A Gentleman's Affair

by Linn, A. J.

  And…so it begins.

  Chapter Eleven

  ~Swatches, fabrics and paint, oh shit~

  Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that redecorating the hotel would require the hundreds of emails that Scarlett has sent over the weekend. Alright, there were closer to fifteen. Monday morning has begun with a bang, as usual. I click open each attachment, look over the fabrics, paint samples, furniture options, and quickly put in a call to Scarlett. As much as I want to be included in every single aspect of this project…this is not my forte.

  Ringing…ringing…ringing. No answer. Fuck, I hate leaving messages. “Scarlett, Donovan Hart here. I received your emails and I would like to set up a meeting to go over all of this. Call me when you get a chance.” I go back to my emails, replying to Russ Montrose, one of the investors of Pisa, regarding some problem with one of the licenses for the build.

  Just as I am about to leave my office my cell rings. I look at the screen to see who it is before answering and seeing that it is Scarlett, I quickly answer.

  “Scarlett, hello. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.” I breathe a sigh of relief as I hear her voice.

  “No problem, Mr. Hart. You wanted to set up a meeting?”

  “Yes. I took a look at everything and honestly, I just need to sit down with you to go over all of this.”

  “Um, sure. Just say when.” I hear a bit of worry in her voice as she replies. This is, in fact, her first big account. I know how nervous she is about it and very eager to please me, as well.

  “Do you have any free time in your schedule this afternoon?”

  “I do. Is one o’clock okay for you?”

  “That will be just fine. See you then.” I hang up, switch off my computer and leave my office, walking down the corridor to the front desk.

  “Dawn, check the guest list please. I need to know which suites are not going to be occupied for the afternoon.” I watch as she punches the keyboard in search of the information.

  “We are almost full, sir. But it looks like 2207 and 2217 are free.” She pulls up a second screen and points. “Okay, 4218, 5244 and 6012 are all available still.” She writes down all of the suite numbers and hands me the sheet of paper. “Do you want me to put a hold on these for you?”

  “Yes, thank you, just until around three, please. Miss Montgomery is on her way to the hotel, and I want her to have a second look at the different suites as they are now.” I fold the paper and slip it into my front pocket, walking down the corridor to my private elevator.

  Changing from my more casual yet typical Monday morning attire of jeans and black button down shirt to a nice but casual dark blue pin-striped suit, crisp white dress shirt, no tie, for my meeting with Miss Montgomery, I take a look in the full length mirror, smoothing my hair back with my hands. Perfect. Business casual and pretty damn sexy, if I do say so myself. I smirk at myself in the mirror, remembering to get the slip of paper out of my jeans before I leave my penthouse, feeling a little anxious about seeing her again and wondering why.

  On the ride down to the lobby, I check the time on my watch…twice, smooth out my suit jacket, wipe a bead of sweat from my brow, take in a deep breath. What the fuck is going on with me today? Pull it together, man…

  I step out of the elevator and right away I see Miss Montgomery walking towards me in an almost slow-motion, fan-blowing-the-hair-away-from-her-face, smoking-hot-chick-in-a-movie sort of way. She is even more beautiful than I remember.

  “What timing we have,” I chuckle, reaching out my hand as I get closer to her. “It’s so nice to see you again, Scarlett.”

  “You too, Mr. Hart.” Her eyes light up. Her smile is intoxicating.

  I am once again reminding myself that I don’t date women that I do business with. And besides, there is Rebekah. My sweet Rebekah. Back home in Florida…

  “Donovan, please.” I wink at her quickly wondering if I should have done that, but it’s my nature. I am a flirt—what can I do? “Why don’t we go to my office? We can go over the emails you sent before we take a look at the suites again.”

  She nods and walks along side of me down the corridor.

  Patrice is at her desk typing away, looking busy as always. I stop just outside of my office as we walk through reception, looking over at Scarlett. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?” I ask, trying again not to linger too long as I become mesmerized by the gold flecks in her eyes again.

  “Water would be great. Thank you.” She smiles and glances over in Patrice’s direction. “It’s nice to see you again.” Patrice smiles back at her, returning the pleasantries before commenting on her outfit, but I quickly interrupt before they start a full-blown conversation about designer clothes.

  “Patrice, a water for Miss Montgomery and coffee for me, please.” I nod and then lead Scarlett into my office, telling her to take a seat in the over-sized chair just opposite of my desk.

  “Right away, sir,” Patrice replies sarcastically as she stands and walks in the direction of the small kitchenette just off of our offices. We have known each other for a long time and she only refers to me as “sir” when she wants me to know that she thinks that I am being an ass. I find it rather hilarious, to be honest.

  “So, you had questions about the emails I sent?” Scarlett asks, getting right down to business. I like that about her already.

  “Yes. Mostly about the fabrics, the colors and the prints. So, basically everything,” I laugh, realizing that I sound like an idiot. “That is just not my area of expertise.” I pause to thank Patrice for our drinks, then continue on. “I have a picture in my head of what I’d like, but seeing a piece of fabric in an email makes it hard for me to picture the final product.”

  “I get what you’re saying. Those samples that I emailed are examples, mostly for me to get an idea of your likes and dislikes.” She pulls a brown leather binder from her briefcase and sets it in front of me on my desk, opening it to the first page. “These are all of the samples that I sent you. Maybe it will be easier now seeing them in person.” She flips through the pages, explaining what each swatch is meant for, which color of paint will go where, etc.

  I throw my hands up, laughing, confused and overwhelmed. “So, bottom line. Where do we begin?”

  “Wherever you would like to begin. The lobby or the restaurant? The suites? You tell me, Donovan.” She smiles sweetly, but I can tell that she is trying to hold back from laughing at my lack of decorating knowledge.

  “Alright,” I say, laughing at my smart-ass response.

  “Hmm, I can see that you will be my most challenging client, Mr. Hart,” she teases as she raises her brow at me.

  “Most definitely,” I agree, smirking as I take a sip of coffee and enjoying the banter between Scarlett and me. This may be more enjoyable than I thought.

  “So? Where do you want to start?” she asks again.

  “Well, seeing that we are coming into August and that is the last busy month before things slow down in September, maybe we should hold off on the suites and the restaurant for now? Begin with my office and then my penthouse?”

  “That’s perfect I think,” she agrees. “Then you can get your feet wet before we start on the rest of the property.” She begins to scan my office, and I sit back in my chair grinning, waiting for her suggestions.

  Fuck! Why am I grinning like an idiot? I contain myself and quickly slap a serious look on my face. First of all, you are in the beginning stages with Rebekah—don’t fuck that up. Second, you don’t date women that you do business with. Remember? Stop looking at her like that. Get a grip, man!

  “Yes, perfect,” I add, forgetting what she just said. “Have you eaten?”

  “Uh, not since breakfast.” She closes the binder and puts it back into her briefcase.

  “Would you like to join me for a quick bite? Then we can talk more about the project, of course.” Who am I trying to convince of this? Yes, I meant the project. Stop jumping to conclusions. Besides
, there is no harm in enjoying her company, is there?

  “I would like that. Thanks.” We both stand and leave the office. I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her to the hotel restaurant.

  “Have you eaten here before?” I ask, pulling out a chair for her.

  “No, but I’ve heard that you have the best fish tacos in Southern California here.” She smiles that beautiful smile of hers as she sits down at the table. I try my best not to stare at those full lips of hers, my mind flashing reminders of Rebekah and our weekend together.

  “You heard correct, Scarlett.” I pull out my chair and join her. “May I order for you?”

  “Yes please.” She unfolds her cloth napkin and sets it on her lap as she looks around the room. I can tell that she is sizing up the dining room for redecorating by the look on her face. She is definitely in “work” mode.

  Kelsey, one of my waitresses, quickly comes over to take the order, filling our water glasses with Pellegrino before taking out her pad and pencil. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hart. What can I bring you today?”

  “Kelsey,” I greet her with a nod before ordering. “Two of my usual and a bottle of the Albarino please.” Smiling, I thank her before she goes off to put in our order.

  “Your usual?” she asks inquisitively, with a raised brow.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll love it,” I say, shooting her a sly wink and quickly wishing that I hadn’t. Stop flirting, Donovan…just stop.

  Kelsey quickly returns with the wine, pouring just enough for a taste into my wine goblet. I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip. “Perfect. Thank you, Kelsey.” She fills both of our glasses before going to the kitchen to check on our lunch.

  Scarlett takes a small sip, closing her eyes as the wine trickles down her throat. “Mmm, this is delicious. You sure know your wine, Donovan.”

  “A little.” I nod. “My mother loved wine and she would let me have a small glass at dinner starting at a young age, so I suppose I developed a taste for it early on.“

  “That’s a big thing in Italian families, I’ve heard.”

  I nod in agreement as I take another drink.

  “Do your parents live here in Malibu?”

  “My dad does. But my mom passed away seven years ago.” I give her a slight smile, not wanting her to feel bad for her asking.

  “I’m so sorry, Donovan. I had no idea.” She frowns, keeping her eyes on mine.

  “No, it’s fine. It was a terrible car accident and she was killed instantly.” Kelsey approaches the table and sets our plates down, asking if we need anything else. “I think we’re all set, thank you.” I turn my attention back to Scarlett and my meal. “She didn’t suffer,” I say, smiling, nodding—doing anything I can think of to get off the subject. I take a bite and notice that she isn’t eating. “Mangia. Please…eat,” I urge, in true Italian fashion.

  She looks down at her plate, then smiles up at me. “Fish tacos? Very nice, Donovan.” She doesn’t waste another second and digs right in. I think she can tell that I want a subject change, and I am thankful when she turns the conversation back to business.

  Now I actually welcome the discussion over swatches, fabrics and paints…

  Chapter Twelve

  ~Out with the old~

  The time has come to have a discussion with my dad regarding that old desk in my office. I’ve been avoiding this conversation for far too long now. Anything that reminds him of Mom and the happier times when they ran La Fuga together is never a conversation that I want to start. He still spends most of his time in that garden, tending to Mom’s beloved flowers. I have tried many times to get him interested in anything else since her death and continue to fail. Now I just leave him to what he enjoys—the garden.

  As I drink my morning coffee, I take a look out of my penthouse window which overlooks the courtyard, and as always, Dad is already there. His daily routine consists of coffee to go from Joe’s, grabbing the morning paper and spending a couple of hours sitting and reading on the bench near the fountain.

  I take a deep breath as I make my way down, wishing that the elevator would break and trap me inside. As I walk outside, I observe my once full-of-life dad as he sits and reads the sports section. He doesn’t even look up to see who is walking his way. I can’t even remember the last time I saw him smile, but I didn’t lose the “love of my life” so I just remain supportive and as understanding as I can be, somehow pushing aside the fact that it was my mom who died that day.

  “Hey Pop.” I take a seat on the bench next to him, waiting for him to look up from his paper.

  “Hey son.” He looks up from the paper trying to form a smile. “Did you catch the game last night?”

  “You know that I never miss a game, Pop.”

  And by “game” he is referring to “our” team, the Lakers. We never missed a game before…well, we had courtside seats. It was our father/son thing. That also died that day.

  “The team looks good this season,” he says in a quiet voice. The excitement he always had for the sport doesn’t shine through in his tone the way that it used to.

  “Pop, I need to talk to you about something. It concerns the hotel.”

  He nods as if he doesn’t care to hear and doesn’t respond.

  “So I’ve decided to do a bit of a face-lift on the inside. New furniture, carpet, paint. Is that alright with you?” I just wish that he would pretend to care, maybe give me some input even. But I know that he won’t.

  “That’s your deal now, son. Whatever you want.”

  “I know, Pop. But I was wondering what you want to do with that old desk in the office.” I swallow hard, knowing that this old desk was my mom’s as a child and that they moved it into the office when they bought the hotel.

  “I can’t talk about it right now.”

  I can tell that he is choking back tears as he gets up from the bench and starts to walk away in the direction of the beach.

  “Maybe later then, Pop…” I call out. He waves a hand in the air so that I know he heard, but he doesn’t respond. I sit alone for a few minutes, wishing that I could do something…anything that would make him want to rejoin the living.

  Alright, enough of this. Scarlett suggested that I get rid of that old “eye sore” and update my office like the rest of the hotel. Since my dad obviously doesn’t want the desk, I decide to move it up to the spare room in my penthouse. I agree that the office needs a facelift, but I just can’t get rid of something that belonged to my mom.

  I leave the courtyard and the sadness that lingers there now. Time to get some work done. I make my way back inside going straight to my office. Patrice is hard at work and waves as I walk through the reception area to my office. Taking a seat behind my desk, switching on my computer, I begin to sift through my emails.

  Great news from Russ: Pisa is well underway and the Las Vegas Sun would like to do an interview with me, including current photos on-site, and they want to do it tomorrow. They obviously don’t realize that I live in Malibu, but I can make it happen. This couldn’t come at a better time…a trip to Sin City is just what I need. I call for Patrice to come into my office as I send a text message to Rebekah, inviting her to join me there.

  “You called, sire?” she jokes in her smart-ass insubordinate way that we have all come to know and love. Patrice has become the ambassador of sarcasm around here, and one hell of an assistant, so I don’t mind her smart-ass remarks one bit. I actually like when she calls me “sire”.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did,” I reply, shaking my head as I laugh. “I need you to find me a flight to Vegas, possibly for two. Check flights for this evening, please.”

  “Right away, sir.” She curtsies and begins to laugh herself as she goes back to her desk.

  “Hilarious, Patrice. Thank you,” I call out, muttering “smart-ass” under my breath. Rebekah quickly responds to my text, explaining that she can join me but not until Thursday morning. Perfect. That gives me tomorrow to take care of busines
s.

  I text her back and send Patrice an email with the details, just to be a dick…she is only ten feet away from me. Not a minute later, I can hear her laughing as she mutters “jerk” under her breath and begins speaking to someone on the phone about booking the flights.

  Now, to return Russ’s email to let him know that I will be there and check my other emails. Four from Scarlett. I open the first one and see seven links with a message at the top explaining that the links are all for possible carpet ideas for the lobby. I open the first three but it all looks the same to me, so I give her a call to discuss.

  “Scarlett, it’s your favorite client calling.” I smirk at my witty greeting.

  “Oh, Mr. Jones?” she teases back, laughing.

  “If by Mr. Jones you mean the devilishly handsome guy who owns the beach-front hotel, then yes,” I reply playfully.

  “That’s the one,” she responds, still laughing. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I am looking at the links you sent and am making an attempt to picture them with the swatches and paint ideas. It’s all becoming a pile of colors in my head that do not look good.” She probably thinks that I am an idiot at this point, with no decorating skills whatsoever. Well it’s true, and I am very proud of that fact, thank you very much.

  “I had a feeling that my emails might overwhelm you again. Would you like to just go and see everything with me?”

  “Everything, as in…?”

  “Carpet, furniture, draperies light fixtures...everything.”

  “Shopping?” I ask, afraid that I just sounded like a bigger idiot.

  “Yes, Donovan. It would involve shopping.” She is laughing at me again. I begin to break out in a cold sweat. Hives quickly take over my entire body. Shopping? Oh no, here comes the panic attack. (I had you going, didn’t I? I actually don’t mind shopping.)

  “I can do that. It may be easier if I can see things in person,” I answer quickly, a bit shocked by the excitement I am feeling at the prospect of seeing her again so soon. I really need to stop that. We are doing business together, nothing more. I do believe that I just invited Rebekah to Las Vegas a few minutes ago. “Get a grip, Donovan,” I say under my breath.