“Here,” she said, slapping a key card on the black lacquer counter. “You can stay tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He slipped the key in his breast pocket. “You gonna give me turndown service?”
“Why should tonight be any different? I always turn you down.”
He bowed his head slightly. “Touché. I really just handed that one to you. Sloppy, Trace, sloppy.”
“Well, you just stand there and try to come up with something better.”
Piper walked away and he couldn’t help but admire the view. That little pink number hugged her in all the right places. No wonder the press loved her. She was stunning, and at twenty-seven, she was more beautiful than she’d ever been.
Not that it mattered. She was spoiled and reckless and she lived as if she were God’s gift to the world. No concern for anyone else, no sense of propriety. She did what she liked, consequences be damned. Well, her free ride was about to end if she didn’t make a real quick turnaround. He hoped, for her sake, she’d get the message. Piper wouldn’t make an attractive pauper. She was awfully used to that silver spoon.
What the hell. He might as well check out the bar. He had the feeling he’d be seeing a lot of it in the next week.
PIPER FELT like she’d been kicked in the stomach. He wouldn’t really… Not cut her off. It was a hotel, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t selling herself in Times Square. She was doing what she’d been born to do. Sure, it was a new concept, nothing at all like the chain of Devon hotels, but wasn’t that the point of a new generation?
The stipulations on her trust hadn’t said a thing about propriety. Her job was to make money, and dammit, there was no way Hush wouldn’t. He couldn’t do this to her, that’s all. She was his only daughter.
Kyle must have had something to do with this. Greedy little bastard of a brother. Always pandering to Nicholas. Damn him.
They’d both been born late in her father’s life. Nicholas had met their mother, Alicia, just after he’d turned forty. Of course, he’d been married before, four times, but Alicia had been the one. How they’d wanted a son. Piper had been reminded of that enough times to make her sick, but Nicholas was from the old school. The very old school. Her mother had protected her from the worst of it, but Alicia hadn’t been around long enough to help with Kyle. So her baby brother had grown up to be the perfect heir. She doubted Nicholas had ever once considered that Piper might be the logical choice to take over the company. Of course not. Darling Kyle would undoubtedly continue to live at Orpheus, continue to be everything Nicholas wanted him to be, and when it was his turn to ascend to the throne, he’d be just as much of a bastard as her father.
She walked into Erotique, the gorgeous bar, to the accompaniment of cameras, laughter, talking. People having a good time. She pasted on her best smile, and went into the fray. This was her specialty. Getting attention. Making the headlines. No one did it better than her, and dammit, neither Trace or his news was going to spoil things now.
She’d figure a way to get her father to accept Hush. She would. She wasn’t a Devon for nothing.
THE REST of the night went on in a blur of interviews and champagne. Trace was never completely out of her sight. She’d turn, and there he’d be. Sipping the Cristal, talking to some hottie, laughing it up. And when his eyes met hers, he smiled. Smiled like he was on top of the world.
The prick.
What had she ever, ever seen in him? He was duplicitous, underhanded and a whole bunch of other evil things that if she hadn’t had that last glass of champagne, she could think of.
Doing her a favor. Ha. He just wanted a front-row ticket. He couldn’t wait to see her take a fall. “Well, you know what, Mr. High-and-Mighty Winslow? Screw you.”
“What?”
Piper looked front. To the confused gaze of some guy from the Enquirer. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”
The guy, who was swaying just a little more than he should have, gave her a salacious grin. “So you tried out those toys in the cupboard upstairs?”
Piper kept smiling. “Not those, no.”
His face fell but his next sip of champagne seemed to soften the blow.
“Would you excuse me?” She made a quick tour of Erotique; it was so beautiful it made her ache. Most of the press had congregated around the black circular bar, the pink overhead lighting flattering and sexy. She loved the high black bar chairs with the inverted triangle backs. She headed toward the ladies’ room, running her hand over the only empty round-backed leather armchair, admiring the sea foam-green that matched the lobby carpet exactly. It was a killer bar, and it would be packed nightly. No doubt at all.
She nodded, grinned, waved like a damn parade-float princess all the way to the bathroom. She pushed the door open, saw the crowd, and made a hasty retreat. Hurrying as quickly as possible in her heels, she went through the lobby to the first elevator. No one came after her, and the moment she was inside the cab she hit the button for the spa floor and collapsed against the mirror.
She closed her eyes and let out a howl that while loud, was surprisingly unsatisfying. The elevator came to a stop and she went right for the bathroom.
The whole room smelled faintly of lavender. Peace, quiet and beauty surrounded her, a balm to her soul. She sat on one of the stools by the long pink marble sink, wishing she’d brought her bag. She needed to fix her lipstick.
Instead, she faced herself in the mirror. No photo-op smile, no tricks of the light. Just her. She had a problem, a big one. She knew Hush was going to make it, that it could be one of the hottest hotels in Manhattan. But she also wasn’t a fool. She wanted her inheritance. Who wouldn’t? It was one hell of a lot of money, and while it couldn’t buy happiness, it could get her real close. Even though it would be a fine and dramatic gesture to tell her father to go jump in a lake, it would be strategically unsound.
The thing was, she didn’t have enough time. She felt sure her father would eventually get over his problem with Hush. It would take a few years for Hush to be completely in the black, and she’d been counting on his help to get through until the cash flow was steady, but if he was going to be this stubborn… Damn, she only had a week. A week with Trace Winslow on her ass, which not only didn’t help, it made things exponentially worse.
Trace knew exactly how to push every one of her buttons, and had no hesitation in doing so. He was a vile man, a hateful man. And good God, he turned her on like a light switch.
She dropped her head in her hands. This should have been a triumphant night, a glorious victory. She looked up again, met her eyes. It still was a victory. She’d make it work. She’d figure it out. But first, she’d go back to the bar and she wouldn’t even glance at Trace.
HE WATCHED HER work the room, and even he had to admit she was doing one hell of a job. Gliding from one reporter to the next, she never missed a beat or an opportunity to make nice. Quite a change from her usual shenanigans.
How many times had he passed a newsstand to find Piper’s photo plastered on the tabloids in some compromising position? Drunk or disheveled, hanging on some guy, at this party or that. The woman lived for notoriety. And here she was, playing the hostess, acting as if she were a responsible adult, when the whole world knew she was still a wild child. Who did she think she was fooling?
He thought about her latest in a long string of idiot men. Logan Barrister, for God’s sake. His band might be at the top of the charts, but the guy had the brains of a trout. If anything he was more of a press slut than Piper. They’d been kicked out of more Manhattan bars than anyone else he could think of.
The tragedy was, Trace had a strong suspicion that Piper was bright. Really smart. If she hadn’t