Even with her nostrils flared, Merina forced a smile. There was only one way past this gatekeeper. She called up an ounce of poise—an ounce being the most she could access at the moment. “Merina Van Heusen to see Reese Crane.”
“Ms. Van Heusen,” the woman said, her tone flat, her eyes going to the doorknob in Merina’s hand. “You’re here regarding the changes to the hotel, I presume.”
“You got it,” Merina said, barely harnessing her anger. How come everyone was so damn calm about dismantling a town landmark?
“Have a seat.” Crane’s bulldog gestured one manicured hand at a group of cushy white chairs, her mouth frowning in disgust as she took in Merina’s dishevelment. “Perhaps I could fetch you a towel first.”
“I won’t be sitting.” She wasn’t about to be put in her place by Reese’s underling. Then her prayers were answered as the set of gleaming wooden doors behind the secretary’s desk parted like the Red Sea.
Jackpot.
Merina barreled forward as the woman at the desk barked, “Excuse me!”
Merina ignored her. She wouldn’t be delayed another second…or so she thought. She stopped short when a woman in a very tight red dress, the neckline plunging into plentiful cleavage, her heels even higher and potentially more expensive than Merina’s Louboutins, swept out of the office and gave her a slow, mascaraed blink back. Then she sashayed around Merina, past the bulldog, and left behind a plume of perfume.
Interesting.
Reese’s latest date? An escort? If Merina believed the local tabloids, one and the same. Paying for dates certainly wasn’t above his pay grade.
Before the doors closed, she slipped into Reese’s office.
“Ms. Van Heusen!” came a bark behind her, but Reese, who stood facing the windows and looking out upon downtown, said three words that instantly silenced his secretary.
“She’s fine, Bobbie.”
Merina smirked back at the sour-faced, coal-eyed woman as Reese’s office doors whooshed shut.
“Merina, I presume.” Reese still hadn’t turned. His posture was straight, jacket and slacks impeccably tailored to his muscular, perfectly proportioned body. Shark or not, the man could wear a suit. She’d seen the photos of him in the Trib as well as Luxury Stays, the hotel industry’s leading trade magazine, and like every other woman in Chicago, she hadn’t missed the gossip about him online. Like in his more professional photos, his hands were sunk into his pant pockets, and his wavy, dark hair was styled and perfect.
Clearly the woman who had just left was here on other business…or past business. If something more clandestine was going on, Reese would appear more mussed. Then again, he probably didn’t muss his hair during sex. From what she gleaned about him via the media, Reese probably didn’t allow his hair to muss.
The snarky thought paired with a vision of him out of that suit, stalking naked and primed, golden muscles shifting with each long-legged step. Sharp, navy eyes focused only on her…
He turned to face her and she snapped out of her imaginings and blinked at the stubble covering a perfectly angled jaw. What was it about that hint of dishevelment on his otherwise perfect visage that made her breath catch?
Thick, dark brows jumped slightly as his eyes zoomed in on her chest.
She sneered before venturing a glance down at her sodden silk shirt. Where she saw the perfect outline of both nipples. A tinge of heat lit her cheeks, and she crossed her arms haughtily, glaring at him as best she could while battling embarrassment.
“Seems this April morning is colder than you anticipated,” he drawled.
And that was when any wayward attraction she might have felt toward him died a quick death. The moment he opened his mouth, her hormones pulled the emergency brake.
“Cut the horseshit, Crane,” she snapped.
The edge of Reese’s mouth moved sideways, sliding the stubble into an even more appealing pattern. But she wasn’t here to be insulted or patronized.
“I heard some news,” she said.
He didn’t bite.
“Your father purchased the Van Heusen,” she continued.
“He added it to the family portfolio, yes,” he responded coolly.
Portfolio. She felt her lip curl. To him, the VH was a number on a spreadsheet. Nothing more. Which could also mean he didn’t care enough about it to continue with these ridiculous changes.
“There’s been an error. My mother is under the impression that many of the nostalgic and antique fixtures in the building will be replaced.” She plunked down the heavy doorknob on his desk. A pool of rainwater gathered on his leather blotter.
Reese sucked in a breath through his nose and moved to his desk—a block of black wood the color of his heart—and rested one hand on the back of a shiny leather chair.
“Have a seat.” He had manly hands for a guy who spent his days in an office and spare time eating souls, and they were about as disturbingly masculine as the scruff lining his jaw.
She didn’t want to sit. She wanted to march over there and slap the pompous smirk off his face. Then she remembered her compromised top, refolded her arms over her breasts, and sat as requested.
You win this round, Crane.
Reese lowered himself into his chair and pressed a button on his phone. “Bobbie, Ms. Van Heusen will need a car in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
So he’d deigned to carve out fifteen minutes for Merina. Lucky her.
“I don’t want a car.”
“No? You’re planning on walking back?” Even sitting, he exuded power. Broad, strong shoulders filled out his dark jacket, and a gray tie with a silver sheen arrowed down a crisp white shirt.
“Yes.” She wondered what time of day he finally gave up and yanked the perfect knot out of that tie. When he surrendered the top button. Another flare of heat shot through her. She hated the way he affected her. She was just so damn aware of him.
It was unfair. She frowned.
“You were saying something about horseshit,” he said smoothly, and she realized she had been sitting there glaring at him in silence for a long while.
She cleared her throat and plowed through what she needed to tell him.
“You can’t redesign the Van Heusen Hotel. It’s a landmark. Did you know the hotel was the first to install elevators? The hotel’s chef created the snickerdoodle. That building is an integral thread woven into the fabric of this city.”
She pressed her lips together. Perhaps she was being a tad theatrical, but the Van Heusen did have historical importance to the city, and beyond that, a personal history to her. She’d gone to college straight from high school and graduated with her business degree, her dream to run the Van Heusen. A dream she’d realized and was currently living until this little snafu.
“Born and raised in Chicago, Ms. Van Heusen. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” he said, sounding bored.
“Then you know remodeling the Van Heusen makes no sense,” she continued, using her best ally: reason. “Our hotel is known for its style. Guests come there to experience a living, breathing piece of Chicago.” She stopped short of going into a monologue about how even the fires couldn’t destroy the dream but opted against it.
“My hotel, Ms. Van Heusen,” he corrected.
His. A fact she’d gleaned only a few minutes ago. A dart of pain shot through the center of her chest. She should have demanded to see the contract her parents signed before sloshing over here in a downpour and parading her nipples for Mr. Suit & Beard. She was almost as pissed at them for keeping this from her as she was for Crane thinking he could strut in and take over.
“No matter who owns the building, you have to know that robbing the Van Heusen of its style will make it just another whitewashed, dull hotel,” she said.
Her stomach churned. If she had to bear witness to them ripping up the carpeting and replacing it with white shining tile or see a Dumpster filled with antique doorknobs, she might just lose her mind. The h
and-carved moldings, the ceiling medallions…each piece of the VH had been preserved to keep the integrity of the past. And now Reese wanted to erase it.
She heard the sadness creep into her voice when she ventured, “Surely there’s another way.”
He didn’t respond to this. Instead he pointed out, “Your parents have been in the red for nearly two years.”
She felt her eyes go wide. Two years?
“I gather this is news to you,” he added, then continued. “Your father’s hospital bills put them further in debt.”
He was referring to her dad’s heart attack last year. Merina had no idea the bills had buried them. She lived in the same house. How had they hidden this from her?
“They came to us to buy the building and we did,” Reese said. “I could have fired them, but I didn’t. I offered a generous pension plan if they stayed on through the remodel.”
A shake worked up her arms and branched over her shoulders. Pension?
“I take it you didn’t know that either.”
“They didn’t want to worry me,” she said flatly, but it didn’t take the sting from the truth. They’d kept everything from her.
Her pie-in-the-sky parents who loved that building arguably as much as they loved each other had to have gone to Big Crane as a last resort. They’d overlooked he had Satan for a son.
“They trusted your father to take care of them,” she said, her anger blooming anew. “Then you waltz in and wipe them out.”
“My father likes your parents, but this isn’t about what nice people they are,” Satan continued. “He mentioned how well they’d maintained the local landmark with what funds they had available.”
Merina’s nostrils flared as she inhaled some much-needed oxygen. Her parents had cared for and upgraded the Van Heusen as best they could, but face it, her family didn’t have the billion-dollar bankroll the Cranes had.
“Your father is a wise man,” she said, pitting the two men against each other. Sure enough, a flicker of challenge shone in Reese’s navy eyes. “I doubt his intention when he purchased the Van Heusen was to turn it into a mini-me of the Crane.”
“My father is retiring in a few months. He’s made it clear the future of the Van Heusen is in my hands.” Reese shrugged, which made him look relaxed and made her pulse skyrocket. “I fail to see the charm in the funky, run-down boutique hotel, and I assume most visitors do as well.”
Funky? Just who did this jerk-off think he was?
“Do you know how many Hollywood actors have dined in our restaurant?” she blurted. “Hemingway wrote part of his memoir sitting on the velvet chair in the lobby!”
“I thought he mostly wrote in Key West.”
“Rumors,” she hissed.
A smirk slid over his lips in a look that likely melted his fan club’s collective underpants, but it had no effect on her. Not now that she knew how far he was taking this.
“You have outdated heating and air,” he said, “elevators that are so close to violating safety codes, you may as well install ladders for the guests on the upper floors, and the wood putty isn’t fooling anyone, Merina.”
At the cool pronouncement of her name, she sat straighter. She’d been told last month that the building inspector had come by for a reassessment for property value, not that he’d be feeding information to the vulture sitting across from her now.
She’d clearly been left out of a lot of discussions.
“The elevators are original to the building.”
“It shows.” He offered a slow blink. “The Van Heusen is stodgy and outdated, and revenue is falling more each quarter. I’m doing your parents a favor by offering them a way out of what will be nothing but a future of headaches.” Reese folded his hands on the desk blotter, expertly avoiding the water gathered there. A large-faced watch peeked out from the edge of his shirt, the sleeves adorned with a pair of onyx and platinum cuff links. “The Crane branding is strong, our business plan seamless. If you love the building as much as you claim to, you’d support the efforts to increase the traffic. We’ll see profits double with an upgrade.” He shook his head. “But not with your parents there. And not with you there.”
A shiver climbed her spine, the rain and Reese’s words having sunk right into her bone marrow. Wait. Was he suggesting…
“You’re…firing…me?”
He remained stoically silent.
“My family’s goddamn name is on the marquee, Crane!” She shot out of her seat and pressed her fingertips onto his desk. Shining, perfect, unscarred. No character. No soul. No history.
Like Reese Crane himself.
“Your family’s name will remain on the building,” he stated calmly. And while those words tumbled around her brain and set fire to the fury that he’d put on to sear, he added, “Your parents are getting close to retirement age. Are you sure you swam over here on their behalf? Or is this about you?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said too quickly. She wasn’t sure at all. Her world had been upended. Like when she’d learned there was no Santa Claus and that her dad had been sneaking downstairs to eat the Oreos all those years. She thought back to her mom telling her about the sale of the Van Heusen and recalled the dash of hope in Jolie’s expression.
Did they want out?
“Think about it, Merina. What I’m offering is more than retirement, and at their age I’m sure they don’t want to find work,” Reese stated. “Running the Van Heusen is all they’ve known.”
If she had said that, the sentence would have been infused with passion hinting at the fairy tale by which they came to own the Van Heusen. When Reese said it, he made the hotel sound like it was a lame, deaf, blind dog needing to be put down.
No. She would not accept this. Not from Reese. Not from her parents. It was possible they’d forgotten how much the hotel meant to them. Not having money created desperate feelings. Her father wasn’t as spry as he once was given his heart condition. Maybe they needed her intrusion.
Reese’s phone buzzed and Bobbie stated, “Ms. Van Heusen’s town car is here, sir.”
“I don’t want it,” Merina bit out, still leaning over his desk.
He angled his eyes up to her and they stayed locked in a heated staring contest until “Very well” came from the phone’s speaker, then clicked off again.
Merina straightened. Outside, the rain started coming down in sheets. Didn’t it figure? An involuntary shiver racked her spine, and possibly her lips were turning blue from her wet hair, but she kept her knees locked and her arms folded securely over her peek-a-boo breasts.
“I have an appointment I can’t miss, but I won’t leave you in suspense.” Reese stood, deftly unbuttoned his jacket, and shrugged out of it. Those shoulders. My God. He was a mountain of a man. Tall and broad and the absolute opposite of what anyone might expect a hotel owner-slash-billionaire to look like.
“Suspense?” she repeated, her voice dipping low when he came out from behind the desk. Her eyes screwed up to meet his as he draped his suit jacket over her shoulders.
“I’m not going to put you out on your fantastic ass, Merina.” His lips tipped—lush lips. His was a mouth made for sin. But then, Satan. So it made sense.
She gripped the jacket when he let go. She should be throwing it at him, but it was warm and she was freezing. And it smelled of leather and money and power. Three things she wished didn’t make her feel safe. What was it about this man? She’d seen pictures of him before, and yes, noticed he was attractive, but in the flesh there was something about him that made her feel utterly feminine. Even at the worst possible times. Like when he was dangling her job over a lava-filled pit and daring her to grab for it.
“I appreciate your reconsidering. I belong at the Van Heusen.” Until she figured out a way to get the hotel back, at least she could be there. She would come up with a way to delay the remodel.
“No, you misunderstand me. I can’t keep you there,” he said, a frown marring his otherwise perfect brow. “But
I can offer you almost any position you’d like at Crane Hotels. We have openings in Wisconsin, Virginia, and Ohio. I know it’s not Chicago, but chances are you can stay in the Midwest.”
He slid past her while she stared at the sheeting rain, her fingers going numb around the lapels of his jacket. Not only was he firing her, but he expected her to work for him? Expected her to leave Chicago? This was her city, dammit! He didn’t reserve the right to boot her out.
When she turned, Reese was pressing a button on the wall. His office doors whispered open.
A balding, smiling man appeared in the doorway and gave Reese a wave of greeting. He noticed her next and offered a nod.
Well. Merina didn’t care who he was; he was about to get an earful. She wouldn’t allow Reese Crane to dismiss her after dropping that bomb on her feet.
She stomped over to the doorway between him and his guest.
“You listen to me, you suited sewer rat.” Disregarding their current third party, she seethed up at Reese. “I’m going to find a way around your machinations and when I do, I’m going to march back in here with the contract my parents signed and shove it straight up your ass.”
Reese’s eyebrows rose, his lips with them. Instead of apologizing to his guest, he grinned over at the balding man, who to his testament was appropriately shocked, and said, “You’ll have to forgive Ms. Van Heusen. She doesn’t like when she doesn’t get her way.”
The balding man laughed, though it sounded a tad uneasy.
Reese tilted his head at Merina. “Will there be anything else?”
“Your head on a pike.” With that parting blow, she left, holding fast to the suit jacket. She wore it on the ride down the elevator, through the bland lobby, and out onto Superior Street, where she wadded it up and threw it into a mud puddle gathering near the curb.
She walked back to the Van Heusen in the rain, telling herself she’d won this round. But Merina didn’t feel victorious.
She felt lost.
Fall in Love with Forever Romance
The Bastard Billionaire Page 29