by Joanna Shupe
“I am not upset over the ship,” he lied. “Yes, I was disappointed when I could not find you, frustrated you left without saying good-bye, but there are worse problems at the moment.” No need to mention he’d ordered his secretary, Gabriel, to track her down, that he would have found her eventually. “I’m upset you lied to me.”
“That I lied to you?”
He pointed at the leather case on the rug. “When those plans were filed, when the contracts were signed, I was promised that E. M. Hyde would be in New York to oversee this project—not his daughter.”
She swallowed hard but her voice did not waver. “He has fallen ill and asked me to come in his stead. I am entirely qualified. He’s been mentoring me all my life—”
“I did not pay a bloody fortune to get second best, Eva. This is a three-million-dollar hotel with my name on it. I paid for E. M. Hyde and I damn well want him!”
“You are passing judgment on me without even giving me a chance. I’m more than capable to do this.”
A woman . . . serving as the project’s architect? The idea was ludicrous at best. At worst, it was dangerous.
He clenched his fists and watched the blazing fire in the hearth. What was he supposed to do? Construction was scheduled to start tomorrow. He hated feeling this way, as if he’d lost control of the project before it even began. “When will he recover?”
“The physicians are uncertain, but he is able to answer cables and letters. I know the plans inside and out. I can do this, Phillip. I would never claim otherwise, knowing what his reputation means. He’s spent a lifetime building his legacy. I would not dare do anything to ruin that.”
“It’s more than knowing the plans. You’ll be expected at the site, which is hardly a safe place for a lady. Not to mention the crew. These are rough, often crude, men who are not well versed in genteel manners. Have you thought of that?”
“This is not the first project I have overseen. I promise, I have dealt with all of this before.”
“Yes, but not my project and certainly not one this high profile. Goddamn it.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I should fire you on the spot.”
“But you won’t.” She reached for her satchel. “I’ll prove to you that I know the project. I have a few ideas for the ladies’ drawing room on the main floor.”
Despite his anger he was intrigued. “Your father and I settled on Italian marble and frescoes.”
“I prefer French. I’d like to recreate Marie Antoinette’s apartment.”
“Fine, let’s see these ideas. But Eva?” He threw her a hard glance. “They had better be good.”
At least he hadn’t discharged her. Yet.
Eva tried not to fumble as she opened her satchel and removed the revised sketches for the ladies’ drawing room. He hadn’t raised the issue of her nickname, so perhaps he hadn’t yet heard of it. God knew she certainly had no intention of telling him.
Especially since he appeared on the verge of losing his temper.
The man behind the desk was entirely different than the one she’d met on the ship. On the journey he had seemed . . . playful. Charming. Relaxed. This version was all hard edges and sharp focus. A ruthless scion of business who commanded a room with his mere presence.
Shocking to admit, but she’d much rather deal with the charismatic bon vivant. At least then she’d have known what to expect.
Standing, she unfurled a long piece of tracing paper on the desk. Phillip came around the large piece of furniture to stand beside her. “The room is already oval,” she explained, “so we merely need to add some recesses and lower the ceiling height to inset it a bit.” She pointed to a detailed sketch of the front view. “Glass mirrors here, here, and here, with chandeliers in front of each. All white enamel woodwork with French furniture. We’ll have an artist paint a fresco on the ceiling.”
“You’re certain this is close to the original?”
“Yes, it’s almost identical.”
He stroked his jaw and studied the drawings. “I’ve written to Will Low to see if he’ll do some original paintings. Perhaps I can add this fresco to his list.”
Hope sparkled in her chest. “So you like it?”
“It’s different. No one’s attempted anything like this, not here, and I think the publicity will help when the time comes.” He turned his head toward her. “Your sketches are quite good. No one helped you with them?”
She clenched her jaw, tamping down the urge to shout at him. “I did them all by myself.”
“It is clear you’ve inherited some of your father’s talent. However, this does not alleviate my concerns.” He leaned a hip against the large rosewood desk and folded his arms, calling attention to his ridiculously broad chest. A flash of bare muscular shoulders on white cotton bedclothes ran through her mind, a sight she was unlikely to ever forget.
Suddenly itchy and uncomfortable, she pulled at the collar of her shirtwaist. His gaze dipped to her throat—and his nostrils flared.
The mark. He must have seen the fading mark he’d left on her skin the other night.
She dropped her hand but not before the dark, primitive satisfaction reflected in his eyes caused gooseflesh to erupt on her arms. Awareness buzzed between them, the memories of passionate kisses and heated words. Part of her expected him to gloat, to throw her wanton behavior directly in her face.
Instead of commenting, however, he spun on his heel and returned behind his desk. Her skin went up in flames, a reaction she prayed he wouldn’t notice.
“And what of your reputation, Lady Unlucky?”
So he had heard about her. She struggled not to let him see how much the nickname bothered her. “A silly exaggeration by gossips with nothing better to do with their time.”
“While you and I may believe it silly, the public are a superstitious lot. If there’s any hint the building is cursed not a soul will ever stay there. Your involvement alone jeopardizes the entire project.”
“I am not cursed.”
“Three dead fiancés in as many years says otherwise.”
She flinched but did not evade his scrutiny. “I did not murder them, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t, but thank you for clearing that up. Were you in love with any of them?”
The question caught her by surprise and she gaped at him for a brief moment. Finally, she managed to ask, “How on earth is that any of your business?”
He lifted an arrogant shoulder. “Three seems a high number for such a young woman. Did you not mourn them properly? I think likely not, which makes me wonder: Why was your father so desperate to marry you off?”
Her ears buzzed with embarrassment. Each fiancé had been a calculated business move on the part of her father, either for a project or money. She’d been a pawn in the schemes of men, something she’d sworn never to become again.
Still, Phillip had no right to any of that information. “Not that it matters, but he was not desperate to marry me off. I was quite fond of each man.”
He made a disbelieving sound in his throat but didn’t argue the point. “This project must run smoothly. Even if the workers are fine with working under a woman—which is a big if, I might add—the nickname ensures they’ll be looking over their shoulders for trouble at every turn. I cannot have them skittish and causing accidents. I am afraid—”
“I won’t tell anyone who I am,” she blurted. No idea where the thought came from, but now that she’d said it this appeared the perfect solution.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll pretend to be Hyde’s secretary instead of his daughter. We’ll make up a name.”
“In which case you’ll have no real power. As his daughter and a lady, you would command a certain level of respect. As a secretary, you’d be merely an ineffectual substitute for your employer until he arrives in New York. Is that truly what you want?”
After all the hours she’d spent laboring over these drafts, poring over every detail of the hotel’s interior and ex
terior, she could not walk away. And seeing as how her father would never arrive in New York, she had to see this through for him—for them—even if she had to battle every foreman, mason, carpenter, and imperious owner to do it.
“Yes, that is what I want.”
“Why?”
Because she needed to see her work finished, the final result towering over the city for generations to come. Not to mention the money that ensured her father would receive the best of care as his health declined. But Phillip need not know any of that. He believed this her father’s work. “This project means a great deal to my father. He is quite passionate about what you hope to accomplish here and is invested in ensuring the hotel lives up to expectations.”
“His name lends incredible weight to the publicity. People shall travel from all over the world to stay in this hotel.”
A hotel completely designed by her.
Eva tried not to rub her hands together in glee. “Is it all settled, then? Have we completed our chat?”
“No.” He leaned back in his chair. “I have agreed to nothing. None of this is ideal.”
“I realize I’ve caught you by surprise. But it’s merely temporary,” she lied.
“How temporary?”
She lifted a shoulder. “A month. Six weeks at most.” Hopefully she could convince him to let her stay at the end of that period.
He heaved a sigh. “As long as you stay in constant contact with your father during that time. I want him updated regularly of all that’s happening and offering guidance. That way, it’ll be like he’s really here.”
Instead of you.
Like nearly every male Eva had ever encountered, Phillip believed women were incapable of anything other than gossip and menial tasks. They distrusted any female with half a brain and attempted to demean her at every turn.
You know you can do this. Tell him what he wants to hear and then prove yourself indispensable.
“Yes, I shall do exactly that.”
His frown had yet to diminish. “There is one more item I’d like to discuss and it pertains to what happened on the ship.”
She had hoped he wouldn’t raise the topic. Ever. Was it not bad enough she’d always remember making a fool of herself with him? “There’s no reason to discuss it. That shall not be repeated.”
“Agreed. Any sort of continuation is out of the question. As your employer, I must maintain a professional distance to not affect the project on which we are collaborating.”
“Rest assured we are in agreement on this.”
He dipped his chin. “Go home and I’ll see you at tomorrow’s ceremony.”
“Does this mean you are letting me stay?”
“Until I am able to figure out another solution, it seems I have little choice.”
Phillip surveyed the crowd gathered in the warm summer morning. Politicians, reporters, friends, and acquaintances had all turned out for the announcement regarding the hotel’s construction. He adjusted his cuffs and tried not to stare as Eva hurried toward the platform erected for the event.
Thank goodness she’d worn a high-necked gown to cover that ridiculous mark he’d left on her skin. What man of his age did something so foolhardy? He hadn’t given or received a love mark since he was in his teens, for hell’s sake. All he could recall was drowning in her delicious smell, the softness of her skin, and the way she’d held him tighter as he nibbled and sucked her throat. A wave of sharp awareness rolled through him, one that he tamped down immediately.
He’d lost his mind, apparently. That he was allowing this, allowing her to stay on the project, smacked of recklessness. She’s worked her way under your skin, Mansfield.
No, absolutely not. She had not affected him, nor would she. He would not allow it, no matter how well she kissed. Three dead fiancés meant scandals—and Phillip abhorred scandals. Hated negative attention of any kind.
Eva reached him, her boot heels thumping on the wooden dais. Her red hair was neatly tucked under a wide straw bonnet secured with a peach ribbon under her chin. She appeared young and fresh-faced . . . and damn delectable.
“Is something the matter?” Eva stood in front of him, staring at him as if he’d gone round the bend.
“I’m fine—and you are late.”
Her eyes flashed then cleared. Had that been anger? “I apologize. I had difficulty securing a hack. Shall we get started?”
“Yes, but have you decided on a name for this ruse?”
“Oh.” She bit her bottom lip and studied her shoes for a moment. “How about Miss Ashford? That was my mother’s maiden name.”
He nodded and motioned to the mayor that they should get started. Mayor Grant quieted the crowd and spoke first. After a brief welcome, he talked at length about the Mansfield family and their contributions to the city, as well as the progress happening all around them. He thanked Phillip on behalf of the city and then a round of applause went up.
Phillip stepped forward and shook the mayor’s hand. Then it was his turn. He put forth his vision for the hotel, discussing the designs Hyde had produced, and how they hoped to change luxury travel in the United States forever. “Allow me to introduce the team behind the Mansfield Hotel. On the end is John Milliken, the head of our general contractor, Milliken Brothers. Beside him is Alfred Carew, the project’s construction superintendent. Then Miss Ashford, here on behalf of our architect, E. M. Hyde, Lord Cassell. Anyone have any questions for me this morning?”
“Mr. Mansfield,” called a heavily mustached reporter. “Is E. M. Hyde planning to travel to New York to oversee the project?”
“Yes, though it’s uncertain exactly when. His lordship has fallen ill in London and cannot travel at the moment. Miss Ashford will serve as the liaison in the meantime.”
“Does that concern you?” another reporter asked.
Yes, for several reasons. “No. Miss Ashford is entirely competent and modern advances in communication allow us to stay in close contact with his lordship. Without a doubt, the hotel shall not only meet my standards but also the standards of every New Yorker.”
A pencil went in the air. “The timeline for your hotel is ambitious, Mr. Mansfield. Any worries you cannot fulfill it?”
“Not at all. We are extremely confident the project can be completed in two years. I plan to be directly involved on the day-to-day decisions and moving this forward as rapidly as I can.” Eva made a small noise behind him but he remained focused on the crowd.
The reporters scattered a few minutes later and Phillip thanked the mayor and the other politicians on the dais. Just as he was turning to find Eva, a hand landed on his shoulder. Turning, he found James Keene, second in command at Tammany Hall, the powerful—and corrupt—political machine that ran New York.
“Mr. Mansfield,” Keene said with a well-oiled smile, reaching to shake Phillip’s hand. “Congratulations. You must be quite excited to get under way.”
“Hello, Keene. Yes, indeed I am.” He hadn’t been surprised to see Keene and a few of his cronies in the crowd today. No one built a property as big as the Mansfield Hotel without Tammany trying to get a slice of the pie. They had pushed to control the construction and Phillip had resisted. When the permits had stalled at the city, however, he’d been forced to appease Tammany with a large “donation” in exchange for the demolition work. Very large, in fact.
So what the hell did Keene want now?
Keene surveyed the flat area that had been cleared. “I came to wish you luck. Should be a beautiful hotel when it’s finished.”
“That is certainly my intention.”
“Boys did a thorough job on your demolition, wouldn’t you say?”
Phillip crossed his arms over his chest. What was this parlor-room talk really about? “They did. I have no complaints.”
“You know, it’s not too late to let us help with the construction. We have some of the best masons—”
“That’s not necessary.” Tammany was like a Hydra; every head you cut off sprang two mo
re. Phillip refused to give them another opening. “Our contracts are signed and we are set.”
Keene slapped Phillip’s shoulder. “You drive a hard bargain, Mansfield. I like that about you. Not much different from your father. He was a tough one when the mood struck him, too.”
Phillip had heard this many times over the years, though his memories of his father were scant. Phillip had been just five when his father died.
“But he also knew how to keep the peace,” Keene finished. “You don’t want to make enemies on your first project here in New York, do you?”
“Is that what we are now, enemies?”
“No, no. We’re not looking to start trouble here but you must spread things around, especially with a British architect instead of a New Yorker like Mr. White or Mr. Mead. And Milliken and his crew are from Chicago. Carew’s certainly not one of us, being a Negro and all. We cannot have the locals resentful at being locked out.”
Phillip didn’t give a damn what the “locals” were feeling. He’d hired the best people for the job, period. Not to mention that most of the laborers were immigrants living right here in the city. But he wasn’t fooled: Keene’s supposed concern was reserved exclusively for the wealthy politicians looking to skim off the project through graft.
He struggled to remain calm and keep his voice even. “What you fail to see here is that my money is backing this project. That means I get the final say. I won’t be strong-armed, not even by Tammany.”
Keene stroked his jaw thoughtfully, gaze sweeping over the empty plot. “If that’s the way you want to play it, Mansfield, then I’ll be certain to let Croker know.”
“You do that,” Phillip said and turned on his heel, ready to find Eva.
He found Milliken waiting instead. His general contractor wore his usual unhappy expression, looking a bit like a fireplug, with flat, hard features. “Mr. Mansfield, may I have a word?”
The two of them stepped to the edge of the platform for privacy. Phillip slipped his hands into his pockets. “What is it?”
“Sir, that woman, Miss Ashford. Is she overseeing the plans? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”