The doors opened only once, to deliver the woman and her dog to the forty-second floor, and then Merina rode the car to the top floor without interruption. She used the time to straighten herself in the blurry, reflective gold doors. No keys or security measures were needed to reach the top of the building. Reese Crane was probably far too smug to believe anyone would dare come up here without an appointment. And she’d heard his secretary was more like a bulldog that guarded his office.
And there she was. The elevator doors slid aside to reveal an angry woman wearing all black, better suited for a funeral home than a hotel.
“May I help you?” the woman asked, her words measured, curt, and not the least bit friendly.
“You can’t,” Merina said, pleased the rain hadn’t completely drowned out her rage. “I need to speak with Mr. Crane.”
“Do you have an appoin—”
“No.” Merina stood firm.
The phone rang and the woman slid her acerbic glare away from Merina to the phone. She waited as the other woman answered a call, spoke as slowly as humanly possible, and then returned it to the cradle. The woman folded her hands and tilted her chin. “You were saying?”
Even with her nostrils flared, Merina forced a smile. There was only one way past this gatekeeper. She called up an ounce of poise—an ounce being the most she could access at the moment. “I’m here to see Reese Crane.”
“Without an appointment, I can’t help you.”
“My last name is Van Heusen.” She supposed she could make an appointment, could have called ahead, but no sense in robbing him of the full effect of her face-to-face fury.
“Ms. Van Heusen,” the woman said, her tone flat. “You’re here regarding the changes to the hotel, I presume.”
“You got it,” Merina said, barely harnessing her anger. How come everyone was so damn calm about dismantling a town landmark?
“Have a seat.” Crane’s bulldog gestured one manicured hand at a group of cushy white chairs, her mouth frowning in disgust as she took in Merina’s dishevelment. “Perhaps I could get you a towel first.”
“I’m not sitting.” Merina wasn’t about to be put in her place by Reese’s underling. A set of gleaming double doors behind the secretary’s desk parted like the Red Sea. Jackpot. She barreled forward as the woman at the desk barked, “Excuse me! Ms. Van Heusen!”
Merina ignored her. She wouldn’t be delayed another second…or so she thought. She stopped short when a woman in a very tight red dress—the neckline plunging into plentiful cleavage, her heels even higher and potentially more expensive than Merina’s Louboutins—swept out the doors and gave her a slow, mascaraed blink. Then she sashayed around Merina, past the bulldog, and left behind a plume of perfume.
Well. That was interesting.
Reese’s latest date? An escort? If Merina believed the local tabloids, one and the same. He wasn’t known for his personable side, and paying for dates certainly wasn’t above his pay grade.
Before the doors closed, Merina slipped into Reese’s office.
“Ms. Van Heusen!” came a bark behind her, but Reese, who stood facing the windows and looking out upon downtown, said three words that shut up his secretary instantly.
“She’s fine, Bobbie.”
Merina smirked back at the sour-faced, coal-eyed secretary as Reese’s office doors whooshed shut.
“Merina, I presume.” Reese still hadn’t turned. His posture was straight, jacket and slacks impeccably tailored to his muscular, perfectly proportioned body. Shark or not, the man could wear a suit. She’d seen the photos of him in the Trib as well as Luxury Stays, the hotel industry’s leading trade magazine, and like every other woman in Chicago, she hadn’t missed the gossip about him online. Like his more professional photos, his hands were sunk into his pants pockets, and his wavy dark hair was styled and perfect.
Clearly the woman who had just left was here on other business…or past business. If something more clandestine was going on, Reese would appear more mussed. Then again, he probably didn’t muss his hair during sex. From what she gleaned about him via the media, Reese probably didn’t allow his hair to muss.
But the snarky thought paired with a vision of him out of that suit, stalking naked and primed, golden muscles shifting with each long-legged step. Sharp, navy eyes focused only on her…
He turned toward her and she snapped out of her imaginings and blinked at the stubble covering a perfectly angled jaw. What was it about that hint of dishevelment on his otherwise perfect visage that made her breath catch?
Thick dark brows jumped slightly as his eyes zoomed in on her chest.
She sneered before venturing a glance down at her sodden silk shirt. Where she saw the perfect outline of both of her nipples. A tinge of heat lit her cheeks, and she crossed her arms haughtily, glaring at him as best she could while battling embarrassment.
“Seems this April morning is colder than you anticipated,” he drawled.
And that was when any wayward attraction she might have felt toward him died a quick death. The moment he opened his mouth, her hormones pulled the emergency brake.
“Cut the horseshit, Crane,” she snapped.
The edge of Reese’s mouth pulled sideways, sliding the stubble into an even more appealing pattern. But she wasn’t here to be insulted or patronized.
“I heard some news,” she said. “Your father purchased the Van Heusen.”