4
BELLE GLANCED OVER the guest list for the preopening event and added two more names. Actors, politicians, celebutants. She needed to scatter in some high-profile musicians, but she wanted to do a little more research first.
Almost two weeks had passed since her lunch with Mitch and she’d yet to spend any time alone with him. The first week was understandable. She’d been working from her office in L.A., finalizing things and tying up loose ends so she could spend the next few weeks here at Lakeside. The resort was a hundred miles from her office, and it was only practical that she work on-site for the duration. She’d figured the bonus would be seeing Mitch day in and day out for the next three weeks. Not only would she relish the sexual thrill, but she could drop a few hints and feel him out on the topic of her father.
But since she’d arrived to find her cozy cottage ready and waiting, he’d been avoiding her. And he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact.
The perfect host, he’d had fresh flowers waiting in her room. But he’d sent his assistant to help her settle in. He’d remembered her preferences, making sure she had hot tea and a basket of muffins delivered each morning, but he’d avoided seeing her unless there were at least three other people in the room.
Today she was supposed to tour the grounds, the suites and the spa. And knowing Mitch, he’d send his rabbity assistant to do the honors.
She thought of her promise to Sierra. Do him. Fast, furious, as soon as possible. So far, she was failing dismally. Sexual frustration was never comfortable, but she was a big girl and could handle losing the game. But Mitch hadn’t even manned up enough to play. She recalled his declaration that sex between them was off-limits. This must be his way of making sure she knew he was serious.
Well, so was she. And seduction wasn’t going to work. It hadn’t when they’d been engaged, it hadn’t when they’d met again a couple of weeks ago. She obviously needed a new plan.
Nibbling on her second blueberry muffin, she punched a button on her cell phone, leaving it on speaker.
“Morning,” Sierra answered cheerfully. “I take it you haven’t died of sexual frustration yet?”
“I’m surviving,” Belle said dryly. “Barely, though. I need your help.”
“Sorry, sweets. You’re not my type.”
“Ha-ha. I need ideas, you dork. Mitch is running scared. He’s avoiding me except for emails and the telephone. Try as I might I can’t even get him to have phone sex with me.”
“Shit,” Sierra muttered. Belle heard the clink of glass against glass and knew her friend was topping off her coffee. Sierra always thought best when highly caffeinated.
“I need a plan,” Belle said, stating the obvious.
“No kidding. Otherwise I’ll be shopping for some ugly bridesmaid’s dress again.”
“Hey, the dress wasn’t that ugly.”
“Anything in Easter-egg pink is ugly and that’s beside the point.” Belle could hear the tap-tap-tapping of Sierra’s nails against the coffee cup. “Give me a rundown of what you’ve done on the job while I think.”
Belle thought best while lounging in a bubble bath or lazing in the sun, something that allowed her to relax and let the ideas flow. Sierra, though, was the opposite, needing noise and activity to find her solutions.
Pulling her notebook toward her, Belle went over the timeline and to-do list. On the off chance she managed to convince Mitch to consider the theme idea, she’d ordered sex-toy samples, sketched out three separate theme ideas and started the plans for the preopening event. To garner word-of-mouth buzz and set the tone for privacy, she’d suggested that Mitch hold a low-key non-advertised event before the media caught wind of the resort’s offerings. It would offer that semblance of privacy while giving their potential guests a taste of just how special a stay at Lakeside would be.
“Quit flirting,” Sierra said, interrupting Belle’s recitation of the tentative guest list.
“I was reading in my most serious tone,” Belle responded with a sniff. “I can’t help it if my voice excites you.”
“Ha. Seriously, though, your last encounter with Mitch, you tossed down the gauntlet. I don’t blame you, of course, but still, the guy is definitely running scared.”
Belle wrinkled her nose and pushed away what was left of her muffin. The idea of Mitch wanting nothing to do with her ruined her appetite.
“I told him I wouldn’t chase him and I’m not,” she defended, her tone stiff. “But is it asking too much that he meet with me without the chaperones?”
“You need to change tactics, lull him into complacency then reel him in.”
“Lull him from afar?” Her pouty tone was only half-pretend.
“He’s going to have to meet with you sooner or later,” Sierra assured her. “Once he does, turn the tables. Play the professional card. You know, pretend you’re there to work, to do a job.”
This time Belle really did pout. “I am here to do a job.”
“Yeah, yeah. But we both know you have ulterior motives. He’s not stupid, so he probably suspects it, too. So confuse him.”
“Professional?”
“More focus on the job, the reasons you’re there. Including needing Mitch’s help for your dad.” Glass clinked as Sierra got even more coffee. “Less focus on how cute his ass is.”
What, was she blind? Belle wanted to argue, but knew there was no point. Too much was at stake. Not only the job itself, but Eventfully Yours’s reputation and her father’s business. Mitch had made his disinterest plenty clear; she’d respect his decision.
“Have you talked to him any more about the theme program?” Sierra asked, obviously taking Belle’s silence as agreement to her plan.
“I haven’t seen him to pitch it any further,” Belle reminded her.
Silence.
Belle sighed. “I’ll send him an email. He seems to like those.”
She and Sierra wrapped up a few more details then hung up, leaving Belle to feel like a total slacker. Sierra was right. She’d been so focused on her attraction to Mitch, she’d let her priorities slip. Well, no more. She grabbed her pen and started a list of what she needed to do to set things right.
Before she could write more than a few things, though, her cell phone chimed the “Boogie-Woogie Blues.”
“Daddy,” she greeted in answer. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling sick and tired of being asked that question, princess,” Franklin Forsham growled.
“People ask because they care, not out of some twisted desire to be irritating. You need to rest and give yourself time to recuperate. Quadruple bypass is nothing to blow off.”
“I’m sitting on my ass instead of golfing, aren’t I? That’s recuperation enough.” The pain of that was clear in his voice. Frank Forsham loved nothing more than a good game of golf. Belle glanced out the window at the gorgeous tree-studded view. Off in the distance the sun glinted, jewel-like, off the lake, and beyond that was what Diana had claimed to be a first-class golf course. Not big enough to bring in the major tournaments, but challenging enough to keep the guests entertained.
Her father would love it. Maybe after she got him and Mitch together, he’d come play a few rounds. She didn’t consider it naive to believe it would happen any more than she considered herself overoptimistic to think she and Mitch would get together. Faith and hard work. She figured as long as she had both—and some hot lingerie—she was set.
“Of course, I wouldn’t be able to golf anyway, given the state of things here,” he grumbled, stealing her attention back from her idyllic imaginings. “Damned market is only getting worse. Forsham Hotels hasn’t been hit this hard since the early seventies.”
Belle listened to her father’s description of the state of his company. She knew enough about business to realize he was actually making light of how bad it was. Worse, though, was the tension she heard in his voice. He was supposed to be recovering, not working himself into another heart attack.
“It’ll turn around and everything will be fine, Daddy,” she said, even though they both knew it was an empty promise. But as always, Franklin didn’t expect any real input or contribution from her, so he let the comment go unchallenged. She was his pretty little girl, no more, no less. Belle had long ago given up the idea of proving herself to him. But maybe, just maybe, he’d respect her a little if she saved his company?
“Come by tonight, we’ll go to dinner,” he ordered.
Belle glanced at her to-do list. Even if she rescheduled the tour, her plate was full. Added to that, it would take her an hour and a half to drive back to L.A., longer if she hit traffic. She flipped the page in her planner, noting an early breakfast meeting with the spa manager.
Then she thought of her dad, alone in that big rambling house.
“I’ll be there at seven,” she promised. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
“About?”
“Um, I sort of ran into someone from the past and thought you’d like to hear about him.”
“Him?”
She hated it when he did that. Single-word questions, then silence that made her feel as if she had to spill tons of details to fill the empty space.
“Mitch Carter,” she said. Then she cringed and waited.
But not for long.
“That cheating sonofabitch? I thought he’d run back to the East Coast where he belongs.”
Belle winced. “Dad, I told you, Mitch didn’t cheat.”
“Harrumph.”
“He didn’t. Really. He just sort of misled me. I’m sure he thinks I did much worse, leaving him at the altar like that.”
“He was a lucky man and he blew it.”
Belle pressed her lips together. She had to get her dad to quit hating Mitch or there was no point in pushing Mitch to help him. Leave it to her to be stuck between two stubborn men.
“Let’s talk about it over dinner, okay?”
“Let’s not. I don’t want to discuss the cheater or that debacle that was your wedding. Especially not when it’s thanks to him that I invested in that damned property. His connections and contracting license were supposed to get us past the stupid zoning regulations. Thanks to his duplicity, I’m stuck. Can’t build, can’t sell.”
Her father continued to mutter. Belle’s stomach twisted. She’d told her father the day after the wedding that Mitch hadn’t been with any other women, that she hadn’t meant to imply anything like that. But her father had blown up at her, ranting about the humiliation and misplaced trust. Too horrified to ask if he meant his trust in Mitch or his trust in her, she’d gulped down her explanation and run from the room.
Her father’s attitude didn’t bode well for her little save-Forsham-Hotels plan. But she’d worry about convincing him later. For now, she needed to focus on getting Mitch to listen to her. That was enough of a challenge.
With that in mind, she bade her father an absentminded goodbye, promising to see him that evening. As soon as she hung up, she grabbed the cottage phone and dialed star-seven.
“Diana? Hey, I need to postpone the tour until tomorrow, okay?”
“Is there a problem?” Mitch’s assistant asked in her hesitant tone.
“Not at all. I just have to run home for the evening. An offer came up that I couldn’t refuse.”
“Business?”
“No, dinner...” With her father? No, just in case Diana shared the excuse with Mitch, she didn’t want to bring her father into the mix until she’d had time to butter them both up. “A dinner date.”
* * *
“WHAT IN THE HELL DO you mean, the program crashed?”
The hotel manager winced, then he gave a helpless shrug. Tall, skinny and blond, Larry looked like a morose scarecrow. Mitch had handpicked him to run the resort because he handled the staff like a gifted choreographer and knew hotels inside out. And, theoretically, hotel computers. “We don’t understand what happened. I’ve spent the morning on the phone with tech support—they’re baffled, too.”
The computerized reservation program was supposed to be bug-free, idiot-proof and have both on- and off-site backups. “You recovered the lost data, right?”
“We’re working on it. The system has a backup, but somehow, well, the battery went dead.”
Mitch closed his eyes and shook his head. Continual construction delays. The pipes had burst in the pool room, there was a gopher infestation on the golf course, and now this? Seriously, who had his voodoo doll and why the hell were they jabbing it so hard?
The only person he’d recently pissed off was Belle. And he couldn’t see her going the voodoo route. She was too direct for that. She’d rather see him on his knees begging. Or maybe just on his knees.
“Get it fixed,” he instructed tiredly. As soon as the manager left, Mitch lifted his phone and punched a button.
“Do you believe jobs can be cursed?” he asked as soon as Reece answered.
“Nah, that’s the kind of thing suits like you come up with as an excuse for falling on their ass.”
“Well, my ass is definitely getting bruised,” Mitch acknowledged. “I’m starting to think it’s more than a learning curve.”
“You don’t really believe that curse crap, do you? You want me to fly you out a witch doctor?”
“If I thought it’d make a difference, I’d have you hand-deliver one.”
Reece laughed, although Mitch was only half joking. “Gotta hand it to you, cuz, you’re the most hands-on guy I know. Guess that’s why you’re kicking butt. You stick your fingers in every pie you deal in, swinging a hammer as easily as you make those slick deals.”
Not quite every pie. Mitch had been doing his damnedest to avoid the sweetie pie that was his ex. Not trusting himself around her, he’d justified his absence by putting Diana in charge of the events projects. And Belle was the Party Princess, after all. She didn’t need his supervision to plan a successful event.
“Seriously, what’s the deal?” Reece, or Cowboy, as Mitch’s cousin and security guru was aptly nicknamed, sounded as concerned as he ever did. Which meant his drawl had slowed and the teasing humor had left his voice.
Mitch listed the resort’s problems-du-jour, from construction to rodent infestation to computer crash. He was explaining about the staff issues when his cousin interrupted.
“Your event gal quit? Just like that? The hot little redhead who loved to party? What happened?”
“She’s in rehab.”
“No shit? What’re you going to do about that opening weekend party you were so hot to have?”
“If I can’t stop this streak of bad luck, there won’t be an opening,” Mitch hedged, not wanting to mention Belle’s involvement in the resort. Since Reece had been his best man, he had a pretty vivid memory of her. “I’m willing to accept a few problems here and there, but not this level of misfortune.”
“Sabotage?”
“That sounds so paranoid.”
“It ain’t paranoia if they’re out to get you,” Reece pointed out.
“Right.”
The two men were silent for a minute, then Mitch heard Reece shuffling some papers. That his bronc-riding cousin was working in an office amused Mitch. A go-getter Kentucky cowboy, Reece was more suited to riding horseback than riding a desk. Rather than putting his military time to use in law enforcement, he’d opened his own security firm.
“Did you get the note I sent you about new requirements for the resort?” Mitch asked.
“Something about catering to the fancy-ass folks there in Hollywood?”
“That’s it. Why don’t you send a guy out early? He can start assessing for the upgrades, and poke around a little at the same time.”
“Two birds with one stone. Good plan.”
They nailed down the details, then hung up. Mitch let his head fall back on the chair, his eyes, as always, going to the view.
Ever since he was a kid, he’d dreamed of a place like this. Oh, not the rich and fancy angle, but of owning something huge, something major. He’d wanted to make his mark, to be special. An only child, he’d been one of seventeen cousins. The last words his dad had spoken to him before he’d died were to tell him to be the man, to take care of his mom and show the world what he was made of. Even at five, Mitch had taken those words to heart.
They’d sparked his desperate need to prove himself. To be important.
Starting out in construction as a teen, he’d worked his way up the ranks in his stepdad’s company by the time he’d entered college. He’d graduated with a degree in business and been left the construction firm when his mom and stepdad had died just before his twenty-third birthday. Like Reece said, he’d worked every aspect of his business, from swinging the hammer to marketing property to making deals. Within five years he’d launched his development company and figured he was well on his way to the big time.
But he’d wanted more. Enter Forsham Hotels and the biggest mistake of his life.
Which reminded him...
Mitch pushed away from his desk and strode into Diana’s office. As soon as she saw him, the mousy brunette held out a sheaf of papers.
“Larry sent these up,” she said.
“Obviously his team hasn’t figured out the problem yet,” he observed, flipping through the pages of techno-speak as if he had a clue what they said. With a shrug, he tossed the report back on Diana’s desk and asked, “Did Belle have a list of suggestions after her tour?”
“Um, not yet.” Diana busied herself with shuffling the tech report, then clipping the pages just so.
“She’s writing it up?”
“No, I don’t think she is.”
Mitch’s earlier irritation, still bubbling away just below the surface, threatened to erupt.
“I suppose there’s a good reason why she hasn’t done what I specifically asked?”
“Well, maybe because she had to cancel,” his assistant mumbled, bending low to put the tech report in the bottom filing-cabinet drawer.
“Why the hell did she cancel the tour?”
“She had a, well, a date,” Diana said, her face almost buried in her keyboard.
Either she’d figured out how irritated he got when people wasted his time on the job or she was still afraid to look him in the face when she gave him bad news. Either way, her timidity pissed him off even more.
“Get her on the phone,” he snapped. When Diana winced, Mitch sighed, feeling like he’d kicked a puppy. “Please.”
“She’s already left the resort. She said since she had to drive into L.A. anyway, she’d leave early and go into town to meet some vendors, store owners and suppliers to look into possible liaisons for the resort.”
If Diana’s face got any closer to the keyboard, she’d smash her nose on the H key. Mitch swallowed a growl and tried to remember all the organizational qualities that made her a great assistant. Maybe he’d better take to carrying a list in his pocket?
“Get her on her cell, then,” he barked, this time not bothering to temper his tone. Diana was just going to have to get over her fear, because he didn’t have time to baby her. And damned if he hadn’t been right about Belle being a flake. Less than a week here at the resort and she was already slacking off.
Date. Fury bolted through him like lightning. Fast, furious, deadly. It was because she was screwing off, he assured himself. Not because she might be screwing some guy other than him.
Reece was right. Mitch had built his success by taking part in every aspect of his business. Every single thing. Which obviously needed to include his luscious ex-fiancée. This hands-off approach wasn’t working. Not for the resort, and definitely not for his resort’s event planner.
“Her phone goes direct to voice mail,” Diana said, dread clear in her tone.
Images of Belle and some faceless guy sent that bolt of fury right through him again, ripping a hole in Mitch’s gut.
“I’ll deal with Ms. Forsham and the tour tomorrow,” he decided. “No more of this letting her do things her way. I’m stepping in and showing her who’s boss. From now on, she’ll answer to me.”