has soothed the worst of my stress. Kellin acts like the perfect companion too. Charming, funny, and insightful. As we stroll through the other hotels, he notices almost as many details as I do.
Work remains on my mind. I never fully leave the Hotel Manager persona behind. Every time an idea strikes, I jot down a note. But the hours away from the Cypress recharge me.
Though I’ll deny the truth until my last breath, Lenora wins. I definitely needed this break.
Chapter 15
Kellin
“I have an idea.”
Maeve glances up from tapping out a note on her phone and raises a brow. “Okay?”
I snag her waist and yank her flush to my side. “At the next one, let’s pretend to be a couple.”
A small tremor courses through her body. She bites her lower lip while temptation and resistance war on her pretty face. Progress. I’m convinced she would have shot me down cold yesterday, but every hour away from the Cypress, a little more tension drains from her shoulders.
She twists her hair around her fingers and finally smiles. “You’re on.”
I return her grin.
I like this version of Maeve. Less uptight, more at ease. I never anticipated enjoying her company this much.
Maybe too much. I’ve managed to extract plenty of hotel-related information from her, just not anything about Nolan Doyle, Declan Gallagher, or the Port Kings.
That needs to change—and soon—if I hope to complete this mission on time.
So when we arrive at the next hotel, I set out to accomplish that goal.
With drinks.
We wander into the hotel’s sleek, modern restaurant, which features dark carpeting, cream booths, white tablecloths, and sharp, industrial lighting fixtures.
Pricey, with a high-quality menu. Though, admittedly, I find the offerings at Emerald & Oak and the Cypress more to my taste.
The maître d’ straightens when we approach. “Good evening, sir, madam. Welcome to Nightstar. Two for dinner?”
“Yes, please. My wife and I are celebrating our first anniversary.”
“Wonderful. In that case, I’ll bring the champagne.” A knowing gleam enters the man’s eye as he scoops up a set of menus and gestures for us to follow. “Right this way.”
