“Aha! So he is planning to sleep with you?”
“Actually, no. I’ve booked separate rooms at the hotel. Gunther has respect for me. I make his business better. You never did. You almost lost him Dorrie Rodgers as choreographer on the TV series because you forgot to give her the contract. I’d never make a mistake like that.” Erica held her chin up. He’s not taking me for sex. He’s had plenty of chances. He’s taking me because he likes me, and I’m good for business.
“Good luck with the dragon, Erica. You’re going to need it.”
“Fine. Be out before the first of the month, so I can terminate the lease.”
“You can count on it.”
Amy went into her room and slammed the door. Erica slumped onto the sofa, exhausted. She piled the new items up next to her. She had begun to dislike Amy more and more, but still, living alone would be hard. Now, she could afford it, but it would mean postponing buying a new car or cutting back on money for her step-siblings.
Is Gunther taking me to New York for sex? I don’t think so. Would I mind? I’m not sure I can be around him twenty-four seven and resist him. Damn, Amy. Trying to ruin my fun. Erica smiled. A suite at The Plaza, dinner at La Côte Bleu, walks in Central Park. She leaned back into the cushions and closed her eyes. Every scullery maid has a right to dream.
* * * *
Erica loaded her suitcase into the trunk of her rust bucket. Her breath came in short spurts, and her hands were clammy. A limousine was scheduled to pick Gunther and her up at the office and whisk them away to the airport at noon. She could barely concentrate enough to drive. This will be better than any vacation I could plan.
She arrived before nine so she could finish a few tasks before they left. She printed out their boarding passes, tucked them into her bag along with the hotel confirmation, and began to answer email.
“Ready to fly away with me?” She jumped as Gunther’s smooth, deep voice startled her. She turned around to see him as she had never seen him before. He was wearing a light blue Henley T-shirt, open at the neck, and snug-fitting jeans that hugged his slim hips and cute butt. Sunglasses rested on the top of his head, and a fleece-lined, black leather jacket was slung over his shoulder. He had two pieces of luggage near the door.
“We’re going to have to pay extra for these bags,” she said.
“Shhh.” He put his finger over her lips, making them tingle. “No worries. I don’t care if we pay extra. We travel in style.”
She smiled up at him. His phone rang. “Gunther Quill Productions. Hi, Gabe. Sure.” She put the call on hold. “Gabe Allison.”
Gunther went into his office to answer the line. Erica turned her focus back to the computer screen and began to type details into a new contract. She didn’t hear the door open. She rose straight up out of her chair when the male voice spoke.
“There you are. I’ve had a helluva time tracking you down,” the voice growled.
Her blood ran cold at the sound of her father’s baritone. She swiveled around in her chair to confront him. His face was puffy. He’s been drinking. Told me he gave that up. His little, green, pig eyes studied her coldly. “Thought you gave up drinking,” she said.
“Yeah, well, you hit a losing streak like we did, and you’d hoist a few, too.”
“What are you doing here? You can’t be here. I work here. This is a place of business.”
“Yeah. Mr. Fat-Cat producer’s office. Mr. Gunther Quill, right? Bet he pays you a pretty penny.”
“That’s none of your business. Get out.” She pushed to her feet.
“I know you’re sending money to Billy.”
She gasped, sinking down into her chair.
“Thought you could fool your old man, eh? Wrong. Yeah, I’ve been using that money for quite a while now.”
Tears of anger gathered in her eyes. “Why you low-down, deadbeat…”
“Watch it!” He raised his arm, his hand flat, aimed at her. “I’m still your father. You treat me with respect.”
“Earn it,” she spat at him, cringing.
With that, he slapped her across the face, hard. She flew backwards and knocked a lamp over on her way to the floor. The commotion brought Gunther out of his office.
“What the hell? What’s going on out here?” When he saw Erica on the floor with her hand on her cheek and tears in her eyes, he rushed over. After helping her up, he turned to her father. “Did you hit Erica? Who the hell are you?”
“Mayburn Wheeler. That’s my daughter. I can hit her whenever I want.” He stuck his chin out.
“I don’t think so! You hit her across the face?” Anger clouded Gunther’s eyes. “Get out. Get out of here before I call the police.”
“She had it coming. She was disrespecting me. She owes me. How much are you paying her? You should fork over half her salary to me. She’s got family in need. She’s got to give us some money. Erica! You come over here.” He pointed to a spot next to him. His eyes flashed. “Tell this man what you did!”
Erica cowered back, still holding her red cheek. Gunther stepped in front of her.
“Get out of here. She doesn’t owe you anything. You’re a drunken mess, poor excuse for a father. Leave!” Gunther raised a fist and approached Mayburn, who wobbled on his feet and retreated for a moment.
As soon as Gunther moved back, Erica’s father inched closer to her. “You’d better send me some money, girl. You owe us. We’re family.” He raised his hand again and stepped toward her.
Gunther moved to cut him off, blocking the man’s hand as he lowered it to strike. One swift punch to the gut by her boss threw the drunken man off balance, and he toppled to the ground. Erica gasped.
Gunther’s voice was threatening, a low, guttural sound she had never heard before. “Get out,” he said, slowly, his anger clearly building. “Get out, and leave her alone. If I hear you ever bother her again, I’ll call the police, and she’ll file assault charges. I’m a witness.”
“You didn’t see anything.”
“I’ll testify and bring the police down on you so hard, you’ll never see the light of day. Get out! And don’t come back!”
Mayburn Wheeler brushed himself off, shot a mean glance at his daughter, and shuffled toward the door. As soon as it closed behind him, Erica started to cry.
Gunther turned toward her and folded her into his embrace. He held her as she sobbed into his chest. Stroking her hair, he whispered, “He won’t bother you again. If he as much as comes within fifty feet of you, call the police then call me.”
She nodded.
“Don’t let him ruin our weekend. We’re flying first-class, gonna have a great time in New York. You and me. Dry those tears.” He handed her his handkerchief. “You can tell me all about this monster on the plane.” He glanced at his watch.
“It’s time to go, right?” She wiped her face and blew her nose.
“That’s attractive.” He smiled and let her go.
She laughed. “Sorry.”
“You’re the one who made the arrangements. Our limo should be waiting downstairs, right?”
She checked the time. “It should.”
“Come on, then.” He stacked his two suitcases and pulled hers behind him. The driver loaded the luggage, and Gunther opened the door for her.
“I think you need a drink.” He unscrewed the cap on a premixed margarita and poured it over ice before he handed it to her. Then, he did the same for himself. He raised his glass.
“To a great opening night, huge box office sales, and fun in the Big Apple.”
She clinked her glass with his and took a big gulp. The warmth of the alcohol and his arm around her soothed Erica.
“Thank you. Thank you for chasing him away.” She snuggled into his shoulder.
“No one hurts my doe-eyes. No one.”
She smiled at him. Being protected was a new feeling for Erica, and she liked it. She liked it a lot.
They checked their luggage, went through security, and settled in the Eagle
Club, a place for frequent first-class passengers. They occupied two sections of a huge sectional sofa, facing a circular window that looked out onto the landing strip.
A waiter brought more margaritas and two sliced steak sandwiches. Erica couldn’t believe how hungry she was. She wolfed down the food, which revived her spirits. By boarding time, the anticipation of an exciting adventure had seized her again. Not going to let Dad ruin this trip. She forced him out of her mind and concentrated on Gunther.
When the airplane was ready to board, he graciously let her have the window seat. They chatted until the plane began to taxi toward takeoff. Erica noticed how white Gunther’s knuckles were as he gripped the armrest. He’s either afraid to fly or afraid of take-offs. She folded her fingers over his hand and squeezed gently. He looked straight ahead, but a small smile curved his lips. Once the they had leveled off, he leaned over and brushed her lips with his.
“Thank you,” he whispered. She nodded, staring into his eyes, which had turned a lighter brown. The beauty of their color wasn’t lost on Erica. She couldn’t pull her eyes away. Something she saw there, an understanding, glued her gaze to his.
“Do you want to tell me about your life, growing up, your father? You don’t have to.”
“I don’t want to spoil our trip by making him the center of attention.”
“Hate him that much, do you?”
“He’s too pathetic to hate. He’s a gambling addict who’s fathered kids he can’t care for. He squanders every cent after the rent is paid. He’s turned his wife into a gambler, too.”
She explained about Billy and Chickie. Rehashing the subject tired her.
“I don’t want to talk about them. I want to be here, in the moment, with you.” She pushed the armrest separating them up into the seat, inched closer to rest her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
“Sleep, doe-eyes,” he whispered. The last thing she remembered was the sweet fragrance of his aftershave mixed with his own special scent.
Another limousine was waiting for them when they arrived at JFK Airport. The ride into the city was slow, building anticipation in Erica. When the car pulled up to the imposing structure on 59th Street and Central Park South, a doorman tipped his hat and opened her door. He helped her out and took the bags from the driver.
Gunther tipped the man generously and followed him up the steps. A bellman commandeered the luggage and led the way to the front desk. They were shown to their room as soon as Gunther signed in.
The suite had double doors that opened into a marble entryway. Through an arch stood an enormous living room restored to its earlier glory. A large, sectional sofa upholstered in ivory velvet shared stage center with a white grand piano standing by large windows facing Central Park.
The walls were covered in gold and ivory textured wallpaper to the chair railing molding halfway down the walls. Below that was painted a metallic gold. The floor was tiled in gold and ivory tiles with a soft pink area rug covering most of the floor. The room took Erica’s breath away.
Gunther’s instructions had been followed to the letter. On the small chest by the archway, there was a large vase filled with freshly cut seasonal flowers, adding orange, yellow, and pink to the color scheme. A tray of fine cheese and fruit along with a box of Godiva chocolates were set out on the low, white wood coffee table. A silver bucket filled with ice cradled a bottle of Dom Perignon. Two flutes awaited. The bellhop carried all the luggage into one room.
Chapter Five
Gunther called him back and had Erica’s bag deposited in her room. His was across the entryway.
Mesmerized by the lights of New York at night, Erica stood transfixed at the window. In the morning, I can see the fall colors in the park. She turned when she heard the door close. Gunther stood alone in the foyer and joined her.
“Don’t you want to see your room?”
“Of course!” She headed for the white door with the ornate gold knob. After switching on the light, a fairytale chamber came into view. A queen-sized, canopy bed dominated, with lavender-papered walls. Heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes were closed, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere. The bed was covered in an elegant spread of dark purple and lavender-striped silk. The same fabric appeared on the canopy. A wood chest, stained white, was topped by an antique ceramic bowl and pitcher in a pink and white floral design.
Behind a small curtain was a large screen television. The rich, deep pile rug was dark purple. Six pillows in pinks, light greens, and white graced the bed. She wanted to throw herself down on it and disappear, sinking into the plump softness. I feel like I’m eight years old, a fairy princess in a dollhouse. She lay down and spread out. If Gunther would join me...
He stood in the doorway. “Meet your standards, your majesty?” he asked, bowing.
“It’s beautiful. A dream come true.”
He grinned. She pushed up and joined him. “Champagne?” he asked.
“Wonderful.” She wandered over to the window and watched the traffic below.
They took their drinks into their respective rooms to unpack. Almost blinded by the brilliance of the bright light in the white marble bathroom, Erica set her makeup bag on the spotless counter. A roomy shower stall, a bidet, and two sinks filled the large space. Of course, two people are meant to share this bathroom, using two sinks at the same time. A shiver ran up her spine at the thought of being in here naked with Gunther.
“Like it?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“It’s amazing.”
“Big enough for two,” he snickered. Heat rose to her face. “Embarrassing you?”
She nodded and laughed. Gunther placed his toilet kit next to the other sink and left. As she turned to go, Erica spied two fluffy, white terrycloth bathrobes hanging on the back of the door. She pictured them lounging on the sofa, wearing nothing but those robes and sipping champagne. Her pulse kicked up.
When she walked into the living room, Gunther patted the sofa next to him. “Sit with me.” His gaze studied her, traveling from head to toe. “What’s our schedule? I know we’re going to the show on Saturday, but what about tomorrow?”
Erica pulled her phone from her bag. “Tomorrow, lunch with Max Webster and maybe Cara Brewster. If we win back the sister, Grace might follow. Tomorrow night, dinner with Greg Goldmeyer, Ervin Hammer, and Nelson Kruger. Who are they?”
“First two are producers of Strange Bedfellows. Nelly is the screenwriter. Where are we going?” Gunther pushed to his feet and began to pace, running his fingers through his hair.
“I got a couple of recommendations from Dorrie Rodgers. La Côte D’Or and Café Limoges.”
“French food, eh?”
“They have steak and pommes frites…French fries…you’ll be fine.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. You pick the restaurant.”
“I already did. Café Limoges.”
You need a change in your bed—me. She’d never seen him rumpled before. A few independent locks of hair hung over his forehead, his shirt was untucked and wrinkled. He looked sexier than ever. She longed to touch him, comb back his unruly hair with her fingers, caress his rough cheek, and kiss his inviting lips.
“You’re not a picky eater, are you?” She tucked her legs underneath her.
“Of course not. I’m just…particular.” He set his jaw, but kept moving.
“You are a picky eater! I’ll be damned. I’ll bet your mom spoiled you, too. Giving you only the foods you liked best.”
Now it was his turn to blush. “She liked to make me happy. Something wrong with that?” He stopped pacing to turn toward her. The expression he wore reminded her of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“And did your dad go along?” Her tone was light and teasing, but his face clouded over. His cute innocence dissolved into a dangerous scowl.
“I don’t discuss my father. He’s dead. Leave it alone.”
Her senses picked up his pain immediately. “I’m sorry.”
In a flash, Gunther’s mask returned and his vulnerable expression evaporated. He shot her a sexy look. “Yeah? How sorry?” His cover-up of raw, hurtful memories was familiar. She’d done it a thousand times herself. Divert attention to something else—the weather, food, sex, anything—and take the pressure off a painful, emotional wound.
“Not quite that sorry,” she snickered. But if you touch me, I might crumble.
“I’m starved. Let’s eat in tonight,” he said, changing the subject. He found the card with the room service menu, and they huddled together planning a meal.
“It won’t be here for a while.”
“I’m going to take a shower,” Erica said, launching herself off the sofa and almost skipping into the bathroom. She peeled off her clothing and turned on the water. The heat melted anxiety out of her muscles. The room steamed up quickly. The warm, moist air circulated through her lungs, soothing her frayed nerves and relaxing her body. The special soap smelled of pears and lathered well. There was a loofah, too. She scrubbed herself clean.
With a thick towel around her wet hair, she slipped on the white robe and opened the door. She wound the fluffy fabric tighter around her warm body to keep out the chilly air. Gunther must have been in his room because the living room was empty when she peeked in. Returning to her room, Erica pulled out a dark pink, short nightshirt and matching knee-length workout pants. The material was thin. Too revealing for my boss. She covered herself with the robe again and padded barefoot toward the sofa.
Gunther answered a knock on the front door. He wore jeans, but no shirt when he let in room service. He tipped the waiter, signed the check, and they were alone again. While she was sneaking a quick look under each metal dome at the artfully arranged food, Gunther slipped into the bathroom. He returned sporting the other robe over his jeans, hiding his bare chest.
“Now we match. Hungry?”
“Starved!” She smiled. Never thought I’d be in this glamorous place with this sexy man.
Gunther unwrapped a basket of French rolls and butter. Erica took the cover off a sliced steak sandwich. “I believe this is yours,” she said, passing the food to him.
Lovers & Liars Page 7