Zenith Rising
Marilyn Campbell
Maggie Harrison’s temp assignment sounds glamorous. As assistant to bestselling author Noah Nash, she’ll be staying in his penthouse suite at the legendary Davenport Hotel. However, Maggie is more interested in whether Noah will remember her from high school.
Tales of ghosts and paranormal activity enticed Noah to set his next book in the Davenport, but his reason for hiring Maggie is entirely personal. He hopes the old spark can be fanned into a new flame. What happens between them is more like a raging wildfire.
Their passionate reunion takes an even wilder turn when they’re suddenly transported to the Roaring Twenties, when the new hotel sparkled like champagne in a speakeasy…and several murders went unsolved. For Maggie and Noah to return home, they must prevent one of those deaths—but first they need to figure out which one.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Zenith Rising
ISBN 9781419934667
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Zenith Rising Copyright © 2011 Marilyn Campbell
Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication June 2011
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Zenith Rising
Marilyn Campbell
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Chicago Tribune: The Tribune Company
General Electric: General Electric Company
IBM: International Business Machines Corporation
Jimmy Choo: J. Choo Limited
Lucite: Lucite International, Inc.
Manolo Blahnik: Blahnik, Manolo
Miami Dolphins: Miami Dolphins, Ltd.
Model T: Ford Motor Company
Murray’s Superior Hairdressing Pomade: Murray’s Worldwide, Inc.
Post-It: 3M Company
Star Trek: Paramount Pictures Corporation
The Godfather: Paramount Pictures Corporation
The New York Times: The New York Times Company
The Stanley Hotel: New Stanley Associates LLLP
Tommy Bahama: Tommy Bahama Group, Inc.
Vitaphone: Vitaphone GmbH
Warner Bros: Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc.
Chapter One
Maggie Harrison handed her car key to the overly solicitous valet in an orange, Hawaiian-style shirt. An instant later an exceptionally striking young man in a red-and-green-floral shirt took charge of her suitcase and opened the huge bamboo-covered entry doors for her. His skin was the shade of warm caramel and his name tag identified him as Reynard, from Jamaica. She felt like one of the hotel’s wealthy guests instead of someone reporting for a temp assignment. Was this typical or was it because of the very special job she had been chosen for?
Of course she had heard of the Davenport Hotel and Beach Resort. It was an historical landmark, famous and infamous depending on one’s perspective. She had just never driven across the bridge from the southeast Florida mainland to Crystal Island. The exclusive barrier island was the gem of the Davenport holdings, but the hotel itself was nearly hidden from view by lush jungle vegetation. Even at the highest point on the bridge over the intracoastal waterway, she had only been able to clearly see the upper floors of the three towers and the largest of the glass dome roofs. It was more than enough, however, to see how the exterior glittered as though crystal shards were embedded in the white stucco. As soon as she had been offered the assignment, she bought a book about the hotel but had not yet had time to read it.
As Reynard led her through the lobby to the registration desk she realized the enormous glass dome she had seen from the bridge was the one now above her. Between the sunlight streaming down and the continuation of the tropical theme, it felt as though she were still outside…except for the air-conditioning. The front desk clerks were decked out in blue-and-yellow-flowered shirts and shifts but had the same welcoming expressions as the valet and bellhop.
“Maggie Harrison,” she told the smiling female clerk. “I was told—”
“Oh yes, Ms. Harrison. We’ve been expecting you. The Diamond Suite has been prepared for you and Mr. Nash according to his specifications.” She asked to see Maggie’s identification then handed an access card to Reynard.
As Maggie followed her suitcase away from the counter, she ordered the butterflies in her stomach to calm down. She’d had a lot of different jobs since signing on with the “It’s Only Temporary” staffing agency. The owner, Cory Servwell, had always been very good about filling her in on important details. Maggie knew this assignment was for an undetermined number of weeks and, because she might need to be available at odd hours, she had to stay at the hotel. However, at no time had Cory mentioned she and Mr. Nash would be sharing a suite.
At the far edges of the vast lobby were a number of archways leading to different areas of the resort. Her escort pointed out the ones that would take her to the hotel’s five-star restaurant, the spa, the shops and the beach but she knew when the time came she would have to rely on the discreet directional signs provided. The archway they went through was much narrower than the others and led down a hallway to an elevator made to look like a tree house. Once inside, her escort slipped the access card into a slot labeled “P”, which appeared to be the fourth and final floor in this section. A few seconds later the rear doors of the elevator opened into a small garden leading to another bamboo door which also required the access card.
“Welcome to the Diamond Suite,” Reynard announced as he motioned her forward.
Maggie hadn’t heard it before but now she picked up his slight, yet clearly Jamaican accent. She also thought she saw an actual twinkle of gold in his eyes as she walked past him but it was probably just a glint from the sunlight streaming into the suite from the glass roof.
“It is the Davenport’s finest,” Reynard advised with obvious pride. “The founder, Robert Davenport, lived here with his family during the Roaring Twenties. If you are interested in the history, there is a something about it in the hotel’s information notebook in your bedroom.”
Maggie’s gaze darted from one part of the great room to another, taking in the corner workstation, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves which held a large number of books broken up by a variety of knickknacks, the comfortable sitting area with its Tommy Bahama-style sectional sofa and large, flat-screen television, a dining table with eight chairs and a fully-equipped kitchenette. The tropical décor had not been abandoned but it was considerably subdued through the ab
undant use of whites and beiges.
The bellhop pointed at the closed double doors to the left. “Mr. Nash will be in the master but I am sure you will find your accommodations quite comfortable.” He opened the single door on the right and again motioned her to go before him.
Her concerns about their “sharing” a suite were immediately alleviated. The bedroom and bath were larger than her entire apartment and there was a lock on the door if she felt the need for it. “This is lovely. Thank you.”
Reynard placed her suitcase on the chest at the foot of the bed. “There is one more thing I need to show you.” He led her back to the living room, walked over to a framed oil painting of white cockatoos and orange bird-of-paradise blooms and opened it like a door. “This is the control panel for the lights, air-conditioning and window shades.” He showed what each button and switch operated, saving the best for last.
“The glass dome ceilings in the living area and master bedroom each operate separately.” With no small amount of dramatic flair, he demonstrated how the glass could go from letting in full sunlight to total blackout. “And since we just entered hurricane season, you can be assured that the glass is shatterproof and the special construction of the domes allows them to withstand winds up to several hundred miles per hour.” He adjusted the lighting to moderate shading. “I am sure you can imagine how beautiful this could be on a clear, starry night.”
Maggie caught another little twinkle in Reynard’s eyes but her brain leaped right over romantic to how much such a system had to have cost.
After assuring the man his assistance was not needed for anything further, Maggie tried to hand him a tip but he wouldn’t take it.
“Thank you,” he said maintaining a sincere smile, “but all of your expenses including gratuities are to be put on Mr. Nash’s bill. Whatever you require while you are a guest here, you need simply sign for it.”
“Seriously? Whatever I need?”
“That is what the guest notes say.” He winked then handed her the access card. “The spa and shops are included as well, so do be sure you visit them when you have a chance.”
As Reynard was walking out the door she asked, “Do those notes mention when Mr. Nash is arriving?”
He glanced at his watch. “In about an hour. Remember, just call the concierge desk if you need anything.”
An hour gave her more than enough time to unpack and explore the suite’s amenities. She couldn’t quite get over being given carte blanche in a hotel like this. It was easy to imagine what another sort of person might do with such an opportunity. Her temporary employer was either an insanely generous or trusting man…or he was expecting more from her than she was aware of. Perhaps it was the vague “additional requests” Cory mentioned might come from hotel management.
As she got settled in her room, she reviewed everything Cory had told her about the assignment. Bestselling horror author, Noah Nash, was the client. He was staying at the Davenport while working on his new novel. Because his regular assistant was having a baby, he had asked the hotel to find him a temp who could do all the usual administrative duties but also act as a personal concierge to do whatever he required and be flexible about the hours. Only now did Maggie consider what a personal concierge might be asked to do.
Cory had let her know there were a number of women and one man who were equally qualified for the job and several of those would have taken the job for free just because they were fans of Nash’s books. She had never read a single one, being a diehard romance fan herself, but that turned out to be one of the reasons she was chosen. What set her apart from the others, however, was another matter entirely.
About eighteen years ago, when she was in tenth grade, a painfully shy boy named Noah Nash transferred to her school for one year. He might have come and gone without her ever meeting him except for their ending up as biology lab partners. She had learned he was an army brat who had already attended four schools before enrolling at hers. Not only was he perpetually the new kid, with his small, lean frame, curly black hair and dark-blue eyes, he was pretty enough to be a girl and that made him an easy target for bullies. He had only been at her high school a week when some dumb jock called him a fag within Maggie’s hearing.
She had thought Noah seemed too effeminate and gentle to be straight but she detested the jock mentality and thought of a way to flick the guy’s nose. Though Maggie was attractive, had noticeable boobs and a lot of friends, she wasn’t interested in a steady relationship with any of the boys she knew. The problem was, as long as she didn’t choose anyone, she was always being approached and even pressured into doing something she wasn’t ready for. Because she had been at the right place at the right time, Noah had accidentally become the answer to her teenage dilemma.
Shortly after Maggie had gone to work for “It’s Only Temporary”, she saw Cory reading one of Nash’s novels and mentioned she had attended high school one year with him. When this assignment came up, Cory suggested Maggie do it because he might be more at ease with someone he knew, even if it was only for a short time many years ago. Maggie had warned Cory that she doubted he’d remember her. After all, they barely knew each other and she only remembered him because he became famous. That explanation was far from the truth but it kept her from sounding like a foolish girl.
When she finished unpacking, she set a copy of his new book on her nightstand. She had picked it up along with the one about the Davenport Hotel. Her thought had been to familiarize herself with his writing style but she had yet to read beyond the back-cover blurb. She gave in to the temptation of taking one more look at the photo on the book jacket. If he was half as sexy as the picture, she imagined every woman in the hotel would be stalking him around the clock or even slipping him their room access cards. Perhaps one of her duties was to be his shield…or his beard.
As the time for Nash’s arrival neared she checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She kept her blonde-on-blonde highlighted hair short enough to wash, blow-dry and go. Unfortunately with such fair coloring, a hint of lipstick and eye makeup was a necessity. Not knowing what she’d be doing the first day, she had chosen a pair of black dress slacks and a loose, pink jersey top which fit the guidelines of business casual. She wanted to look at ease but strictly professional.
She wondered if he would remember her at all. It was so very long ago.
One moment she was critiquing her appearance then the image in the mirror clouded over and she was suddenly staring at a scene from high school. Even stranger, it was more than looking at a memory, it felt as though she were there reliving the moment…
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
Maggie waited for the name-calling bully and his pal to leave and walked over to where Noah was sitting on a concrete wall with his head bent over a book.
“Hi.” He didn’t reply or raise his head so she dropped her books and hopped onto the wall next to him. “That guy’s an ass.” He let out a sound that was part snort and part sniff. “Wanna get back at him?” He raised his head and narrowed his eyes at her. She noticed they looked a little watery as though he was on the verge of tears. “I need a favor.” She finally had his whole attention.
“From me?”
“Yes. I think you’d be the perfect person. You don’t like biology much, do you?”
He snorted again. “Really don’t like any of the sciences, or math for that matter. I get by but the thought of having to dissect a frog—” He made a gagging face.
“I could help you with it. Make sure you passed at least.”
“Shoot. How big of a favor do you need? Just because I lived overseas for a while doesn’t mean I have any drug connections or fake ID or anything.”
“Wow, you think I’m a stoner or a party girl?” She was rethinking her plan to save him from the bullies after all.
“What? No, no. That’s not what I meant. It’s…it’s just that you’re, you know, one of the cool girls at this school, which usually means— I’m making it worse. Just like I alw
ays do. Sorry.”
She patted his knee. “No need to be sorry. I get it. But here’s the thing. I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend. Go to a few dances and parties with me. Plus, it would really help if you’d sit with me and my friends at lunch. You know, that kind of thing.”
His frown deepened. “Now I’m really confused. You’re popular and really pretty. You could have any guy you wanted.”
“But I don’t want any guy. Not at the moment anyway. I want to have fun without…the other stuff. I was hoping you’d understand but if I’m asking too much…”
His whole expression lightened. “Let me get his straight. I hang with you and your friends. You tell everyone I’m your boyfriend. And you help me get through biology. Is there something you haven’t told me?”
She shrugged. “Well, you’ll probably have to hold my hand or put your arm around me when we’re in public. Would that be okay?”
Noah threw his head back with a loud laugh. “I think you just might be the craziest girl I’ve ever met but you’ve got a deal!” He squinted at her for a moment as though trying to visualize how this was going to work. “I’ll need a good girlfriend’s nickname for you. What do you like?”
She was pleased he wasn’t questioning her explanation. “Oh, I don’t care. Just so it’s not Magpie. I got called that all through grade school.”
“Okay, Punkinhead it is.”
She lightly punched his arm. “Try again.” His gaze shot to a spot beyond her and she turned to see the jock had rounded up a few more of his pals and they were heading back toward them. “Better yet, kiss me. Quick.” Despite her command she hadn’t really expected him to slam his mouth against hers. She tasted blood and knew her tooth had cut her lip. She pressed her palms to his shoulders and murmured, “Easy, boy. Like this.” She tilted her head and gently touched her closed mouth to his, retreated and came back again.
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