by Tawny Weber
“Not at all. I just have to run home for the evening. An offer came up that I couldn’t refuse.”
“Business?”
“No, dinner...” With her father? No, just in case Diana shared the excuse with Mitch, she didn’t want to bring her father into the mix until she’d had time to butter them both up. “A dinner date.”
* * *
“WHAT IN THE HELL DO you mean, the program crashed?”
The hotel manager winced, then he gave a helpless shrug. Tall, skinny and blond, Larry looked like a morose scarecrow. Mitch had handpicked him to run the resort because he handled the staff like a gifted choreographer and knew hotels inside out. And, theoretically, hotel computers. “We don’t understand what happened. I’ve spent the morning on the phone with tech support—they’re baffled, too.”
The computerized reservation program was supposed to be bug-free, idiot-proof and have both on- and off-site backups. “You recovered the lost data, right?”
“We’re working on it. The system has a backup, but somehow, well, the battery went dead.”
Mitch closed his eyes and shook his head. Continual construction delays. The pipes had burst in the pool room, there was a gopher infestation on the golf course, and now this? Seriously, who had his voodoo doll and why the hell were they jabbing it so hard?
The only person he’d recently pissed off was Belle. And he couldn’t see her going the voodoo route. She was too direct for that. She’d rather see him on his knees begging. Or maybe just on his knees.
“Get it fixed,” he instructed tiredly. As soon as the manager left, Mitch lifted his phone and punched a button.
“Do you believe jobs can be cursed?” he asked as soon as Reece answered.
“Nah, that’s the kind of thing suits like you come up with as an excuse for falling on their ass.”
“Well, my ass is definitely getting bruised,” Mitch acknowledged. “I’m starting to think it’s more than a learning curve.”
“You don’t really believe that curse crap, do you? You want me to fly you out a witch doctor?”
“If I thought it’d make a difference, I’d have you hand-deliver one.”
Reece laughed, although Mitch was only half joking. “Gotta hand it to you, cuz, you’re the most hands-on guy I know. Guess that’s why you’re kicking butt. You stick your fingers in every pie you deal in, swinging a hammer as easily as you make those slick deals.”
Not quite every pie. Mitch had been doing his damnedest to avoid the sweetie pie that was his ex. Not trusting himself around her, he’d justified his absence by putting Diana in charge of the events projects. And Belle was the Party Princess, after all. She didn’t need his supervision to plan a successful event.
“Seriously, what’s the deal?” Reece, or Cowboy, as Mitch’s cousin and security guru was aptly nicknamed, sounded as concerned as he ever did. Which meant his drawl had slowed and the teasing humor had left his voice.
Mitch listed the resort’s problems-du-jour, from construction to rodent infestation to computer crash. He was explaining about the staff issues when his cousin interrupted.
“Your event gal quit? Just like that? The hot little redhead who loved to party? What happened?”
“She’s in rehab.”
“No shit? What’re you going to do about that opening weekend party you were so hot to have?”
“If I can’t stop this streak of bad luck, there won’t be an opening,” Mitch hedged, not wanting to mention Belle’s involvement in the resort. Since Reece had been his best man, he had a pretty vivid memory of her. “I’m willing to accept a few problems here and there, but not this level of misfortune.”
“Sabotage?”
“That sounds so paranoid.”
“It ain’t paranoia if they’re out to get you,” Reece pointed out.
“Right.”
The two men were silent for a minute, then Mitch heard Reece shuffling some papers. That his bronc-riding cousin was working in an office amused Mitch. A go-getter Kentucky cowboy, Reece was more suited to riding horseback than riding a desk. Rather than putting his military time to use in law enforcement, he’d opened his own security firm.
“Did you get the note I sent you about new requirements for the resort?” Mitch asked.
“Something about catering to the fancy-ass folks there in Hollywood?”
“That’s it. Why don’t you send a guy out early? He can start assessing for the upgrades, and poke around a little at the same time.”
“Two birds with one stone. Good plan.”
They nailed down the details, then hung up. Mitch let his head fall back on the chair, his eyes, as always, going to the view.
Ever since he was a kid, he’d dreamed of a place like this. Oh, not the rich and fancy angle, but of owning something huge, something major. He’d wanted to make his mark, to be special. An only child, he’d been one of seventeen cousins. The last words his dad had spoken to him before he’d died were to tell him to be the man, to take care of his mom and show the world what he was made of. Even at five, Mitch had taken those words to heart.
They’d sparked his desperate need to prove himself. To be important.
Starting out in construction as a teen, he’d worked his way up the ranks in his stepdad’s company by the time he’d entered college. He’d graduated with a degree in business and been left the construction firm when his mom and stepdad had died just before his twenty-third birthday. Like Reece said, he’d worked every aspect of his business, from swinging the hammer to marketing property to making deals. Within five years he’d launched his development company and figured he was well on his way to the big time.
But he’d wanted more. Enter Forsham Hotels and the biggest mistake of his life.
Which reminded him...
Mitch pushed away from his desk and strode into Diana’s office. As soon as she saw him, the mousy brunette held out a sheaf of papers.
“Larry sent these up,” she said.
“Obviously his team hasn’t figured out the problem yet,” he observed, flipping through the pages of techno-speak as if he had a clue what they said. With a shrug, he tossed the report back on Diana’s desk and asked, “Did Belle have a list of suggestions after her tour?”
“Um, not yet.” Diana busied herself with shuffling the tech report, then clipping the pages just so.
“She’s writing it up?”
“No, I don’t think she is.”
Mitch’s earlier irritation, still bubbling away just below the surface, threatened to erupt.
“I suppose there’s a good reason why she hasn’t done what I specifically asked?”
“Well, maybe because she had to cancel,” his assistant mumbled, bending low to put the tech report in the bottom filing-cabinet drawer.
“Why the hell did she cancel the tour?”
“She had a, well, a date,” Diana said, her face almost buried in her keyboard.
Either she’d figured out how irritated he got when people wasted his time on the job or she was still afraid to look him in the face when she gave him bad news. Either way, her timidity pissed him off even more.
“Get her on the phone,” he snapped. When Diana winced, Mitch sighed, feeling like he’d kicked a puppy. “Please.”
“She’s already left the resort. She said since she had to drive into L.A. anyway, she’d leave early and go into town to meet some vendors, store owners and suppliers to look into possible liaisons for the resort.”
If Diana’s face got any closer to the keyboard, she’d smash her nose on the H key. Mitch swallowed a growl and tried to remember all the organizational qualities that made her a great assistant. Maybe he’d better take to carrying a list in his pocket?
“Get her on her cell, then,” he barked, this time not bothering to temper his tone. Diana was just going to have to get over her fear, because he didn’t have time to baby her. And damned if he hadn’t been right about Belle being a flake. Less than a week here at the resort and she
was already slacking off.
Date. Fury bolted through him like lightning. Fast, furious, deadly. It was because she was screwing off, he assured himself. Not because she might be screwing some guy other than him.
Reece was right. Mitch had built his success by taking part in every aspect of his business. Every single thing. Which obviously needed to include his luscious ex-fiancée. This hands-off approach wasn’t working. Not for the resort, and definitely not for his resort’s event planner.
“Her phone goes direct to voice mail,” Diana said, dread clear in her tone.
Images of Belle and some faceless guy sent that bolt of fury right through him again, ripping a hole in Mitch’s gut.
“I’ll deal with Ms. Forsham and the tour tomorrow,” he decided. “No more of this letting her do things her way. I’m stepping in and showing her who’s boss. From now on, she’ll answer to me.”
5
HUMMING HER FAVORITE pop star’s latest song, Belle strode through the resort lobby with a swing in her hips and a smile on her lips. Her heels tapped a pleasing counter-beat as she crossed the polished marble and breathed in the rich scent of fresh flowers from the atrium.
Gorgeous morning. It was weird how good she felt waking up in the enchanted forest, as she’d taken to calling the wooded view outside her bedroom window. Throw in tea and muffins on the tiny, private deck, and she’d managed to shove aside all her worries about her father and grab a positive attitude.
After all, she was a smart woman. A talented woman. A woman on a mission. And she’d succeed. Although it would be a lot easier if she could get Mitch to face her instead of pretending she didn’t exist. Maybe her email would help? As soon as she’d gotten back to the resort last night she’d drafted an outline of her pitch, detailing the many reasons why this resort should be themed to cater to the sexual needs of its guests.
Now to see if he responded.
Of course, there were advantages to not dealing with Mitch face-to-face. One of which was wearing jeans and a tank top instead of dressing like a fancy professional. She still wore a crystal-trimmed satin bra under the turquoise silk tank, though. Nothing overt, just a flirty hint of femininity. Her pep talk with Sierra fresh in her mind, she had a solid game plan. Professional and polite, all flirting—except lingerie-style hints—were now off-limits.
That reminder firmly in her head, she gave the manager a finger wave and winked at his trainees as she passed behind the check-in counter to make her way back to Diana’s office.
And even though she knew she shouldn’t, she gave a little prayer of thanks for her fancy bra when she saw the delicious treat awaiting her.
The only thing better than seeing Mitch Carter first thing in the morning would have been seeing him a little sooner. Like as soon as she’d opened her eyes.
Like her, he wore jeans with his T-shirt. Belle had noticed early on that while the rest of the staff dressed upscale casual, Mitch didn’t bother with the upscale part. His rich auburn hair, shoved back off his face, was just past the need-for-a-haircut stage and curling toward his collar.
Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch that hair, to feel it beneath her palms and see if it was as silky and warm as she remembered.
“Mitch,” she greeted him with a smile. “This must be my lucky morning.”
“Following your lucky night, I suppose.”
Belle frowned at the angry snap in his tone, but just shrugged.
“It could have been luckier, of course,” she returned, since she’d have much preferred to spend it with him than driving back from L.A. at midnight. “But I had a great time.”
“I’ll bet.”
She made a show of looking around the room, empty but for the two of them. “Just us? I was starting to think that was against the rules or something.”
As soon as the words were out, she winced. So much for professional. But, she realized, looking at his stormy face, she was a little hurt at Mitch’s blatant avoidance of her, even if he was a total grump-butt in the morning. Someone must have missed his caffeine fix. Belle couldn’t recall ever seeing Mitch so out of sorts. It would have been endearing if she didn’t feel as if she was blindly stepping into the path of a natural disaster.
“Rules? Don’t you just ignore those? Things like showing up to work, agreements and contracts? What, too much like a wedding ceremony for you?”
Anger blasted Belle’s amused confusion to bits. She had to grind her teeth to keep from snapping back at him. Lips pressed tightly together, she glared. How dare he?
Mitch arched a brow, challenging her to defend herself.
Belle opened her mouth to yell back, then closed it again, swallowing hard. She hated ugliness and fights. Her parents had fought constantly. Right up until her mother was diagnosed with cancer, every little thing had been an argument. She knew better now, but in third grade, she’d been sure her mama had been argued to death.
Mitch was pissed, most likely because she’d left yesterday. She debated telling him she’d gone to see her father, but didn’t see how making him angrier would help anything.
Instead she plastered on her social smile and, with a wink, wiggled her sandal-shod foot toward him. “No sneakers, remember?”
She took his twitching lips as a good sign and opened the leather portfolio she had tucked under her arm. She pulled out the list of local recommendations she’d come up with, along with an outline of the mini-events. And, with another glance at the lurking fury in his cinnamon eyes, she steeled her spine and added the theme-pitch outline, as well.
“Although both our agreement and contract show these reports due next week,” she said, handing them to him, “they’re almost complete now and I’d like your input before I go any further. Maybe we can sit down and hammer out some details?”
“I’ve scheduled the morning to give you the tour you blew off yesterday,” he returned.
His words were short, but the curt edge had left his tone. Hearing it gone, Belle felt some of the tension melt from her shoulders.
“Then let’s tour,” she agreed. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions when we’re through and we can handle them all at once.”
Jaw tight, Mitch gave a stiff nod. Belle hid a sigh. No wonder he and her father had once considered partnership. They were both grumpy SOBs when they wanted to be. Another shock, since she’d have sworn during their engagement that Mitch was the most affable guy in the world. Just went to show how blind she’d been.
“I’ll tell Diana we’re going” was all he said. But he took the papers with him as he strode into his assistant’s office.
Her body tight from the stress of not yelling at his bad-tempered self, Belle dropped into one of the plush chairs outside the main office and heaved a huge sigh. She didn’t know which was worse: the way Mitch’s irritation pushed her to face her fear of confrontation, or the fact that he was even sexier when he got all intense and uptight like that.
Either way, the man was bad for her control. Part of her wished hard for a pair of sneakers. The other part, the mature businesswoman, steeled her spine and gave thanks that she and Sierra had agreed that professional was the new plan.
An hour later, she was recalling the sports store in town and wondering if sneakers came in pink. Since they’d arrived in the dining room, she’d spent more time sketching pictures of Mitch’s butt in her notebook than making notes of the menu plans, rotation of celebrity chefs and floral arrangements.
“Are you getting all of this?” he asked, his words rightfully suspicious. “You look a little distracted.”
“The meals I’ve had since I arrived are excellent, so obviously your chefs are top-notch,” she said as if she’d been paying full attention, “but I agree having guest chefs and rotating your menu will keep things fresh. I think, too, that you might want to incorporate some type of theme that works with each chef. For instance, when you bring in the latest Italian wonder, integrate a taste of Italy into the entire month at the resort. Decor, ev
ents, that kind of thing.”
Mitch’s eyes lit up at her suggestion, but he didn’t comment. Instead he gestured toward the door and the next stop on their tour. Belle didn’t mind, though. She knew she was getting through to him. This was how she liked to do business. Face-to-face. Or, she thought with a tiny sigh as he strode ahead to open the heavy oak door for her, face-to-butt.
God, she wanted him. It was killing her to hold back the flirtation. Instead she kept dropping subtle suggestions and hints that supported her idea to slant the entire resort toward a sexual theme. She wished she could blame her lusty awareness on that, but she knew all the credit went to Mitch.
She reached the door and was surprised, after all his careful avoidance, that Mitch had barely opened it. She had to brush against him to get through. As she did, her eyes met his and she raised a brow.
“The door’s stuck,” he muttered. “I’ve got a carpenter coming to look at the hinges.”
“Mmm” was all she said. That was the fifth problem they’d encountered so far on the tour. Slipshod construction, a computer failure, a missing stove and, if she hadn’t been mistaken, a few too many holes on the golf green.
For a brand-new resort set to open to the public in four weeks, it was a little disconcerting. She knew the hotel business inside out and a few start-up problems here and there were normal. These seemed excessive.
As they made their way out of the restaurant and toward the spa and gym, Belle slanted Mitch a sideways glance. She’d thought he was the best. Her daddy had thought so, too, as did everyone she’d talked with. Everybody couldn’t be wrong. Could they?
“Do you usually take such a personal hand in your developments, Mitch?” Like the rest of the resort, the mosaic-covered walkway was a combination of art deco and lush greenery. Plants, perhaps echoing the woods beyond the resort, were tucked in every corner, graced every curve. The decor was rich, intense, reminiscent of the Erté statues she’d seen in the foyer.
“My name is on the project, my money is invested in it,” he said simply. “I’m going to be involved from the ground up.”