Under The Mistletoe

And she heard Gabe Trask’s voice in reply.

He was there, just inside that room. For an instant, she could only think of his eyes, his smile, his touch on her back as they moved around the dance floor together. And the embarrassment of finding out afterward what was really going on. What must he have thought of her—a poor flower that needed his pity? She needed no one’s pity. In fact, that particular shoe was about to be on the other foot.

His, to be precise.

She banked the embers of her anger and walked up to rap on the door. “Good morning, Mr. Trask.”

There were people he’d have been more surprised to see standing there, but Gabe couldn’t think of any offhand. It was as though he’d conjured her by thinking. One moment she was in his mind, the next she was in his doorway.

And all he could think of was that moment she’d been in his arms.

“Hey,” he said, rising to escort the chef out and go to her. “You disappeared the other night.”

“Yes, but I’m here now. May I sit down?” she said, crossing to one of his client chairs.

She was different today, he thought. Still cool and blond, but the mischief, the vulnerability, was all but hidden beneath a hard, glossy shell.

“Please. I’ve got a few minutes.” It wasn’t strictly true—he never had a few minutes, but no way was he going to let work interrupt. “How are you? Everything all right with your stay?”

“More or less,” she said, taking a seat.

He looked at her. Something was definitely off. “Care to be more specific? It’s my job to take care of the ‘less’ part. Has business services supported you all right? You look like you’re off to your meetings.”

It wasn’t quite a smile, more an impression of enjoyment. “That’s true, I am.” She sat upright with almost military precision. Her hair hung smoothly to her shoulders, her bangs just brushing her brows. Under them, gray eyes stared back at him, as level as a gunfighter’s.

“Is your meeting here?”

Definitely enjoyment. “Why, yes.” She crossed her legs with a quick whisper of hosiery. “In this office, actually.”

That stopped him for a moment. In the back of his mind, suspicion began to brew. “Care to be more specific?”

“Certainly. I’m here to meet with you.”

“I don’t recall seeing anything on my calendar.”

“You wouldn’t. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d clear some time for me.”

“To discuss what?”

Now the smile did spread across her face—but it was anything but friendly. “You gave me a surprise Saturday night. Now it’s my turn.” She rose and offered her hand. “I’m Hadley Stone, with Stone Enterprises. We’re the new owners of the hotel.” She gave him a cool look. “And I’m here to talk about what happens next.”

It was just a handshake, a professional gesture she’d made countless times. She’d touched him the night before; the contact now shouldn’t have surprised her. But it did, carrying with it an intimacy, a connection that went far deeper than skin. For an instant, she felt laid open to him, thoughts and emotions.

And he was furious, she could feel it.

When he released her, she turned back to her chair without a word, resisting the urge to rub her hand against her thigh.

“And what does happen next?” he asked calmly.

“Changes. We’ve got to assimilate the hotel into the Stone organization.”

“I see.”

It was like being out on the water when a squall swept through, changing everything from sunny and warm to blustery wind and churning seas in minutes. It wasn’t a surprise to her that he was unhappy about it all. What was a surprise was how deeply the diamond-hard anger in his eyes cut.

Not that what he felt would change anything, of course.

Gabe crossed to the hallway door and closed it, his expression taut. Still, his voice remained even as he returned to his desk. “Stone Enterprises? As in Whit Stone?”

“My grandfather. He left the company to my father, Robert Stone.”

“Nice to get that cleared up,” Gabe said pleasantly.

“Excuse me?”

“Whit passed away five months ago. For five months, I’ve been stonewalled by the lawyers every time I’ve tried to find out just who’s responsible for the property besides me. All it would have taken was a letter.”

Hadley smiled. Payback for the night before was about to begin. “WSI is a multibillion dollar corporation. This hotel represents a fraction of a percent of the whole. First things first. You were on the list when we could get to you.”

“Which is now.”

“Exactly. My job is to bring the property up to speed.”

That got to him, she saw. “If you’ll look at the books, you’ll see the property is making a profit and showing revenue growth year over year. We’re in good shape.”

“Not as far as we’re concerned.”

“What’s the problem? We’ve been operating in the black for the last five years,” he said, a faint edge in his voice.

“That may have been adequate under my grandfather’s ownership. Not anymore. We expect double or even triple your profit margins from our holdings.” Or Robert did, anyway. “I’ve looked at your balance sheets. You’re not even close to target.”

“How about that.”

Hadley stared at him a moment. “Don’t mistake how serious this is.” She opened up her portfolio and pulled out a printed sheet. “Fortunately, we should be able to meet the numbers with the right approach. I’ve been making notes. You’ve got some unnecessary amenities that are driving up costs. They can go.”

“Really.” Gabe leaned forward with interest, propping his chin on his tented fingers. “And they would be?”

“Flowers in the rooms, for one. It’s a nice touch but a waste of money.” As a guest, she might want to keep them; as a Stone employee with targets to meet, she couldn’t afford to. “Stick with flowers in the public areas only.”

“I see. Go on, please.”

The other night he’d embarrassed her personally. Now he was trying to do it professionally. “All right. Your dinner portions could probably shrink, you could reduce the menu options,” she said, her tone intentionally dismissive. “The food is more exotic than you need. Skip the lobster and seared tuna, stick to lamb and sole. For that matter, your breakfast buffet is far in excess of what it should be.”

“What it should be?” He let a beat go by. “I assume you’ve got hospitality experience to support these directives?”

She leaned forward, resisting the urge to bare her teeth. “Let me make this clear. I have bottom-line experience. As far as you and I are concerned, that’s all the experience I need.”

“You don’t think you need to understand an operation before you wade in demanding wholesale changes?”