Hopefully, complimentary champagne and comped meals will prove persuasive enough.
I tap my nails on the top of the indigo blue counter, my mind spinning as fast as the program on the computer.
My father’s mafia world has invaded my sanctuary. Again. This isn’t the first time he’s taken over for his own gain.
I’m twenty-nine years old, for fuck’s sake. Will this ever end?
Frustration tastes like sour lemon on my tongue. I want him gone. Out of my business and out of my life.
Forever.
Later, after I’ve delivered the penthouse key to His Majesty, Henri has fresh ingredients in the kitchen, and Blaze Starr has a different room, I escape the front desk and retreat to the privacy of my office.
The one place in the hotel—aside from my suite—that is mine and mine alone.
Tall, dark wood bookcases lined with all sorts of volumes I’ll never have the time to read. Ceiling-height windows overlooking the back garden. Walls painted a soft, deep navy. Cozy, gray leather furniture I occasionally sink onto when the days are especially long. Persian rugs. Bright seascapes on the walls. A vintage wooden desk I saved from a historic office building set for demolition.
My sanctuary.
I drop into my oversize computer chair and rub my fingers against my temples.
Today has been solong, and it’s not even noon.
I inhale the soft pine scent wafting from my wall plug-in and grab my computer mouse.
No sense in wasting time wallowing.
Scanning my inbox, I delete spam and stumble upon an email that came in while I was dealing with my father’s nonsense.
From: Zenith Investment Group
I scan a few brief lines of text, my breath catching in my throat.
Zenith…Zenith’s interested in the Cypress as an investment opportunity.
Could Zenith Investment Group be the answer to all my prayers? Could they be my ticket out of my father’s control? I don’t remember exactly which company Zenith is, but I sent out so many feelers that it’s impossible to keep them all straight.
“‘We’re not a hedge fund.’” I mumble the words, half disbelieving. “‘We invest in real owners who want to reach new levels?—’”
A shrill ring from my desk causes me to jump.
Heart leaping, I fumble for my phone. “Yes?”
“Okay, I’ve got a call waiting for you.” Lenora’s voice is high, breathy. Excited. “It’s from a guy named Kellin. He’s from somebig investment firm. I think he called the company Zenith? I don’t know, and I don’t care. He has one sexy-ass voice.”
I don’t even have the energy to roll my eyes at Lenora’s man-hungry commentary. Because this Kellin person hasexcellenttiming.
“Put him through.”
“Hold on to your panties.”
“Lenora—”The call reconnects. Even though said man with a sexy-ass voice won’t see me, I straighten up in my seat. “This is Maeve Gallagher speaking.”
“Hello, Ms. Gallagher. My name is Kellin Jameson.”
Sweet Jesus.Lenora wasn’t exaggerating. Kellin’s deep, husky voice conjures an image of gravel wrapped in velvet, and I almost miss his next words.
“I’m with Zenith Group and am calling about an investment opportunity regarding the Cypress Hotel. Is now a good time?”
