L.A. Confidential. Julie Kenner

her angle above him she couldn’t see his entire face, but what she could see made her stomach twist with memories, both delightful and disturbing. Slowly, almost as if he felt her watching, he lifted his head and seemed to look right at her.

      She gasped and took an involuntary step back, banging into the bellhop’s cart and almost tripping.

      “Are you okay, miss?”

      “What?” She was still staring at the glass, trying to work up the courage to step closer to see if he was still looking up at her. “Oh. Yes. I’m fine. Just tired. Long plane ride.”

      “Well, you’ll have a room and a comfortable bed soon.”

      She nodded vaguely as she gripped the handrail, her fingers tight against the brass bar. Trying for casual, she stepped toward the glass and peered through it to the lounge below. Their eyes met, and her body tingled from a rush of warmth that spread through her, languid and inviting. She held his gaze until, finally, the elevator rose high enough that she could no longer see him.

      She exhaled, her breath shaky. She had no idea if he’d really seen her, or if he’d just been looking in her direction. Even if he had seen the woman in the elevator, would he recognize her after five years? She didn’t know.

      She gnawed her lower lip, knowing one thing for certain—at least on her part, whatever chemistry, whatever magic, had been between them five years ago, was just as overwhelming today.

      IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN HER. Absolutely not. No way.

      He’d been repeating the mantra for more than ten hours, ever since he’d noticed the woman rising in the elevator. The woman with the slim figure and the chin-length blond hair. The woman he imagined was Lisa.

      Not possible. And not worth obsessing about.

      He needed to quit obsessing and to focus on his work. He’d left the hotel right after breakfast to run the gaunt-let between his clubs and restaurants in Orange County, Ventura and Palm Springs. He’d crawled back to Oxygen at midnight and the restaurant was now hopping with late-night energy. Though the dinner crowd had left, the place was by no means empty. A few late diners dotted the tables, along with folks who’d come in for dessert and coffee. In the lounge area, a small crowd had already gathered on the dance floor as the jazz band cranked out favorites from the thirties and forties.

      Ken eased his way from the main dining area to the lounge, trying to focus his thoughts. They focused all right—directly on the woman in the elevator. There’d been something about the way she’d looked at him, something about the way she’d held herself. And he’d been unable to rip his eyes away.

      Frustrated, he took a seat at the bar, then tugged at his tie, loosening the blasted thing.

      “Something on your mind, boss?” Chris put down a napkin, then topped it with a tall glass of sparkling water.

      “Just thinking about old times.”

      “Not surprised. Coming up on five years. That’s a hell of an accomplishment.”

      True enough, but what Ken was thinking about wasn’t his restaurant; it was his ex-girlfriend. Still, he didn’t intend to clue his bartender in on this particular neurosis, and he lifted the glass in a toast. “To five more years.”

      Chris nodded. “I’ll drink to that.”

      “Not on the job you won’t,” he said in a jokingly stern tone.

      “Whatever you say, boss,” he said, grinning as he turned to help one of the guests.

      Ken swiveled on his stool, surveying the restaurant he’d started on a shoestring five years ago. No wonder he’d had such a visceral reaction to the woman in the elevator. Five years ago Lisa had walked out. In one week he’d face the anniversary of both her departure and his grand opening. Who wouldn’t be a little raw? And it was certainly no surprise that he was seeing ghosts in the elevators.

      But that’s all she was—a ghost. Ken needed to forget Lisa and to move on with his life. Not that he was interested in jumping back into the dating game. What he’d told Tim was true. If the right woman came along, great. But he had no intention of searching her out. Considering he had to hire someone to run his clothes to the dry cleaner’s and pick up his groceries, he had no time to waste looking for a date.

      Once upon a time he might have been craving the domestic life, but no more. He’d made a success of himself, and he had everything he could possibly want. Everything. He didn’t need to go hunting up trouble.

      He was practicing not thinking about Lisa, or the woman in the elevator, or women in general, when the maître d’, Charles, caught his eye, signaling for him to come over. A woman was standing next to Charles, her face obscured by the ornate columns near the entrance. Since Charles tended to be protective of Ken’s time, if he thought it was important for Ken to meet her, chances were she was a celebrity, a restaurant critic or some other mover and shaker in the Hollywood scene.

      His professional demeanor in place, he moved toward the front of the restaurant. As he drew near, he realized who the woman was, but by then it was too late to turn back gracefully. Instead, he steeled himself and headed forward.

      Alicia Duncan turned as he approached, her television-ready smile gleaming. “Ken!” She held out a hand for him to take. “Kiss, kiss! It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

      “Alicia.” He took a fortifying breath. As usual, she looked so picture-perfect it was scary. In the two years he’d known her, Ken didn’t think he’d ever seen her without every hair in place and her makeup just so—even during some of their more intimate moments.

      He clasped her hand in his, and let go as quickly as etiquette allowed. “What a nice surprise.” He was in no mood to hear Alicia’s pitch again, and he said a silent prayer that maybe she really had come only for a late dinner.

      “I was hoping to catch you.” She leaned in closer and he could smell bourbon on her breath. A lot of bourbon. “I need to talk to you. A favor.”

      “Alicia—”

      She held up a hand. “Dammit, Kenny. Just five minutes? Can’t you spare me five minutes of your precious time?”

      He cringed at the nickname, but nodded. “Five minutes.”