by Jo Leigh
In the three years she’d known Mitch, she’d never once thought of him sexually. Well, okay. Maybe once. Definitely not more than twice. Less than half a dozen times for sure. He wasn’t her type. Not at all. He was aggressive and impolite and uncultured and boorish. He was the worst of all things: a greatlooking man who knew he was a great-looking man. He walked around as if he could have any woman he wanted. Unfortunately, that was mostly true. What a sad commentary on her sex. How so many women could fall for his easy charm was a mystery to her.
Couldn’t they see who he really was? That he was interested in a woman for one thing, and one thing only? The thought of Mitch Slater making a commitment was laughable. And marriage? He probably couldn’t even go steady without breaking out in hives.
“What’ll you have?”
Bentley looked up, startled by the bartender’s shout. “Piña colada. Heavy on the colada.”
He nodded. She put her purse on the bar and went looking for her credit card. Once it was in hand, she gripped it tightly.
The man next to her bumped her in the shoulder. It was the fourth time, and she was getting pretty tired of it. She needed to be alone. To think. To figure out how she was going to deal with her situation over the next few days. If she approached things logically, everything would be fine. She was sure of that. Logic and reason had saved her time and again.
She’d had a problem with all the suitors Babs had sent her way, and she’d dealt with that calmly and sensibly. She’d invented Carter. Perfect example. Now all she had to do was un-invent Mitch. Make him vanish.
Colker. She smiled. There was only one thing that would make Mitch butt out, and that’s if he got the story. So what if she didn’t get the Pulitzer on this one? It would be worth it.
“Here you go. That’s six-fifty.”
She took her tall glass, bedecked with a tiny paper umbrella, and gave the man her card. He wandered away and she sipped the drink. It was wonderful. As wonderful as her plan.
The bartender was quick, and business was done in a moment. Bentley shoved her way out of the pack without spilling a drop.
The tables were full. All of them except one, on the far side of the bar near the pool. She hurried, racing to claim the territory for America, and she made it. She was safe in her small space, and for the first time this morning, she relaxed.
But not for long.
“Hey, sweet cheeks.”
It was Mitch. Scourge of the South Pacific. He turned a chair and sat, straddling the seat and resting his arms on the back. “That was some nice move up there. Aunt Tildy and I had a real good talk.”
“Only talk?”
He nodded. “Seems I’m not her type.”
“Tildy is a smart woman.”
“She also has a great memory.”
Something in her stomach tensed. He was far too chipper, too eager to chat. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said.
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Let’s keep it that way, okay?”
“Fine,” he said, way too casually. “What’s that you’re drinking?”
“It’s mine. You can’t have any.”
“But the crowd at the bar is ridiculous.” He gave the room a cursory glance. “No waiters around. Don’t you want to share a little with a poor, thirsty guy?”
“No.”
He sighed, very dramatically. “I guess I’ll never know if what Tildy told me is true or not.”
“Oh, God. What?”
“Nothing. Just, you know, about Peter.”
She straightened a bit in her chair while more of her insides tightened. “She told you about Peter?”
“Yep.” Mitch flung his arms out wide and stretched while he looked once more at the crowd at the bar. Then he stood. “Guess I’ll go stand in line.”
“Oh, sit down.” She pushed her drink at him. “Let’s get it over with.”
He did as she said, smiling a happy victory smile that she wanted to wipe off his face. It wasn’t enough for him to take a polite sip of her drink. He gulped it like mother’s milk, making moaning noises the whole time. When he put down the glass, he picked up his smile where he’d left off.
“Go on,” she said. “I don’t have all day.”
“She told me about your motion picture debut. Pretty slick, snookems.”
Bentley felt her cheeks start to warm. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was young. In love.”
“Right. It wasn’t your fault there was a surveillance camera in the greenhouse.” He leaned forward, evil glee lighting up his eyes. “Or that Babs and Danny were privileged to witness the deflowering of their eldest daughter. Only in black and white, but hey, you can’t have everything.”
“I wasn’t deflowered.”
“Hmm. That can go either way.” He picked up her pina colada and took another great sip, leaving her close to nothing. “Evidently, the police officer claimed you didn’t go all the way, but the people your folks had over for dinner—the Butlers, wasn’t it?—said very confidently that you were no longer eligible to be thrown into active volcanoes.”
Bentley folded her arms across her chest and gave Mitch her best stare. Despite the fire in her cheeks, she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing Tildy had told him her most humiliating moment ever. That she’d never gone into the greenhouse again, and that Peter, the boy she’d loved all through junior high and high school, had transferred to a military academy for his senior year. Or that her mother had taken her to the gynecologist the next day to get birth control, even though Bentley had sworn she hadn’t gone all the way.
“Come on,” he said. “Even you have to see the humor in this.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
He dropped his grin and studied her carefully for a moment. “Why not?”
“It wasn’t funny. It was a horrible experience, and I was humiliated.”
“But it’s over. It’s been over for, what, twelve years?”
“The memory lingers.”
“That’s your problem, Brewster. You don’t know how to let things go.”
“Thank you, Dr. Freud. But don’t you have a story to steal?”
“Colker isn’t going anywhere.” He stood up and turned the chair around so he could scoot closer to her. Once he was settled he caught sight of a waiter and flagged him down. He ordered two more piñia coladas, then faced her squarely.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said. “You’re right. It did happen too long ago to matter. I think I’ll skip the drink and go on up to the penthouse.” It was her turn to stand, but Mitch grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t. Just for a minute.”
He didn’t appear to have an ulterior motive. Even if he was Mitch, she’d never known him to be deliberately cruel. She gave in, knowing that if he started anything, she’d be out of there in a heartbeat.
“I’m sitting. Talk.”
“Why is Babs so determined to get you pregnant? I mean, to see that you get pregnant.”
“She wants an heir. For the money.”
Mitch shook his head. “I don’t buy that. Lots of mothers want their daughters to have babies, but with Babs it’s like an obsession. That’s what puzzles me. I mean, with other things, she’s pretty normal. Pushy, but normal. This thing with a baby, though, that’s odd.”
“Why do you care? It has nothing to do with you.”
He looked startled. “Because it makes you unhappy.”
His answer took her breath away for a moment, as if she’d been punched, nicely, in the stomach. But this was Mitch. Dangerous Mitch. She smiled as nonchalantly as she could. “You make me unhappy, but you still won’t leave.”
“You’d miss me if I were gone.”
“Let me find out. Please.”
He reached over and took one of her hands in his. “Off the record, I’m glad I’m getting to know you, kiddo. You’re a real piece of work.”
“Off the record, you’re not quite as bad as I t
hought.”
He made a face and sniffed. “I think I’m gonna cry.
She grabbed her hand back. “Okay. Fun’s fun, but we have a story to get. I’m going up to the penthouse. You’re going to find the delightful Shelli.”
“We have drinks coming.”
“That first one made me full.” She got up again, more determined to leave than before. But for a totally different reason. “I’ll meet you back in the room at one. Okay?”
“I’m synchronizing my watch.”
“You’re such a smart-ass.”
“It’s my job.”
“You do it well.” She left with the image of his smile on her mind. If she’d tried for a hundred years, she could never have anticipated that conversation. He’d caught her completely off guard. First with the Peter incident, but even more so with his observation about Babs.
Her mother was obsessed with having a grandchild. Sadly, the reason wasn’t altruistic in any way. She might say she longed to spoil a baby again, but they all knew that was only a tiny part of it. She wanted an heir, not a grandchild.
It wasn’t just with her, either. Stephanie was going through the same thing. Bentley didn’t know for sure, but she suspected this wedding was Stephanie’s way of appeasing Babs. She hoped not. She hoped Steph was marrying for love. Jack was certainly nice enough for that. But she’d never seen those kind of sparks between them.
But who knew? Things changed over the years. Maybe they’d been hit by Cupid when they least expected it.
Regardless, that didn’t change anything about this weekend. As long as Mitch was here, the pressure to have a baby wouldn’t let up. Not unless she did something to stop it. But what? How could she possibly deal with the baby issue while her hands were full with Mitch? It didn’t seem fair, and for once she was going to do a Scarlett O’Hara and think about her mother problems tomorrow.
In the meantime, she wanted to find Colker. To get Mitch his story so he’d leave her be. So she could have her life back. Her safe, predictable life.
First stop was the front desk. A pretty brunette was manning the station. Four people stood waiting for her attention, and the girl looked flustered. Bentley got in line.
While she waited, she tried to read the girl’s name tag. She’d have bet the farm it read Shelli. The girl looked like someone Mitch could charm. Young, innocent and not too bright. Perhaps that was unfair. Just because Mitch liked her, it didn’t necessarily follow that she’d be dumb. It was just likely.
Moving forward as two people left the scene, Bentley was finally able to read her gold name tag. Shelli it was. The reporter’s instinct was a powerful force. She must remember to use it only for good.
It was her turn next, and she needed to stop congratulating herself on her keen intelligence and figure out what she was going to ask. She couldn’t just blurt out that she wanted to find Darren Colker, so could she please have his room number, and while you’re at it, how about a key? But she could, maybe, find out which penthouse was his.
“Yes, ma’am?” Shelli said sweetly when Bentley reached the polished wood counter. “Can I help you?”
Bentley recognized a hint of a Southern accent. Georgia, or maybe Louisiana. Definitely not south Hawaii.
“I hope so, sugah,” Bentley said, glad that she’d played Blanche Dubois in college. “I’m interested in your suites. Penthouse suites.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have any available right now, Miss”
“Beauregard. Beulah Beauregard, of Baton Rouge.”
Shelli smiled brightly. “Why, I’m from Louisiana. Lake Charles.”
“Honey, I knew you looked like a hometown girl. Now, about those suites…”
“Honest, Ms. Beauregard. We’re fully booked—”
“I don’t need one right now, sugah. I’m thinking of next month, when I come back to this little island paradise with my new husband. He won’t stay anywhere but in the penthouse, darlin.” And I have no intention of disobeyin’ his desires.”
“Well, we have three penthouse suites. Two run at twelve hundred a night, and one is fifteen hundred.”
“That’s all you have? Three?”
Shelli shook her head and her long brown hair swung prettily over her shoulder. “No, ma’am. We have four. But one is a permanent residence.”
“You don’t say. I think that’s a very wise idea, actually. Why bother renting a room, risking that someone else has beaten you to the punch, as it were. I’d like to see that penthouse, if I may.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t show you. Someone lives there.”
“I’m sure if you called and explained the situation, he wouldn’t mind at all. It would be a common courtesy.”
“Oh, no. Not with Mr.—this guest. He wouldn’t like that at all.”
“Do you have another suite just like his?”
“Yes, ma’am. Number 1602 is identical in every way.”
“May I see that room?”
Shelli shook her head, but this time no hair flew. “I can’t do that right now. Not when it’s occupied.”
Bentley leaned over the counter, signaling Shelli to come close. Meanwhile, she dug into her purse and prayed she’d remembered to put her emergency hundred in the secret flap.
“What time do y’all send up your cleaning crew to room 1602? Maybe I could catch a little, itty-bitty peek then.” She folded her hand around the bill, brought it to the desk and slid it surreptitiously to Shelli.
She knew Shelli had recognized the denomination when her eyes opened very, very wide. Then Shelli looked around, presumably to see if any staff were within earshot. The coast must have been clear, because Shelli leaned forward, too, and whispered, “Three-fifteen. Except on Tuesdays. Then it’s four.”
Bentley straightened and gave Shelli a warm, thankful smile. “Sugah, you do the South proud. You be good, y’hear?”
Shelli put the bill in her jacket pocket. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
Bentley turned, anxious to get up to the penthouse. It was only noon, so the cleaning crew wouldn’t be up there for a few hours yet, but she wanted to make certain she knew where she was going when the time was right. She glanced once more at her watch as she walked toward the elevator.
She didn’t make it. Once again, Mitch was in her way. Talk about a bad penny. “What are you doing here?” she said. “Shelli’s at the front desk.”
“Well, shut my mouth, Lulabelle,” Mitch drawled in a terrible Southern accent. “You didn’t tell me you were a rebel. I thought you were a Yankee, and you know how our people hate those damn Yankees.”
“I don’t have time to talk baseball with you, Slater. I have successfully completed half my mission. How about you?”
“Lawzee, Ms. Beauregard. I don’t know nothin ’bout completin’ no mission.”
“You have no business mocking me for masquerading as someone other than myself, Carter.”
“Ah,” he said, using his own voice again. “You’ve got me there.”
“No. I’ve got you here. I want you there.”
“Fine, fine. I’m leaving. But I can’t do anything until Shelli gets off work. And you can’t do anything until the cleaning crew arrives. So why don’t we do it together.”
“Good idea. Let’s go surfing. I’ll meet you in the water.”
Mitch laughed a big old fake laugh. “You are just so cute when you tell me to go to hell. I could listen to it all day.”
“Listen and learn. Now leave me alone. I have work to do.”
“What kind of work?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Mitch opened his mouth, but before he could utter a sound, she’d put her hands to her ears and began singing a reprise of “This Old Man.” She didn’t even care that all the people near her turned and stared. She just walked to the elevator, singing that old song as if she were Ella Fitzgerald herself.
Mitch watched her enter the elevator and let loose with the laughter he’d been holding back. Now the good
people who’d stared at Bentley turned to stare at him. He couldn’t have cared less. He was having too damn much fun.
He had been telling her the truth a minute ago. He didn’t want to go his separate way. It was hard to believe, given his track record, that he liked working with a partner, but there you had it.
Bentley made him think. She also made him laugh. A mighty big duet in his book. He’d always settled for one or the other in a woman, and now he’d found both. In the delightful package of his partner. How about that.
Not that he wanted to make the arrangement permanent. God forbid. He worked alone, played the field and owed no debt to man or beast. He’d learned early to trust only one person—himself. Other people flaked out on you, no matter how badly you needed them.
Turning his back on the elevator, he caught sight of Shelli leaving her post. He hurried that way, wondering if she was just going to the office on some business matter or if it was, in fact, her shift change.
When he got there, another clerk was manning the desk. Shelli hadn’t come out, so he had to assume she was off. And that she was probably going to leave the hotel.
He walked to the right until he found a door marked Private. It wasn’t locked, no reason for it to be, so he went inside.
There was a hallway with three doors off to the side. Walking past the first doorway, he glanced inside a small office and spied a computer on the desk. No one was in there, and the sign on that door said Manager. Checking once to make sure he was alone, Mitch slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him.
The computer was running. It showed some kind of database. There were names running down the left column. Guest names? Wow, yes, there were room numbers three fields away. He started hitting the Up arrow, trying to race past the lower letters of the alphabet before someone walked in.
He’d reached the Ds when he heard someone at the door. He searched for a place to hide, saw none and ducked under the desk just in the nick of time.
It was a wide desk, and he had a bit of maneuvering room, but not enough. If the manager sat down, he would kick him in the side in a minute. The full impact of his lunacy hit him then, and he almost started laughing. It was torture to hold it back when he tried to imagine how he could explain all this. God, they’d send him to jail. Or worse.