She raised her chin. “I’ll ask that someone else be assigned to work on the Garrison Grand.”
“Careful, sweetheart. The Garrison property is one of the most lucrative accounts your firm has going. You wouldn’t want to be the one who caused your firm to lose it.”
Her eyes widened, and color seeped into her face, masking the dusting of freckles there—freckles that he’d spent one memorable night kissing, one by one.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she gritted.
He shrugged. “Since you’re just back in the office, I’m assuming you’ve got the most time to devote to a new account. You’re going to find it hard to explain to your partners why you can’t.”
Her shoulders heaved, and her lips compressed.
“Fine,” she said finally.
He looked back at her blandly.
“But our relationship this time is strictly business.”
He inclined his head. “Whatever you say…Meggikins.”
He was going to enjoy coaxing Megan Simmons back into his bed. And this time, she’d leave only when he asked her to.
Two
Megan stepped past the liveried doorman and into the cool lobby of the Garrison Grand.
The change was a welcome respite from the heat outside. She’d dressed for the hot weather in a lime-green sheath dress with a short matching jacket, her feet encased in strappy sandals.
A couple of men sent appreciative looks her way.
She knew that as a tall redhead in heels, she was hard to overlook—even if she wore her hair tied back and constrained, as it was today.
What she wasn’t used to, she thought, as she looked around at the hotel guests in the lobby, was the cool sophistication of Stephen’s world.
She’d almost forgotten what this world was like, having spent the past few years variously wiping baby food off her shirt, reading nursery rhymes and teaching Jade how to use the potty.
Now though, as she surveyed the women with lithe tanned bodies dressed in halter tops or less, and the men projecting a chic style in khakis and designer shirts, she knew she had to gird herself for today’s meeting.
Glancing to her left, she noticed Stephen walking toward her from across the lobby.
She watched as he was waylaid by an employee, then as his progress was halted again by someone who appeared to be a familiar hotel guest.
When he finally approached, she said, “I thought I was meeting one of your executives.”
“Change of plans,” he said, cupping her elbow and gently steering her with a subtle pressure.
He slanted her a look. “That is, unless you mind it’s me.”
“No,” she responded automatically. Since she had been the one to call their relationship strictly professional, she had no choice but to stick to the script. “Of course I don’t care.”
Of course I care. Just being in the same room with him was enough to make her tense and jittery.
As it was, little shock waves coursed through her from the casual contact of his hand at her elbow.
They walked across the majestic soaring lobby toward the elevators. One end of the lobby led to the street, and the other end, with columns alternating with billowing white curtains, opened onto the Garrison Grand’s private beach. The smell of surf and sand wafted in.
She hadn’t been able to stop herself over the years from reading the occasional news article about Stephen and the Garrison Grand. The hotel had kept a fantastic reputation while she and Stephen had been dating, but it had surpassed itself since then, becoming the it place for the rich and famous who flocked to South Beach.
Walking through the lobby now, she could understand why. Stephen seemed to keep everything new and cutting edge.
“I’m looking to redesign some of the meeting rooms on the second floor,” Stephen said. “Then we can talk about other changes—what else needs to be revamped and updated.”
His deep voice buffeted her like the warm jets of a hot tub.
This is not going to work, she thought. How could she stand to work with him when she couldn’t even think straight?
Yet, she had no choice. After Stephen had left her office yesterday, she’d gone to see Conrad. The meeting had confirmed everything Stephen had said: everyone else in the office was too busy with other projects to be the lead person on the Garrison Grand, and they were looking to her to be a team player.
Now, as Stephen called the elevator and they rode up together, she felt the air between them fairly crackle with tension.
When they stepped out on the second floor, they walked down a hallway with recessed lighting along either side of its carpeted floor.
He gave her a quick tour of the business center and various conference rooms. They ended up at the end of the hall, where Stephen opened a set of double doors and ushered her inside the last empty conference room.
As she walked past him, she was careful not to brush against him. She didn’t think she could stand it.
This conference room contained a long, rectangular, glass-topped table that looked as if it could seat twenty. Like the others, the decor was modern, with high-backed office chairs and all the proper business amenities: phones, a flat-screen television with a DVD player, and a projection screen that appeared as if it was normally hidden behind a wooden wall panel.
“I find it hard to believe,” she observed after looking around and turning back to Stephen, “that anyone can work in paradise’s playground.”
It was a thought that had increasingly hit her during their brief tour.
A smile slashed across Stephen’s face. “I do,” he said, then added drily, “That’s why you can’t see the beach from this room or the others.”
She walked farther into the room, trailing her fingertips along the top of the table before setting her purse down, putting together the thoughts and ideas that had been formulating since the beginning of their tour.
He watched her.
“Very modern,” she mused.
“Very,” he agreed, “but I’m not looking for merely modern. I want different—unique—and that means changing to stay ahead of our competitors.”
She turned to face him. “Are you thinking of the Hotel Victoria?”
“Just back in town, and you’ve heard of it already,” he quipped.
She lifted her shoulders. “I’m an interior designer. Of course I’m interested in news of a hotel opening.”
“Well, don’t be too impressed,” he advised. “Jordan Jefferies is an imitator, not an innovator, and I’m more than ready for a fight.”
Stephen’s comments reminded her of everything she knew about him from four years ago. He was still strong-willed, powerful and competitive.
Seeking to change the direction of the conversation, she said, “The conference rooms are different from the rest of the hotel. They don’t have the same white theme—”
His lips quirked. “We were looking for something a little more professional for the business rooms. White is the ultimate indulgence.”
“Decadent luxury,” she agreed.
It was what his celebrity guests came for. She could only imagine what his cleaning bill amounted to for the hotel. She knew most of the guest rooms were decorated in white, with splashes of color