Engage (Billionaire Series) (2 page)

The most
interesting people usually checked in to The Preminenza between six and eight
o’clock or between ten and eleven. Twenty-seven year-old Jennifer Brooks even
had names for them: the Early Birds and the Nightingales.

The Early Birds
were the regulars, men in their late fifties to early sixties who had the same
woman every time and checked in under monikers such as Mr. and Mrs. Jones or
the Smiths, but generally paid with their own credit cards. These were the men
whose wives knew about their mistresses but didn’t care, so long as the affairs
were discreet. They tipped well and joked with the staff, even did some
friendly flirting.

Take Frederick
Parker III. In the two years since Jennifer had taken this job, he’d brought
the same woman to room 418 every Thursday night. Based on the staff gossip, the
woman’s name was Claire and she’d been Parker’s mistress for twelve years. When
Jennifer had asked why he didn’t just divorce his wife and marry Claire, the
head housekeeper had just chuckled and told Jennifer that she just didn’t get
it. A man like Parker would never be able to marry someone like Claire.
Curiosity piqued, Jennifer had been trying to figure out why ever since. The
best she could figure was that Claire’s profession was less than desirable.
Judging by the woman’s build and graceful way of walking, even in six inch
stilettos, Jennifer was willing to bet Parker had originally met Claire in a
strip-club.

Then there was
young Ronald Lewis who’d married for money. He showed up twice a week with his
long-time mistress Leah, a woman at least ten years his senior. He and his wife
had been married for many years and stayed together even after she’d finally
come out a year ago. On occasion, he and Leah had even been seen out with
Miranda Lewis and her twenty-something girlfriend Jessica. Still, he came to
The Preminenza as if nothing had changed. He said that he and his wife liked
the routine.

That’s when Jennifer
had decided that rich people were strange.

Then there were the
Nightingales. These were the men who always paid cash and rarely showed up with
the same woman, or man, twice. The Nightingales’ dates carried themselves
differently than the Early Birds’ mistresses. These weren’t women of the world
– women cultured and refined at finishing schools or taught the ways of money
by an older man. These also weren’t the high school dropouts who prowled
downtown in micro minis looking for their next score. These were the
high-priced escorts of the wealthy, with at least a high school education,
perhaps even some college.

Once, Jennifer had recognized a woman from her college writing class that she
had taken eight years ago. The woman hadn’t recognized Jennifer, but that
wasn’t surprising. When she was in college, Jennifer had cut short and dyed her
naturally nutmeg brown hair a honey color and wore thick-rimmed glasses. Now,
her hair was back to brown and she wore clear contacts – unafraid to display
her hazel eyes. She’d also lost about thirty pounds. She doubted anyone from
that time would recognize her now. Well, except maybe James.

Jennifer shivered.
She didn’t want to think about James.

“Room 213, Mr.
Smith,” she gave the couple a plastic smile and tried to pretend that she
hadn’t recognized the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the city. He and
his wife had just publicly celebrated their twentieth anniversary. His ‘friend’
had probably still been in diapers when he and his wife tied the knot.

As she watched them
go, not for the first time, she wondered what prompted these women to choose
this life. The mistresses made some sense in that they were with men that they
loved, even if the men weren’t willing to leave their wives. She understood
falling for the wrong man better than most. The escorts gave her pause, though.
These weren’t runaways with no job prospects.

All right, so the
job market wasn’t at its greatest. Jennifer understood that. She’d had six
different jobs between graduating from college before finally coming to The
Preminenza. Even the worst of them – tending bar her last year of college at a
dingy little dive called The Golden Hammock – hadn’t been enough to make her
consider prostitution.

“And there’s your
key, Mr. Jones,” Jennifer bit back a sigh. She really wondered who they thought
they were fooling. The sheer volumes of Smiths and Joneses on the books were
laughable.

“Thank you,
Jennifer,” the elderly gentleman winked at her as he slid his arm around his
date’s waist. The woman rolled her eyes so that only Jennifer could see and
allowed the man to lead her to the elevators.

Jennifer watched
the last of her guests make their way to the elevators and glanced at the
clock. Eleven fifteen. Things would be quiet now. She might have another person
come in before the end of her shift at midnight, but it was doubtful. She
glanced towards the lobby doors and waited.

After a quarter of
an hour, she decided that it was safe to step away from the front desk. She
didn’t do it often, but whenever she had the chance, she liked to take
advantage of the grand piano that sat just a few feet away in the lobby. Just
five minutes. She sat down on the bench and let her fingers rest on the keys.
She closed her eyes, savoring the moment. It had been too long since she’d had
the chance to play. The last few days, she’d had enough paperwork to keep her
busy until midnight so she’d hadn’t had the opportunity.

She took a deep
breath and slowly let it out. She pressed her fingers down and let the music
flow through her hands. Chopin. She’d seen one of her favorite actors playing
the piece on screen and instantly fell in love with it. She’d gotten over her
childhood crush, but still loved the music. Every time she played it, her
affection for it grew.

The music enveloped
her, moving her beyond the lobby, away from the chaos of her life, away from James
and their hideous disaster of a relationship, away from this job where she’d
never get a promotion. When she was playing, she could be anyone, anywhere. A
whole new person with a better life and without any baggage. She let the music
take her away, enjoyed the freedom that came with it.

Her piano teacher
had said that she had a heart and soul for music. All she knew was that the
only time she felt like she understood her life, why she was there and what it
all meant, was when she was playing. She didn’t have to worry that she wasn’t
good enough or pretty enough or what anyone else thought about her. It was just
her and the music.

The last crisp note
faded away and Jennifer gave a contented sigh. Her anxieties had drifted away
with the final notes. She breathed a little easier. Maybe tonight she could
sleep.

Suddenly, a sound
cut through the new silence. Jennifer jumped, startled. She turned, heart
stopping at the sight of an impeccably dressed and clean-cut man clapping. He
leaned back in one of the hotel’s plush chairs. He had thick dirty blond hair
and one of those faces that made guessing his age impossible. His green eyes
were piercing, his gaze admiring.

“That was quite
lovely.” His voice was smooth, with just the right hint of warmth to be
attractive without the feeling of an ulterior motive.

“Th-thank you,”
Jennifer got to her feet, nearly stumbling. The man’s sudden appearance had
thrown her.

“While I appreciate
the show, I would like to check in, if it’s not too much trouble.” He flashed
her a charming smile.

“Of course! I’m so
sorry to make you wait,” she apologized as she hurried back to the desk. She
cursed herself for stepping away for those few minutes. Nobody likes waiting,
especially at a luxury hotel. Just her luck.

The man waved his hand. “Not a problem. Like I said, I enjoyed the show.” He
stood, straightened his jacket, and then strolled towards her with the
confidence of a man who was used to being watched.

“Even so, sir, I
deeply apologize for not being at the desk.” Jennifer was vaguely aware that
she sounded like a simpering idiot, but she was unable to stop herself. If this
man complained to her manager, she’d just get lightly reprimanded, but if he
spoke to the manager’s supervisor, she’d be screwed. What was a little
ass-kissing when her job was at stake?

“How long have you
been playing?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, the beautifully tailored suit
drawing attention to the defined lines of his thin body.

“Since I was
sixteen.” Jennifer knew she sounded distracted, but it couldn’t be helped. The
computer didn’t seem to want to pull up the screen she needed, and she
desperately tried to keep her eyes peeled on the darn screen instead of
checking the handsome man out.

“So just a few
years, then?” He teased.

“Flattering,”
Jennifer automatically smiled. The man was handsome
and
charming. “But
more like eleven.” The screen she needed finally opened up. “Name, Sir?”

“Um, Philip Haas,”
he leaned over the top of the desk, close enough that Jennifer could smell his
spicy cologne, causing her to blush. It was heady, mixing well with his body
chemistry. He gave her a quizzical look, as if surprised she had to ask.

The name sounded
familiar, and Jennifer had a feeling that she should recognize it, but she
pushed the thought aside. She had to get gorgeous Mr. Haas processed as quickly
as possible. She swore silently as the screen revealed that the man standing in
front of her was a high-ranking visitor.

“Welcome back, Mr.
Haas,” she immediately gave him her most charming smile.

“Philip, please,”
he straightened again. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before. How long
have you worked here?”

“Two years,”
Jennifer answered fake-cheerily as she put in his information into the computer
to get the room key in order.

“Ah. Well I haven’t
checked in this late before, so that would explain it. How do you like it
here?”

Jennifer’s gaze flicked up to Philip’s face. There was no way he wanted her
honest opinion, so she gave the expected answer. “I enjoy it!” A quick glance
told her that he was waiting for more. “I like meeting new people and there’s
always interesting things going on.”

“So,” Philip cocked
his head, eyes narrowing, “is that why, after two years, you’re still working
second shift on the front desk? Don’t you want to work your way up?”

Jennifer felt her
smile tighten. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, so she did the only
thing that made sense – lie. “Right now, I’m just enjoying my current position.
If something comes up in the future, I may look into it, but I’m not in a
rush.”

The slight twitch
to the corner of Philip’s mouth told Jennifer that he didn’t entirely buy her
explanation, but he didn’t press the issue. “You said before that interesting
things are always going on here.” He looked around at the empty lobby. “Looks
pretty dead to me.”

“You missed the
Nightingales,” the words blurted past her lips before she could stop it. Heat
flooded her face.

“The Nightingales?”
Philip sounded intrigued.

“Oh, uh,” Jennifer
stammered, “It’s, uh, it’s just what I call the late check-ins.” She threw in
light laughter to cushion her blubbering self.

He gave her a
knowing smile. “I’m guessing they don’t come in alone.”

Jennifer gave a
weak smile as she turned to retrieve Philip’s key.

“But, of course,
you wouldn’t talk about the ladies that accompany these men.”

“Of course not!”
Jennifer hurriedly held out the plastic card. “We here at The Preminenza pride
ourselves on our discretion.”

“I’m glad to hear
that,” Philip brushed his fingers against Jennifer’s as he took his room key.

She shivered
involuntarily then mentally scolded herself. It was an accident. There was no
way someone as attractive as Philip would be interested in her. Well, based on
the Nightingales, he might be interested in a fling and nothing more.

“I’ve really
enjoyed talking to you,” Philip lingered. “You wouldn’t happen to want to accompany
me to my room to continue our conversation?”

Jennifer stared, barely able to keep her jaw from dropping. She had to be
misinterpreting what he meant. The only guys who hit on her were the old men
who were so used to paying for sex that they just assumed everyone saw money as
an aphrodisiac. Philip Haas, upon closer inspection, didn’t look too much older
than her, plus, he was good-looking and wealthy. There was no way he’d be
asking her to his room.