A Gentleman's Affair (12 page)

“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.