“Fucking media.” The words are laced with venom as they move past my lips. I can’t believe this shit. The bastards can’t keep their noses out of my business. It’s fucking bullshit. Ever since my father named me the CEO to The Lancaster Hotel chains, they’ve been watching my every move.
I swear I can’t catch a break. No matter where I am, they’re right behind me. The constant attention from the press isn’t the surprise. I’m used to it by now. But what really pisses me off is their need to constantly pit brother against brother. Pierce is too young to be part of the drama, but Grant isn’t, and Grant is a major issue. The media is relentless when it comes to our estranged relationship.
We may be estranged, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. Yes, we haven’t been in the same room in years. No, we don’t speak. But it doesn’t mean they have to make something where it’s not. Born only twelve months apart, we look almost identical with our square jaws and, as the tabloids say, “piercing” green eyes, but that’s where the similarities end. I’m no golden child, but I don’t make dumb ass decisions all the time, unlike my brother.
“Mr. Lancaster?” my assistant Lucy calls from the adjoining room. “I have Gloria Reynolds on line one.”
My nose scrunches at the unfamiliar name. “Who? I don’t know any Gloria,” I state.
“She’s Mr. Gilbert’s secretary, sir.”
“Put her through,” I bellow, grabbing the phone and pulling it to my ear. “Hello, Gloria. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I have Henry Gilbert holding for you. Mr. Gilbert, I have Mr. Lancaster on the line.”
“Thank you, Gloria. I’ll take it from here.” Gilbert’s thick English accent rings through the line. “Lancaster, why must your press always stick their nose in other people’s business?”
“When you have the answer to that question, please share your wisdom.” My eyes roll to the ceiling in frustration, and I bring my hand up to run through my hair. “What can I do for you, Henry?”
“We need to talk. Since the news has leaked that I’m looking to develop the property in Manchester, my phone has been ringing nonstop with offers.”
I knew this would happen. When word got out that I was interested in that property, others would wonder what potential I saw in the location. The fact that I haven’t already sealed the deal and purchased the land is a mistake I intend to rectify.
“I hate to break it to you, but I have a string of people on the phone offering twice what you did.”
Fuck, I should have known. “You wouldn’t dare.” The threat is thick on my tongue. Henry Gilbert got his start with my endorsement. I’d bury him as quick as I built him and he knows it.
“You’re correct, champ. I’m too loyal. But Randall isn’t. We both know he’d never answer your call if I weren’t involved.”
He’s right. There has been bad blood between Randall Taylor and myself ever since a deal fell through with our fathers years ago. If it weren’t for Henry’s involvement and acting as the middleman between us, this deal wouldn’t have even gotten this far.
“If I were you, I’d sign the papers before he goes above both our heads.”
“I’m not signing shit until I see the property.”
“Then I’d highly recommend that you get your arse on a plane and close the deal before I change my mind.”
“I’ll make my flight this afternoon. Stay in touch. I’ll be in contact.”
He hangs up without so much as a goodbye.
Ass.
“Lucy,” I call through the door.
“Yes, sir?” Her auburn hair peeks around the frame.
“Get the plane ready. I need to fly out to Manchester.”
“Absolutely. When would you like to return?”
“Tell the pilot it’s one-way. I intend to work out some additional deals while in Europe.”
“On it, sir.” She turns to retreat.
“Lucy.”
“Yes, sir.” She looks at me, brow raised.
“Stop calling me sir. I’m not my father.”
A smile graces her face. “As you wish.”
Two hours later I’m sitting on the tarmac in one of my father’s fleet of private planes. The Lancaster money and name always has its perks, and today is no exception. I’m finishing up an email to all of my hotel managers, letting them know I’ll be out of town for the next couple of weeks and reminding them of the protocol when a sultry voice I’ve never heard before comes over the inflight speakers.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Lancaster. My name is Victoria, and I will be at your service for the duration of our flight into Manchester. For the next eight hours, please let me know any way that I can be of assistance to you.”
If she wasn’t sending subliminal messages over the intercom, then I’m just a damn pervert. Everything from her voice to her words screamed, “Take me.” My eyes widen when the vixen steps around the curtain that was shielding me from her view. She’s new. I want to thank whoever hired her because they deserve a raise. Long black locks fall in waves down her back, and a tight black pencil skirt hugs every one of her curves. She’s tall; I’d estimate five foot nine, and the violet eyes that meet mine have me ready to play. Oh, what I can do to this woman in eight hours.
“Mr. Lancaster. Can I get you something to drink?” she purrs.
My eyes glide over her svelte body in appreciation. The knowing smirk on her face tells me she knows what I have planned.
“Champagne, please.”
She nods slowly, turning to walk away. I raise my hand, stopping her.
“Bring two glasses.”
The way her lips tip up is taunting. I have no doubt the things she’ll do to me will be graphic.
I can’t wait.
I’ve been a member of the mile-high club for years, but it gets better every time. I shouldn’t fuck with the staff, but I don’t have any other use for her. I’m all keyed up with the possibility of losing this deal and she’ll be the best distraction. I didn’t get my playboy reputation for no reason.
She returns a minute later. This time I notice an extra button on her blouse is popped open. The swell of her breasts is screaming at me to touch her, to taste her, and I will. But this is a long flight and I need to take the edge off first. Accepting the glass from her hand, I take a gulp before looking up at her still standing in front of me.
“Drink,” I order. She lifts her own to her mouth. Good girl.
When she pulls it away, she runs her tongue seductively over her lips.
“Is there anything else I can do to make your flight more enjoyable?” Her tongue juts out and there’s no mistaking the question she’s asking. I’m only too happy to oblige. My glass hits the table with a thud and her lip tips up at the gesture.
“I’m sure you can think of something . . .” The words hang in the air as an invitation. But I won’t clarify.
I’m Spencer Lancaster.
I don’t have to.
Without another word, she sets her own glass down and drops to the floor in front of me. Reclining back, I look down at her as she begins to crawl toward my seat.