Tony raised his eyebrows and said, “Management makes decisions based on a lot of different factors. Profit’s only one and not the highest on the list.”
Randa had to keep from physically gasping aloud at the idea of anything other than profit being the goal of business. Any business. Even a kooky hotel.
Money was the only way to keep score.
Unless she was playing the wrong game altogether.
She shrugged a shoulder and felt his hot stare lock on to her breasts. Or she thought she did. When she looked over at him, he was frowning down at the few helpless fries left on his plate. She glanced around. Here was an excellent chance to see what she could get out of him. All the action was close to the stage and Cat the bartender was preoccupied counting out a tip jar next to the order window. They might as well have been all alone.
Randa cleared her throat and ran a hand down her thigh. To distract him and maybe make a little headway in charming him into cooperation, she thought for half a second about touching his leg but was a little bit afraid to. Maybe she wanted to. A lot. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to go where that first step might take her, no matter how well a little touch worked to get a man’s help.
“Well, you know… I don’t eat like this often. Most places I go, I live off rabbit food.” Thanks to her mother’s strict standards, she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t on a diet. Growing up, she’d learned thin was in and carbs, sugar, and fat were always out.
Tony nodded. “I can tell.”
Afraid she’d choke on another bite, Randa took a long drink of sweet tea and then asked, “What do you mean? Floppy ears? Fluffy tail? Mean look of someone who is always hungry?” She wiggled her nose at him and winked. Finally, she was on familiar ground.
Tony shook his head and emptied his glass. “You’re too skinny. That burger will do you good.”
Stunned, Randa watched him wave at the bartender, drop a bill on the bar, and stand. The way that was supposed to work was he said something fun and flirty back to her, a nice compliment maybe. Again he refused to play her game.
Tony didn’t say a word as he looked at her perched on the stool. His eyes burned a path from her mouth to her breasts, and her hips to the heels she’d slipped back on before she left her room. When he glanced back at her face, one corner of his mouth was tilted up. He knew what he was doing to her. And he liked it.
She did too. Damn it.
She opened her mouth to say… who knows what? He was gone before she had time to figure it out.
“How’s the burger?” Cat asked as she slid another glass in front of Randa and picked up the money Tony had left.
Randa smiled. “Really good.” Cat nodded and Randa laughed. “But you knew that.”
Cat shrugged. “I had a good idea.”
Randa scooted a few bedraggled fries around her plate. “So, anything you can tell me about that Tony guy?”
Cat froze mid-step. “Uh, well…” She looked off into space for a minute. “You know, I’m really the old-school type of bartender. You can tell me your problems, but I don’t gossip if I can help it.”
Randa shook her head. “Of course not. I just thought…”
Cat leaned closer. “Yeah, you just thought what a lot of women have thought. You thought he’s good-looking, possibly a challenge you’d like to tackle. But he doesn’t mess with guests.”
Randa didn’t do jealous. She didn’t spend enough time with men who were worth it, but twice today she’d felt the jealous sizzle about Tony. “Just employees?”
At first Cat didn’t answer. Then she laughed. “Well, me-ow, hon.”
Stuck in her thoughts of how Tony had smiled down at Laura that afternoon, Randa had no idea what the bartender was talking about at first. She sipped her drink and then the light bulb went off over her head. Not that anyone would notice one more light bulb in the intense glow from the bar.
“No, I didn’t mean you. I’m sorry. I just got the impression that he and Laura… maybe they had a… you know, a real relationship. I didn’t mean that he harassed the staff or that you had anything…” Randa trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry.”
Cat tilted her head and then laughed. “I thought Laura was the only woman in America who didn’t read celebrity gossip. You must be the other one.”
Randa pushed her plate away, completely lost now and ready to talk about anyone or anything other than Tony. “Yeah, I… don’t read any of that stuff.” There’d been a time, in college, when she might have landed on the front cover. A quick exposure to what life without her father’s support might look like had convinced her to straighten up her act. She’d learned then that what the magazines said had an element of truth. But truth didn’t sell like carefully worded speculation.
Cat pursed her lips. “Ever heard of KT Masters?”
Randa signed her name and room number to the slip the bartender slid across after she picked up her plate. The name was really familiar. “Actor, right? Used to be on that baseball sitcom a long time ago?”
The bartender picked up the slip. “You bet. He and Laura are a couple.” She waggled her eyebrows to punctuate her statement. “Like we’ve-got-a-bet-on-when-the-ring’s-coming kind of couple.”
Randa had no idea why that made her so happy. More love in the world. That had to be it. It could not be related to Tony. At all. Laura had been the lowest item on the list of reasons why Tony was unacceptable. Randa was probably going to put him out of a job. There was no way they had anything in common. He was rough and tough and masculine. And she was… well, whatever she was. Nothing rough. Nothing tough. And as feminine as a healthy spa budget could make her.
The bartender got her attention by patting the sparkling clean surface of the bar. Lost in thought, Randa had been staring hard enough to burn a hole in it.
She shook herself and stood up.
Cat crossed her arms over her chest. “Here’s the thing, hon. You want him, you go get him. Tony’s the macho, silent type but you look like you’d be equal to the task. I’m already rooting for you.”
Randa wanted to tell her there was no way she was going after Tony. And she wasn’t. She was just walking a fine line between getting what she wanted, which was a tour of the hotel, and ignoring the other thing that she wanted, which was Tony naked. She was going to try to get a tour from him or from Laura. Otherwise, she was going to stay far, far away from him. That was safer for her cover. And her well-being.
Besides, he thought she was too damn skinny. She ruthlessly squashed the little bubble of happy that wanted to float up. Her mother thought she was thirty pounds past acceptable. Tony thought she was too skinny! But that hadn’t stopped him from checking her out.
And that was more like it. She was much happier with him now that he was acting like she expected. There was a bounce in her step as she left Viva Las Vegas.
When her eyes adjusted to the more natural lighting of the lobby, Randa could see a new person behind the front desk, a young woman with curly red hair and a blinding smile.
“Good evening, ma’am. May I help you?”
Randa shook her head. “Oh, no, thank you. I was just enjoying the quiet of the lobby.” As she examined one of the framed photos mounted to the wall and read the explanatory plaque about the Jungle Room, one of the most well-known rooms of Graceland, Randa wondered what had happened to Tony. “Do you know what time Tony will be back?”
The redhead pursed her lips. “He’ll be on in about two hours, but I’m happy to help you if I can.”
Randa wanted to smack her forehead. Asking about him was a rookie mistake. Now this girl would tell him, or worse, talk to the bartender and there’d be plans hatching all over. She licked her lips. “Actually, I was really looking for Misty.” Randa forced a laugh. “Dog crazy, you know.”
The girl did not believe her but she didn’t push. “Well, sure. She’s pretty special. When Willodean’s gone, Misty pretty much goes wherever Tony does. And sometimes when Willodean�
�s here.” There was a sparkle to her eyes as she said it. Randa walked closer to read her nametag. Michelle was going to go on the keep list for sure. Her good mood was contagious.
She knew the answer but she asked anyway. “And who or what is a Willodean?”
Michelle smiled. “Miss Willodean. She’s the hotel owner.”
“Oh, is she? Will she be in? I’d love to meet her.” But not yet. She didn’t want to take a chance on screwing up the deal. Not that Willodean even knew the hotel was for sale.
The phone rang and Michelle held up one finger as she answered it. After she set the requested wake-up call and hung up, she said, “She’s in Hawaii this week but she’ll be back on Saturday. Elvis Week means all hands on deck, you know? Plus, we’re short staffed so everybody’s working overtime.”
Randa nodded. “Well, it’s a lovely place. And you’ve all made me feel welcome.” She smiled at Michelle and took two steps back. “Been a long day. I think I’ll call it an evening early. Maybe catch an Elvis movie.” The hotel had a special channel reserved for Elvis movies, and the radio had an Elvis station. The place must be heaven for true believers.
Michelle smiled. “Of course. Please let us know if we can do anything to improve your stay.”
TONY STEPPED OUT of his office in time to watch Randa round the corner to the hallway leading to her hotel room.
Michelle glanced over her shoulder. “Was that okay, Tony? I think you might have an admirer.”
He could hear the teasing tone. He frowned at her. She saluted and clicked her heels.
“That was fine, Michelle.” Tony watched the security monitors closely for a few minutes to ignore her laughing eyes. “Please let me know if she asks you any other questions.”
Michelle said, “Oh, you think she’s going to want to know your favorite color or where your locker is?”
Tony had no trouble controlling his reaction to this. The idea that Randa Whitmore would pursue him in any way other than in the pursuit of… whatever the real reason she was here, was silly. He’d seen the guys who attracted her. Charity types. Well, the ones who wrote fat checks to charities, not the ones who’d depended on those donations for eighteen years.
“Just let me know.” She nodded and answered the ringing phone. Tony retreated to the relative safety of his office. He sat down behind the desk and read Laura’s notes about everything she thought might need follow-up overnight or in the early morning. They had two rooms with leaking air conditioners that would have to be fixed before the weekend. Housekeeping had reported a slow-draining shower in one of the luxury suites and both meeting rooms needed to be set for the fan clubs staying in the hotel this weekend.
No matter how he looked at it, Thursday was going to be a busy day. He was going to regret missing his nap this afternoon. Then he remembered the look on Randa’s face when he’d sat down at the bar. She definitely needed to be watched, but if she frequently looked like she had while she ate that burger, like she was on the verge of an orgasm that would bring the roof down, he was going to have a very hard time.
Tony shook his head as he picked up the pen he’d placed perfectly perpendicular to the edge of the desk. It was a damn shame she was up to no good. And that she wasn’t a normal girl. He wouldn’t mind getting to know her better, just to see what other changes she might bring about.
When he pictured her face as she savored each bite, his restlessness was back. He wanted to see the same look on her face while they were both naked. He cursed as the image of the two of them in bed, him happily seated between her naked thighs, flashed through his mind. She’d probably smell like Chanel and taste like fine champagne. Not a normal girl. He’d never seen a face like that on an average girl, the ones who smelled like shampoo and tasted like whatever was on tap. Once upon a time, he’d been damn happy with normal girls. Maybe he could be again.
Before the expensive blonde had stalked him across the lobby, women were just about the farthest thing from his mind. Now… well, he was changing his mind. Fast.
Randa Whitmore was something different. That much he knew for sure.
Chapter Four
* * *
BY TEN IN the morning on her first full day in Memphis, Randa had already written up her notes on the areas she’d been able to explore on the first floor and she’d moved out to investigate the pool. They’d have to gut all the rooms. Her father was going to balk at the price tag, but as soon as she said “black bathrooms” her mother would be on board. The furniture could stay. She’d inspected the linens and mattress in her own room and they seemed to be very fine quality so those could stay as well. As long as the decorator could work with gold. And lots of it.
Wild, wacky, and maybe a bit wonderful would be replaced by tried and true and a little bit tired. That was the Whitmore way. Travelers might not get the fun surprises of the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel but they could depend on a certain level of… competence.
How depressing.
Maybe she’d been doing this for too long, but the idea of getting rid of something unique for more of the same rubbed her the wrong way. If the hotel was hers, maybe she could save small parts of the Rock’n’Rolla.
She’d done so many hotel renovations that projects like this were a simple matter of calculations most of the time. And her handy spreadsheet did most of the heavy lifting. The Rock’n’Rolla was different, though, and Randa had no idea how to calculate the unknown. She’d been happy enough to estimate the savings from the pieces they could keep on the first floor, but Tony had mentioned “themes” for the other floors. Based on the currently over-the-top restaurant, lobby, and now pool, she really needed to see those rooms for herself, just to get an idea of how far the renovations would go. Were they looking at buying new bed linens or tearing every room back to the studs?
Plus, she was curious about what a luxury suite consisted of at the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel. Did each room have its own personal Elvis butler?
The lobby, with a little pruning and some new art, would work.
The small gym would also be fine. That was a guess. She hadn’t seen any more of it than she could absorb through the glass window from the hallway. And that was as close as she was going to get too. As a rule, she avoided sweat in all forms if she could. She hated to sweat herself, but being around other people’s sweat was really unacceptable.
Plus, she’d conveniently forgotten proper shoes. She could probably walk the treadmill in her heels but it might alarm other hotel guests.
And as far as Viva Las Vegas went… well, it was a rare event to take one look at a room and try to figure out a way to make it darker, but that was going to be her recommendation. After they got rid of the stage and put in a new, more tasteful, less high-wattage bar, it would be ready for business too. The cook staff had job security. She’d go to bat for them and serve up that burger to anyone who had doubts. Changing the competent waitstaff out of canary yellow showgirl uniforms with insane flowered headdresses and into white button-downs and black slacks would probably lower the tips, but raising the prices should offset the change.
Keeping good staff was the secret to Randa’s success. Training could be a huge expense, so she wanted to hold on to as many effective workers as she could. Now all she needed to do to finish up and head back home to the land of frosty manners and lofty ambitions was get into the other rooms somehow.
Her father had said a week but it would never take that long for him to line up her next job or possible dynastic match. Marcus Whitmore always moved quickly in the effort to take the opponent by surprise.
She’d never faced a challenge like this one. Most of the time, the W Group negotiated hard contracts with companies or families who wanted to sell. Every owner entered talks expecting a good price, but by the time her father wore them down, they were just happy to be done. Then she swept in, keys in hand, and made a plan to conserve costs and keep the hotel open through the transition. Losing business and the money required to recoup the costs would be the worst t
hing that could happen. Underestimating the price tag would be a close second. There were at least five men who would never let her hear the end of it.
Whitmore mistakes were rare so they were easy to remember. They had long lives.
More than fifteen years after rear-ending one of her mother’s Junior League cronies in an ill-fated attempt to read a shoe sale sign, someone invariably said, “Eyes on the road” when they saw her with car keys in her hand. Trip, her oldest brother, did his best to keep her father’s pressure on her to a minimum, but it was a little bit like holding back an avalanche. He understood how hard it was to live up to her father’s expectations. He’d acquitted himself very well, of course, so the rest of them had just been keeping up. They didn’t talk about it much, but she thought sometimes she could see the gleam of commiseration in his eyes.
Considering the reaction that failing to acquire and renovate this hotel might engender made Randa cringe.
She needed to get her eyes on the rest of the rooms. And as soon as she did, she could go home. She’d be back to oversee renovations but it might be cooler at that point.
But first, she needed a book. She’d discovered she’d left her tablet charger at home and the Rock’n’Rolla didn’t keep one for emergencies like this. She made a mental note to make chargers standard Whitmore hotel amenities. That might be her gift to humanity.
She had to fight down the panic brought on by the idea of spending six days without a book.
And a little bit of disgust at herself for being so dumb. She didn’t forget things. Yes, she’d had to pack in a hurry, but that was absolutely no excuse. She’d spent the last twenty minutes squinting at her phone so she could read something, anything. A trip to Graceland was beginning to sound like a good idea.
She leaned her head back against the lounge chair she’d pulled over into the shade around the pool. It was already almost ninety degrees. She wouldn’t be able to stay outside much longer. Unless she actually got brave and went for a swim.
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