Almost one hundred percent capacity, starting two and a half weeks from tomorrow and lasting for three full weeks after that. In some cases, folks were even staying after the event. She’d been very specific in making sure they knew that, as of that moment, it wasn’t exactly going to be a ski paradise if they were sticking around in hopes of getting time in on the slopes. More than a few had just laughed, making some comment about the Hennessey Fortune Factor and booked an extended stay anyway. So she’d smiled and taken their credit information. And hoped they didn’t check out early when confronted with the green slopes of the Green Mountains.
The phone rang again. She glanced at the clock. “Seriously?” But she already had pen poised as she answered the phone. “Pennydash Inn, this is Kirby, how can I help you?”
She listened, registration book at the ready. A few seconds later, the pen clattered to the book, her hand still frozen in place. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, “did you just say you wanted to book a room for Jackson Deverill? The Jackson Deverill?” Jackson had been the hottest thing in Hollywood for at least the past decade. He was George Clooney, Hugh Jackman, and Brad Pitt all rolled into one amazing package of charm and good looks.
She quickly grabbed her pen again when Jackson’s assistant made it clear that yes, she was calling for the Mr. Deverill. Kirby quickly regained her professional footing and finished taking the booking, which would be for two. She racked her brain trying to remember who it was he was dating these days, but with her self-imposed news blackout, she honestly couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered. Holy crap was all she could keep thinking. During all those years spent working for her childhood resort-slash-home, then for Patrick, she’d crossed paths with both the very rich and the very famous. It just somehow seemed completely different when they wanted to stay in her very own quaint little Vermont inn. She hung up, let her mouth drop open again, then got up and danced a little jig around her stool.
Which was how Brett found her as he walked back in the front door. “Snow dance?”
She didn’t even care that he’d caught her acting the fool. “No, that’s the ‘my inn is booked up thanks to you’ dance.”
Grinning, he walked over to the desk. “Congratulations; that’s fantastic.”
“I just got off the phone with Jackson Deverill’s personal assistant. The Jackson Deverill.”
“Oh, good, Dev called. He bought in last night and I mentioned he might like your place. He prefers to keep a more ‘out of the way, under the radar’ profile when he’s playing.”
“You know Jackson Deverill?”
Brett nodded. “We’ve played at more than a few tables together over the years, sure. He’s one of the good guys. Hard to find a lot of those in his line of work, especially at his level of celebrity.” He caught her still staring at him, gaping was probably more like it, and chuckled. “What? I’m sure working at that resort out west you came across your fair share.”
“It was a little different. Okay, a lot different. I was just overseeing their stay. I wasn’t exactly on a first-name basis with them.”
“Well, you’ll love Dev. Everybody does.” He walked around behind the desk and scooped her easily into his arms.
She didn’t even question the easy familiarity, mostly because it felt just as easily and comfortably familiar to her. She looped her arms around his neck and he hiked her up his body so she could plant a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”
“You might want to hold off until you have to manage this hoard for a few weeks,” he said, laughing, but he didn’t let her slide back down his body. Instead he pinned her back against the wall under the stairs. “Dev will probably be the easiest guy you have. Depending on who he brings with him, anyway.”
“I thought you said he was a good guy; doesn’t he have good taste in women?”
“He’s like the perennial pushover, that guy. Sort of Charlie Brown and Lucy, always believing they have his best interest at heart. Usually it’s just his bank account they have their eye on.”
“Come on, he’s got a lot more going for him than his money.”
“I agree, one hundred percent. I’m just telling you like it is.”
He lowered his head, but before he could kiss her, she said, “Is it like that for you? Is that why you were so adamant about me getting to know you for you?”
“Money always tends to complicate things,” was all he said. Then his mouth was on hers and she really didn’t care to continue the conversation as it turned out.
When he moved from her mouth to her jawline, he murmured, “I need to head up and shower. Wanna come help me wash my back?”
“I’m not sure that’s part of the room services we offer here at Pennydash Inn,” she said, tipping her head back against the wall to allow him greater access.
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” He nudged her higher up the wall and kissed down the side of her neck, to the tender spot between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling the collar of her shirt aside as he continued his exploration. “I’d like to think it’s just a personal favor. Between the two of us.” He kept dropping little kisses, then undid the top button of her shirt. With his teeth. “I’m really good at returning favors, by the way. In fact, I insist upon it.”
“Do you?” she said, her eyes drifting shut as he pushed her higher and slid another button free, allowing his mouth access to the soft fabric cups of her filmy little bra. “I think that sounds fair.” Then she groaned as he suckled one nipple through the pale pink silk.
“I missed you,” he murmured against her skin as he moved to the other side.
The deep rumble of his voice, the softly spoken confession, made her heart clutch. Maybe she should have figured out that whole fun or foolish thing before she let him do this to her again. Because she most definitely was not feeling remotely casual about Brett Hennessey…and he was making it clear that the feeling was quite mutual.
“Me, too,” she said, figuring it wasn’t right to play chicken when the man was currently making her feel incredibly fabulous.
He ran the tip of his tongue over her and slid her down his body and kissed her, so passionately, so deeply, that when he scooped her up in his arms and carried her up every single step to his room, she simply put her arms around his shoulders and let him.
Instead of the shower, he laid her across his bed and followed her down, rolling them both to their sides, legs intertwined.
“I thought we were exchanging shower favors.”
“I have to get back to the resort in a few hours for another meeting, so I thought perhaps I would get you good and sweaty first so we both could use a good back scrub.”
“We’re limited to each other’s backs?”
“I see it more as a starting-off point.”
“Ah,” she said, then giggled when he tugged her under him and rolled his weight on top of her. She was happy. Deliriously so. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so lighthearted before. She’d never had this kind of spontaneous connection with anyone, and it felt pretty damn fantastic. Surely, given that they were being so open and honest about where they were in their respective lives, enjoying this—him—wasn’t foolish. She was well aware of the possible painful outcome, but the simple question of would she rather not have spent time with him at all was an easy one to answer. This time, she was putting her happiness first.
“So,” he said, returning to his devastatingly seductive exploration of her collarbone. “Who all has registered for rooms?”
He continued to work his way down, opening buttons as he went, making it rather challenging to keep track of the conversation. She listed a few names, paused to gasp as he nipped the skin below her belly button, then somehow managed to dredge up a few more. It was on the last name that Brett paused and looked up.
“Did you say Uri Maksimov?”
She blinked, realized his wonderful tongue was not going to go back to doing what it was doing along the open line of her pants zipper, and l
ifted her head up to look at him. “I’m pretty sure I have the name right.”
“That’s his name. When is he arriving, do you remember the date?”
“I’d have to double check to make sure, but I think he’s scheduled to arrive first.”
“Which is when, exactly?”
“Little over two weeks from now.”
Brett dipped his chin and Kirby was pretty sure she heard him swear under his breath. She pushed up on her elbows, then leaned her weight to one side so she could reach out and stroke the side of his face. She urged his gaze back to hers. “What’s up? Do you want me to call him back and tell him I made a mistake and the room is already booked? I’m pretty sure I can fill the opening. At least enough that it won’t matter.”
“No, don’t do that.”
She waited a few seconds, but when he didn’t chime in to explain his obvious distaste for the situation, she nudged. “Wanna tell me why we don’t like Uri Maksimov?”
He did glance up at her then, but his attempt at a smile fell far short of reaching his eyes. “Have I told you how much I like it that you’re on my team?”
“You do a very good job of showing it, yes,” she said, wiggling her hips a little.
He dropped his chin for just a second; then he looked back at her. “I’m sorry, I ruined the mood.”
She laughed. “I’m pretty sure if you just breathe on me, we’ll go right back to being there. Or I will.” Her expression sobered when he didn’t immediately come back with a cute remark. She stroked the side of his face and ran her fingers through the hair at his temple. “It’s really not an issue to reverse the booking. We overbooked all the time when I worked the reservation desk at the resort. I’m very good at managing the guests so they don’t feel managed.” She paused and then dryly added, “And you really don’t want to make any jokes about my guest relations skills at this particular moment.”
That got a small chuckle out of him. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“So, I take it that Mr. Maksimov isn’t exactly a welcome guy. Is he a player?”
“He works for the owner of one of the newer casinos. Kind of the liaison between the owner and the promoters. Only been open a couple of years now.”
“Did you give the rights to some part of the event to one of the casinos in Vegas?”
“Yes, but not his.”
“Ah. So, why is he coming? And how will it work, combining the resort holding the event, with a casino…what role exactly does the casino play?”
“The resort here gets the event booking and all that goes with it, including a nice increase in guests. But since we’re in Vermont, I need a team to be able to come in and actually produce the event who knows what they’re doing.”
“So, like a sponsor or something?”
“Not exactly, though we’ll have them, too. This is more like the resort here is the producer and I’m hiring the director. They’ll get billed as event promoter, working in conjunction with the charity organization and the resort here in terms of it being used, more or less, as a satellite location to their resort in Vegas.”
“Right.”
He did smile now. “Clear as mud?”
“Let’s just say I trust that you know what you’re doing.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, no, thank you. I’ve been involved in helping, planning, and overseeing very large events, usually racing oriented, with all kinds of international vendors, where I worked before, so that element isn’t new to me, but I understood the arena. I wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with what you’re handling. Even the charitable functions we had were all skiing and snowboard related in some manner.”
“It’s probably not much different, just different vendors and sponsors, different kind of sport, but more or less the same end result.”
“I guess you’re right. So what’s the deal with Maksimov? Why would he come out if he’s not part of the deal?”
“I’m sure he’ll have some pretense, but now that I’ve raised my head, no doubt he’s coming out to try and schmooze me into doing one of his upcoming events.”
“Do different hotels hold different poker events?”
“No, it’s usually one resort that gets the license to host the big events. But other hotels definitely have exhibition events, usually tied to a charity or bigger event of some sort, and bring us all in. It’s good exposure and the pros usually kick in. It’s good philanthropy, too, and the celebs usually come out as well. For the promoters, it’s good to get as many headliners locked in as early as possible. Ostensibly it’s for charity or some such, but if regular folks think they’re going to be rubbing elbows with celebrities while playing the five-dollar slots, then they tend to book into whatever hotel is holding the next upcoming widely advertised event.”
“Have you played for this guy before? Is there something wrong with how he does things?”
“Yes, I have, and on the surface, no.”
“But below the surface?”
Brett lifted one shoulder. “There are a lot of rumors, possibly some shady dealings. There is Russian backing with the resort that’s never been entirely on the up and up, at least that’s the word. There’s rumor of other questionable European backing, Pacific Rim, too.”
“That’s…rather broad in scope. Is that common?”
“Not quite to that degree, and it’s not necessarily true, either. Other than the Russian part. No one has ever been able to prove anything, but the talk persists. It’s been several years now, and talk doesn’t usually stick like that unless there’s something to it. And my gut tells me there is. So, when Maksimov comes knocking, I usually find somewhere else to be.”
“Is it just you, or all the pros?”
“Most of the guys at the top tend to steer clear, or only get involved when the outside support is unimpeachable.”
“I imagine that doesn’t sit well with whoever owns the place. To be shunned. Are there other, I guess you could call it privately blacklisted resorts?”
“Some, especially the oldest ones, have never been able to shake some of their early connections to organized crime.”
“Is that still a thing? Really?”
“Not in the way of the past, no. It’s taken on a far more international flavor these days. Not to mention highly sophisticated. You have both syndicated, organized action, as well as independent problems.”
“I guess I thought that would have been dealt with a long time ago. I know the town has really tried to build up a more family-friendly atmosphere.”
“Because it plays well. But don’t be fooled. When you have that much money concentrated in such a small, controlled area, it would be foolish to think they don’t have a hand in.”
“And you think Maksimov works for that kind of outfit?”
“Directly or indirectly? No proof, but I trust my instincts.”
“A Russian Mafioso. Great. And, of course he’s staying here. Are you sure I can’t rework the books and block him out?”
“He’s harmless enough, especially if he wants something from me.”
“And when he doesn’t get it?”
“He never gets it. It’s par for the course. He just keeps getting sent out to try. Not my problem if he goes back empty-handed. And, chances are, to be honest, if he doesn’t get a verbal commitment from me, he’ll be able to schmooze it from any number of other players.”
“I thought you said—”
“I said some of them, mostly the ones who can afford to say no. Most players can’t. Maksimov will do fine on his recruiting mission. He just won’t be recruiting me.”
She continued to look dubious, and he bent down to kiss her nose.
“I’ll let you know if I think anything has changed where he’s concerned. But while I’m not happy he’s going to be here, it’s just an irritation. At least if he’s staying here, you keep an eye, too, maybe help run a little interference and keep him off my back.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Use those guest services ski
lls you’re always bragging about.”
She merely arched a brow, but said, “I’ll do whatever I can.”
He bussed her on the mouth. “See? Good teamwork.”
“Speaking of teamwork…” She smiled against his mouth as he was already kissing her before she could finish the sentence.
There would be a lot going on over the next few weeks that would take a fast-lane learning curve to deal with…so she definitely could get used to having someone around who was so in tune with her.
She gasped and arched off the bed as he moved lower down her body. Especially when his thoughts were tuned in to doing this…
Chapter 14
Brett leaned into the turn as he eased his bike around the bend, then up another steep, winding curve. When he’d left the desert, he’d headed east, across the flat prairie of middle America, before encountering his first swell of hills and mountains. Nothing like they had out west, but he’d never taken off in the direction of the Rockies, so he’d found it a bit exhilarating, all the twists and turns, steep ascents and swift downhill drops. When he’d taken off from the resort a few hours ago, he’d intended to go home, back to the inn, but instead he’d found himself turning up a side road that led into the hills, where he’d been tooling around the winding back roads since.
Thinking.
About things like why he’d so easily and naturally thought of Kirby’s inn as home. It hadn’t been a casual thought, either. He’d never once thought of his hotel rooms as home, or even a home away from home. Though he’d stayed in the exact same rooms many, many times over the years, and they’d been familiar to him, they had always remained exactly what they were. A place to crash, eat, and sleep between sitting at tables for endless hours. And giving interviews, teaching seminars, doing local promotion for the various event hosts and sponsors. Whatever was required of him to help give back to the sport that had given him, well, pretty much everything.
If ever a place had felt like home it had been his rooms at Vanetta’s, but for the past few years, they’d come to feel like more of a hideout than home and hearth. He hadn’t thought of it that way at the time, of course. It had been the only real home he’d ever known. But now…now…
Here Comes Trouble Page 20