Savage smiles from his place in the center of the dais, his true joy spread across his face as he holds a microphone, taking in the crowd. “I won’t keep you waiting any longer by rambling on about how excited and proud I am that we’ve finally reached this moment.”
His gaze drifts to his family behind him briefly, landing on every member lined up for the celebration, before returning to everyone else in front of him.
“You’ve already heard about all the hard work, sweat, and tears that went into this space. So, let me wrap up by saying thank you again for coming to celebrate this monumental day with us. Please enjoy touring the new tower. And don’t forget to step across the street to play some table games or eat at one of our fabulous restaurants at the main Hawke Hotel!”
I clap along with those surrounding me as he retreats from the front of the dais to join the rest of the Hawkes.
Aside from thanking his daughter and son-in-law, as well as his sister Storm and her husband for their work on designing and building this place, the Hawke patriarch kept things relatively short and sweet.
Probably because he knows this place speaks for itself.
Soaring twenty-five floors above us, the massive panes of glass allow all the Louisiana sunlight to flow in and reflect off the massive chandelier that falls all the way from the top to directly above us.
It is truly stunning.
A piece of crystal art that looks more like it belongs in the Louvre or some other gallery rather than a hotel.
But I wouldn’t have expected anything less from the Hawkes.
The main hotel and casino across the street are just as beautiful. Just as opulent and over-the-top extravagant. The entire space glows with a vibrancy and welcoming warmth that I can’t imagine anyone could resist.
A flame to lure in the people of New Orleans and get them to let down their guards and empty their pockets on the tables and at the machines.
It’s been a tremendous success, and just like with their other businesses, I can see why.
They don’t cater to the drunk revelers who only come down for Mardi Gras or to get plastered on Bourbon Street. They attract a higher-end clientele, both here and at the clubs, bars, and restaurants that make up their empire. They know what it takes to truly succeed in business—sophistication and style.
It’s impressive in a way I find few things are these days.
Except her.
Bishop has been front and center during the entire presentation, standing guard on the raised dais, watching everything like the killer hawk she is. Hunting in the crowd. Not missing a thing.
And despite my best efforts, that includes me.
I felt her eyes on me once.
Only for the briefest of moments.
But long enough that familiar heat spread through me, along with the heavy weight of regret I always carry when it comes to her.
When it comes to this—my inability to stay away from her no matter how many times I tell myself I will.
She slowly makes her way down to the main floor and out into the tower lobby—like a panther on the prowl for her prey. With her dark head of braids twisted into a bun at the top of her head today, I’m able to follow her for a while before she disappears into the milling crowd.
As soon as I lose sight of her, the itching desire to follow moves my feet in that direction.
I slowly make my way around the edges of the lobby, keeping my eye on everyone and everything in the tower. Memorizing the layout. Assessing weaknesses. Preparing myself while searching for her again.
“Looking for someone?”
Shit.
Her familiar voice freezes me in my tracks, and I glance over my shoulder to find her somehow behind me even though I kept my back to the exterior wall almost the entire time.
How the hell did she do that?
She raises a dark brow, arms crossing over her chest, tapping her booted foot impatiently as her eyes sweep over me with a penetrating scrutiny that feels like an equal mix of sexual appraisal and stark threat analysis.
