by Amy Garvey
He described the final challenge, with wickedly pointed comments about his competitors, while she listened, swatting at the cat all the while. The stupid beast! What was wrong with her tonight? She’d never done anything remotely like this before, and now instead of jumping down and trotting off the way Olivia had imagined, she’d simply backed up, knocking a picture frame off the table.
Letting the covers fall back, and shivering in the chilly air, Olivia leaned over farther, waving her arm at the cat as Rhys finished his story.
“And that’s all she wrote, as they say.” He paused to clear his throat. “I am sorry it’s so late, love. As soon as we were through filming, I wanted to call, but the producers had a whole celebration planned, as well as taping a reunion with the other contestants, and well…I couldn’t get away till now.”
She paused midswat, biting her bottom lip. He’d wanted to call her right away? There went her heart again, thumping in excitement. If he’d been standing in front of her, she would have leaped into his arms, and damn the consequences. As it was, she was grinning like an idiot—and still swiping at the cat, who was going to be renamed Beast the minute she hung up the phone.
God, the stupid thing was actually dipping her paw into the glass. What was she doing? Testing the water temperature? Fishing out a bug?
“Liv?”
The sound of her nickname was so sweet. “Yes?”
“I do have one question for you.”
“Of course,” she said, leaning over as far as she could and grabbing for the cat. “Anything.”
“I wanted to know if my room was still available,” he said softly.
Which was precisely when she tumbled out of bed and hit the floor with a thud.
Chapter 17
W rapped in an old cardigan she’d piled on over a heavy sweater the next morning, Olivia found Josie in the lobby. She was glowing—even her ponytail had more bounce these days. Of course, her nose was glowing because it was so cold in the hotel, but still, it gave Olivia a little rush of satisfaction to see her so happy. She wasn’t exactly sure what had happened between Josie and Gus, but she could guess.
Especially since Gus had been walking around the building with a goofy grin since the day Rhys had left.
“Got a minute?”
Josie sniffed and wound her scarf tighter around her throat. “Sure. I hear freezing to death takes a while.”
Olivia made a face at her but dragged her into the bar anyway, rubbing her sore hip. She’d landed on the floor pretty hard last night, not that anyone but her would ever know about it. “He called.” She sounded like a teenager and she knew it, but she didn’t care.
Josie pounced, understanding immediately. “Rhys?”
Olivia nodded, and then had the air smooshed out of her lungs when Josie enveloped her in a hard hug. “He wanted to know if his room was still available,” she said when she could breathe again.
“And you told him no, I guess.” Josie stood back, her usual wry smile in place now.
Olivia elbowed her, but she was grinning, too. “He’s coming in a couple days, after he ties up some loose ends in L.A.”
“Well, at least you’ll have heat,” Josie said, waggling her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
“Look who’s talking,” Olivia pointed out as they walked back into the lobby. “And speaking of heat, what’s the verdict?”
“We need some,” Josie grumbled. “It’s only November, and this place is already like a meat locker.”
Yelena had come downstairs, wrapped in an ancient fur coat, and with her were Delancey and Frank, as well as several of the out-of-town guests. All of whom were jabbering to poor Rob, on front desk duty this morning and staring in wide-eyed despair at the crowd.
“Oh, Olivia, there you are,” Frank said, sighing. “What’s going on? It’s cold in here, my dear. My toes were blue this morning, and that’s not a good look for anyone.”
“Cold? Is frigid,” Yelena announced, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She hadn’t even bothered with her usual eye shadow this morning, and despite her imperious attitude, she looked old and dangerously fragile to Olivia. “Good thing I have fur. Others not so lucky.”
“I know, it’s freezing, but…Angel’s working on it.” Olivia said, looking to Josie for confirmation.
She nodded, and settled against Gus when he walked into the lobby, his only concession to the cold a striped scarf knotted around his neck.
Herding the out-of-town guests toward the dining room, Olivia told them, “Hot tea and coffee on the house, everyone. It’s an old building, and every once in a while it decides to remind us about that. Of course, last night’s room charges will be waived, as well.”
This drew appreciative noises even as Josie glared at her, but Olivia shrugged. It hardly mattered, in the big picture. When she wasn’t putting out fires or trying to numb the ache of missing Rhys with ice cream, she’d spent the last few days holed up in her office, making plans.
And a few nights’ empty guest rooms wasn’t going to break Callender House, that was for sure. It was already broken, when it came to that. No, what they needed was something new, something fresh, ways to generate income that her father and her grandfather had never thought of.
Selling off some of the residential places as condos had occurred to her, but when she looked at Yelena, and thought of Mr. Mortimer, and Mrs. Gilchrist with her neat little grocery bag and her Social Security check, she didn’t know what to do. Callender House was home to them, and even if Frank and Delancey could afford to find another place in the city, it was home to them, too. A falling down home, perhaps, but home nevertheless.
There was no magic answer, no one thing that would solve all of her problems.
Just like Rhys coming back to New York, to the hotel, didn’t mean that a happy ending would unfurl like some sparkly banner at the end of a fairy tale. She knew better than to expect it now. If she was going to be realistic about the hotel, she figured it made sense to be realistic about her life, too.
But it didn’t mean she couldn’t grab a little happiness where she could. She knew exactly where she wanted to grab Rhys when he walked through the door, too, but the people who had stood by her and Callender House for so long deserved some happiness as well.
Just a slightly different kind.
Yelena had parked herself on the banquette and was blowing her nose as if pneumonia was setting in at that very moment. Olivia sat down next to her and wound an arm around her birdlike shoulders.
“I have an announcement,” she said, waiting until Frank and Delancey and the others turned to look at her. “We’re having Thanksgiving dinner here, just us.”
An array of blank faces met this pronouncement. She blinked.
“On me,” she added quickly. “I mean, on the hotel. I’m thinking a big family feast for the residents and the staff, right here in the dining room, on Thanksgiving Day. To celebrate,” she said when brows began to wrinkle in thought, “the hotel’s new beginning and its history. Its family.”
Well, so much for spontaneity, she thought when no one spoke. But then Frank and Delancey and Yelena surprised her with applause, and everyone else joined in with hoots of approval.
“That’s not exactly a moneymaker, you know,” Josie said when everyone had finally wandered off to find hot coffee. Gus frowned at her, but he didn’t disagree.
“I know.” Olivia leaned on the reception desk and rubbed her hands together. Her fingertips were pink with cold. “But it’s worth doing anyway. And you’ve already sent out the press releases about renovating the restaurant and the Christmas bazaar.”
Josie rolled her eyes. The idea for the Christmas bazaar had been born at two in the morning the other night, when Olivia couldn’t sleep, but she’d handed a list of ideas for it to Josie the minute she walked in the door the next day. Olivia wanted to showcase local artisans and then give half of the proceeds to charity, which would create a newsworthy event as well as good will. Josie couldn’t argue with tha
t, exactly, but she was still looking for ways to get more paying guests into rooms.
“I want to draw the line at selling tube sock snowmen,” she’d said, but she’d typed up a press release all the same.
Olivia grinned at her now, bundled into her scarf with Gus’s arm around her. “It’s harder to be a Scrooge these days, isn’t it?” she whispered.
Josie responded by sticking her tongue out.
Just then, Angel came up from the basement, rubbing his hands together. He looked exhausted, which probably had as much to do with the new baby at home as it did with the boiler. His dark hair was slicked back carelessly, and in his heavy brown sweater he looked like a disgruntled bear.
“Heat’s on.” He held up his hands when Rob and Gus began to clap. “But it’s going to take a while for the building to warm up. So don’t peel off your mittens just yet.”
“Don’t worry,” Josie said with a shiver.
The door behind the reception desk opened and Roseanne stuck her head out. “Olivia! It’s the Post on the phone! I think they’re calling about one of those press releases Josie sent.”
Olivia raised an eyebrow at Josie. “See? I told you it would pay off. Publicity never hurts, especially when it’s free.”
She hurried back to her office, not even trying to hide the grin that stretched across her face. Today was shaping up to be a very good day. Maybe there was hope for this place yet.
A reckless voice in her head added, And for you and Rhys, too.
At eleven o’clock that night, Gus took the elevator down to the first floor. Josie was upstairs in bed—his bed, which was still so amazing to him, he had to repeat it to himself every once in a while—and he’d forgotten the bottle of wine he’d left down in the walk-in. Josef had always let him store perishables in there, and Rusty didn’t seem to mind, either. The minifridge in his suite was hardly big enough for essentials.
He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and then stopped cold. The lights were on, there was some kind of mess all over the stainless steel counter, and music was coming from somewhere.
Folding his arms over his chest and venturing further into the room, he sniffed the air. It smelled good in there, not like the ghost of dinner, but like…fruit. Or perfume. Or fruity perfume. What the hell?
He’d had suspicions about someone deliberately sabotaging the hotel, especially since that was clearly the case on Halloween, but he couldn’t imagine even a really inept saboteur playing music while he or she worked. And leaving the lights on. That was just asking to be caught.
Taking another few steps into the room, he found an enormous pot simmering on the range and leaned over to inspect the contents more closely. It looked like …wax. Or really, really thick soup, which he sincerely hoped wasn’t the case.
He turned around—just as Delancey Pruitt and Frank Garson came in from the hallway, with a shriek of surprise from Frank and a heavy sigh from Delancey.
“Gus,” Delancey said pleasantly, considering the scowl creasing his forehead. “Can we help you?”
“Um…”
“Look, you caught us, all right?” Frank planted his hands on his hips and joined his lover in a scowl. “The kitchen upstairs just isn’t big enough, and with Christmas coming I’ve got more orders than I can handle.”
“Orders?” Gus said curiously.
“Frank’s running a handmade soap and lotion company from our apartment while I slave away in the public school system teaching tone-deaf children to play the triangle,” Delancey said with more than a hint of weariness. “And it’s doing well, if I do say so myself, but it’s almost doing too well. In a manner of speaking. Thus the use of the kitchen after hours.”
Frank gave a fierce nod of agreement, his floppy hair falling over his forehead. “The coconut rum soap is selling like hotcakes,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “If, you know, hotcakes were made of coconut and rum.”
“Uh-huh,” Gus said blankly, but his mind was racing. “Are you doing Internet only sales, or catalog, too?”
“So far just Internet,” Delancey said, pursing his lips as he watched Gus’s face. “But we’ve managed to place product in a few boutiques around town, and they keep selling out.”
“So a store of your own might be a good thing,” Gus said carefully. Josie was probably wondering where the hell he was, but if this idea had legs, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind in the end. “An exclusive brick-and-mortar place.”
“Well, that would be fabulous,” Frank said with a pleased smile as he smoothed his hair out of his eyes. “I can just imagine how I would decorate it, too. A nice soft green, with a lot of warm blues and—”
“The question would be whether or not the business warranted additional staff,” Delancey said carefully, ignoring Frank’s irritated frown. His cool blue eyes were fixed on Gus. “Overhead would be another expense.”
“Unless overhead was, possibly, free of charge. At least at first,” Gus added quickly, thinking hard. “In exchange for a cut of the profits, perhaps.”
“Six of one,” Delancey countered, but he was interested, Gus could tell.
“What are the two of you talking about?” Frank demanded. “Oh shit, this batch is already boiling.” He shooed Gus out of the way to get to the pot.
“Let me think about it, talk to Olivia,” Gus said to Delancey in a low tone. “Before we mention it to anyone else.”
“Good idea.” Delancey clapped him on the shoulder with a companionable smile. “Could work out that this benefits everyone, and wouldn’t that be something of a miracle?”
Gus shrugged, and went to the walk-in to find his wine. Holding it up in good-bye, he said with a grin, “Hey, you never know when a miracle’s going to walk in and kiss you.”
Three days later Rhys shouldered his way through the crowd at LaGuardia, his backpack slung over one shoulder. All he had to do was collect his suitcase from baggage claim and he would be on his way to the hotel. Once upon a time he might have taken the subway, but he had the dosh now—he could splash out on a cab.
And have Olivia in his arms that much sooner. He hoped like hell she didn’t have things to do this afternoon. At least not anything that didn’t involve being naked with him.
He’d stopped fighting it. He was addicted to her, a junkie with only one sure fix. And he was jonesing for his right now, that was God’s truth.
Baggage claim was, of course, a nightmare. He spent the first ten minutes growling under his breath as the empty belt rolled in lazy circles, and finally gave up and trudged to the newsstand for a bottle of water and a paper. Might as well scan the New York news while he was waiting, especially if it would keep him from going berserk on the baggage handlers.
He chose the Post and flipped through it idly, not really reading, one eye on the luggage belt, until an item caught his eye. Callender House: Old Is the New Black.
Curious, he read on—and blinked in surprise at what Olivia had told the reporter who’d interviewed her.
“Callender House, that aging uptown behemoth, is undergoing some changes thanks to owner Olivia Callender. With a successful, and decidedly funky, Halloween ball launching a campaign to attract new business and update its image, Callender says she has plans to completely renovate and rename the hotel’s restaurant, the Coach and Four, now that longtime chef Josef Vollner has retired. ‘We want to honor the traditions that have been part of this place for so long,’ she said, perhaps referring to the new Bohemian look of the lobby, ‘but we’re making some changes that reflect the times, too. A total redo of the restaurant is one of the biggest challenges, but not the only one.’ With old-time charm oozing from its antique bricks, Callender House is positioned to satisfy the cravings of those who love a vintage aura and a loyalty to centuries past, and just might become the hip new destination spot this city has needed for awhile.”
A total redo of the restaurant. He folded the paper and crammed it into one of the rubbish bins just as the luggage belt spewed fort
h the first load of suitcases. Disappointment and something close to betrayal clawed at his chest.
This would be it, then, he decided, scanning the belt for his battered suitcase. He should have known he couldn’t trust anyone, not even Olivia.
Olivia, who had always seemed so genuine, true blue down to her bones. Olivia, who had gently reminded him when no condom was handy, and who had been determined to keep him out of the mess at the restaurant when Josef quit.
But this…Announcing she was going to renovate the restaurant just days after he’d called her with the news that he was coming back to New York? Knowing he’d won the sodding competition and had all that convenient prize money just wasting for him to burn through it?
He spotted his case and wrestled his way through the crowd to yank it off the belt. Bloody hell. Some homecoming.
But…New York wasn’t home, was it? Not really.
Except when it came to Olivia, he mused glumly as he walked outside to find a cab. Olivia had felt like home to him. And no matter how angry he was at the moment, the thought of checking in somewhere else, avoiding her, was as ridiculous as a dog riding a bicycle.
He had to see her. Had to touch her, kiss her, look into her eyes. Had to know, for sure, that she was just like the rest. Like the L.A. women who’d wanted their names in the paper as much as they’d wanted to shag him. Like Clodagh, fabricating a baby to keep him at her side. Like his mother, for God’s sake, lying to him at every turn.
He raised his arm for a cab, his thoughts focused on Callender House. He would see Olivia first, then he would decide.
If she proved him right, he would walk out then and there. And he would cut off his arm before he trusted anyone again.
Chapter 18
S he hadn’t asked him, Rhys reflected a week later, lounging with a magazine in Olivia’s office while she answered e-mails. She still hadn’t asked him to take over the renovation of the Coach and Four. In fact, she’d insisted that Rusty was coming into his own, and she didn’t think he needed help handling the place.