Inarticulate (19 page)

I
t took
days to tick every box necessary to ensure all guests were aware of the upcoming restaurant closure. Reception had notified people on check-in. Housekeeping had updated room service folders with the temporary list of bar meals. And tomorrow every room in the hotel would have a note slipped under the door as an additional reminder, along with discount vouchers for nearby restaurants.

“Are you ready?” Grant asked from behind the reception counter.

“I’m—”

“
Savannah
.”

She turned at the shout and found their head chef approaching from the restaurant archway. “What’s up, Thomas?”

He stormed for her, his normally warm skin pale beneath his heavy beard. “They called in sick.”

Her calm façade fractured ever so slightly. “Who?”

“Those little twerps that handed in their notice last week—Layla and Tammy. They’re both scheduled to start their shift in half an hour, and now I have no waitresses.”

“Where’s Sally? Why isn’t she dealing with this?” Thomas wasn’t the restaurant manager. He didn’t need to be taking calls from meddling staff. The wedding was a big enough priority to concentrate on when the success or failure of the night would be determined by what went on in his kitchen, under his command.

“I told her I could handle dinner service so she could meet with Grandiosity.” He shrugged his beefy shoulder. “I’m averaging twenty meals on Saturday nights. Less on Fridays. It wouldn’t be a big deal if those ignorant bitches hadn’t called in sick. I need at least one waitress here to help out.”

“Call them back. Demand a doctors’ certificate.”

“We can do that?”

“Yes,” she growled. “We can. It’s in your employment contracts—one of those tiny stipulations that we only bring to light if necessary.” It was necessary now. The women in question had no sense of dedication. They were young. Undependable. And in a position to cause havoc if they pulled the same shit tomorrow night.

“I’ve been over their files. They have a lot of annual leave banked up. If they can’t commit to the two weeks’ notice they’ve promised, let them know we won’t commit to paying their entitlements.”

He gave a tired nod. “Can do.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to this Grandiosity thing for a few drinks?” She grabbed her coat off the reception desk and shrugged into the heavy material. “If the restaurant is slow, you should close up early and meet us over there.”

“No.” He cringed, exposing heavy wrinkles across his forehead that she hadn’t noticed before. He was exhausted. Overwhelmed. Just like every other employee under this roof. “Fuck them. I’m not going to clink a beer glass with the assholes who’ve kept me up at night. And besides, the two chefs I have left need a point by point instruction manual if left unsupervised.”

“Understandable.” She only needed him to hang on for one more night. Another thirty hours or so. Then they could breathe again. “Take it easy, okay? Look after yourself.”

He scoffed and strode away, leaving her to turn to the reception counter and the two people with competing levels of stress sliding off them in tidal waves.

She ignored Grant’s usual demeanor and focused on Amanda. “What is it?”

“The bride wants to add four more guests to the seating plan.”

“Is that an issue?”

Amanda balked. “Is that an issue? The night before the wedding? Um, well, we have to add more meals for the kitchen to prepare, more drinks for non-existent bar staff to make, more plates to clear for waitresses who apparently won’t turn up anyway. Then there’s the tables and chairs that need to be rearranged.” She ran a hand through her tousled hair and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m at the point where I’m ready to walk.”

Shit.
“It’s just last minute teething problems. We’ll sort it out.” Yep. Last minute teething problems. Last minute teething problems. It would all work out.
Fuck.
“Don’t stress.”

Who the hell was she kidding? It was hard not to envisage the inevitable crash and burn of the wedding when the world seemed set against the nuptials. “As soon as I get back, I’ll rearrange the tables. And I can do whatever else you need. Just write a list.”

“I’m entirely over this job.” Amanda held up her hands in surrender. “After tomorrow, I’m taking time off.”

Savannah nodded. “Whatever you need. I promise.” She turned her focus to Grant and snatched her clutch off the counter. “And what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He patted the coat swung over his arm and then his pants pocket. “I’m all set to go.”

“Fantastic.” She searched the lobby, looking for the night-shift receptionist.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Amanda offered. “I’ll stay here until she gets back.”

“Thank you.” Savannah clapped her hands together as if in prayer. “I promise, once tomorrow is over, everything will be smooth sailing.”

It had to be.

A perfectly manicured brow rose on Amanda’s forehead. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Savannah winced in farewell and walked for the lobby doors, Grant at her side. They didn’t speak, not while hailing a cab, not on the few blocks’ drive to their destination, and not even when they strode by the immaculately shaped shrubs lining the front path.

The glitz and glamour of Grandiosity towered before her, the structure oozing with snobbery. She puffed out a breath of fog, let it disappear into the darkness, and then straightened her shoulders.

“You ready?” She focused on the building, on that shiny, glistening chandelier that beamed its message of superiority.

“Ahh… yeah.” Grant rubbed his hands together, warming them in the cold. “But you’re making me nervous… Should I be nervous?”

“No.” She shook her head, still staring, still frozen. He was already a slave to anxiety; he didn’t need her apprehension rubbing off on him. “This is going to be great.”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

She led the way, climbing the stairs, and came face to face with the doorman. He was familiar. The same man from the night she’d spent in the penthouse.
Shit.
Could this night be more punishing?

She snapped her gaze to the floor and feigned the tiles had a mesmerizing hold as she walked through the entrance.

“Are you from Rydel?” he asked.

She froze, fear sliding down her spine.

“Yeah,” Grant answered for her.

“Then the bar’s straight through to your left. Would you like me to take your coats?”

Savannah stifled a squeal as Grant lifted the heavy covering from her shoulders and handed it over. She hadn’t prepared herself. Not properly. She’d planned to schmooze with Patrick, ignore Penny, and completely avoid Keenan. But she hadn’t anticipated the shame she would feel when she reentered this building.

Memories overwhelmed her, flashes of vision that made her heart race.

“Are you sure there’s nothing to worry about?” Grant muttered near her ear. “You’re acting strange.”

She shook her head to dislodge her thoughts. “It’s a new dress,” she lied and swung her hand out to indicate the glistening black that clung to her skin. “I’m not sure I can pull it off.” The dress had hung dormant in her closet for years, the long sleeves and knee-high hem too conservative for clubbing and too sexy for a business function.

Tonight was an exception. She wanted Keenan to see the material hugging her the way he previously had. She craved his attention along the deep neckline that exposed cleavage highlighted with a simple silver drop necklace nestled between the top of her breasts. She’d kill to have him contemplate the thought of her underwear. To second-guess if she was wearing something equally appealing as the lingerie he’d bought for her. And if they did cross paths, and their eyes did meet, she would be on his level, able to glare into those deep gray depths because she was wearing her highest heels, the ones that gave a great kick to her calf muscles adorned in sheer stockings.

“You look gorgeous.”

She stifled a gasp at the breathlessness in Grant’s tone.

He was looking at her.
Really
looking at her. “Stop it.” She patted his arm playfully and clung tighter to her clutch. “You’re making me blush.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He jogged a few steps ahead to pull the door open for her. She slowed, swallowing over the tightening in her throat. Inside was shadowed, glistening lights filling the darkness. Noise bellowed forth, laughter, clinking glassware, chatter.

Goosebumps skittered along every inch of her skin, blanketing her in discomfort. Not quite unhealthy anxiety, but awfully close. The glossy wooden bar came into view. The stools. The suits. The crowd. Each step exposed more elegance and superiority that shoved her tighter into the Inferior box.

“Savannah…” Patrick Black stepped toward her in his tailor-made suit, his hand outstretched. He was dashing, entirely pleasing to the eye for a man old enough to be her father. He would’ve been a heartbreaker in his day, and the trait lived on in his son who came to stand tall at his side. “You look ravishing.”

“Thank you.” She grinned, pasting a sly and provocative smile right where it needed to be. “You’re quite charming yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her hand a warm shake before releasing it. “Have you met my son?”

Heartbeats increased, the sound punishing in her ears. She tilted her chin, ever so slightly, and met visual perfection. “Yes.” She kept her voice strong and licked her lower lip for added measure. “We’ve met.”

Keenan took her hand, encasing it in his solid grip. He held her tight, peering at her with a look so fierce it almost scorched her nerves. She tried to remain in control, to keep him from penetrating the rapidly beating organ in her chest, but she was too susceptible, too weak against his charm.

She cut her gaze to his father. “He’s quite mysterious, isn’t he?” She spoke as if Keenan wasn’t even there. As if he didn’t exist even though their palms were still joined. “I bet his silent demeanor works wonders on the ladies.”

Patrick chuckled. “It certainly works on my assistant.”

Keenan’s touch vanished, leaving her arm to fall to her side. She feigned ignorance, her lips parting in shock as he fled, the back of his tailored suit fitting perfectly over every body part.

“Was it something I said?” she murmured, her stomach turning with guilt.

“Please accept my apologies on his behalf.” The influential CEO of Grandiosity encroached, placing his hand at the low of her back. “He’s not the most social of people.”

“I understand.” But she didn’t. When it came to Keenan, she knew nothing.

“And who is this young man?” Patrick focused over her shoulder.

Oh, shit.
“Sorry.” She winced at Grant. “This is Grant Stevenson, one of the managers of Rydel, Seattle.”

The men shook hands and flowed into an easy conversation about business. She excused herself, needing space. Needing alcohol. But mind-numbing bliss wasn’t an option. She had to remain in peak condition for the wedding.

A waiter passed, teasing her with a tray of bubbles as she maneuvered around guests, pretending she had a destination in mind. She didn’t want to speak to anyone. She didn’t even want to keep this smile plastered on her face when there was a mountain of work to be done back at Rydel and too many unfamiliar eyes looking her way. Did they know she’d been banging their boss? Had they found the security tapes that placed her in the penthouse, and cavorting in their pool?

Another tray slid past her vision, and this time the champagne couldn’t be denied. One wouldn’t hurt. One might actually help. It would keep her free hand occupied and stop the tremble of her traitorous fingers.

She reached out, swiped one of the flutes, and smiled in thanks at the young man who continued walking. Over the rim of the glass, she scoured the room as she sipped. Familiar faces chatted with strangers. Rydel and Grandiosity mingling with ease. Penny was in the far corner, her long, perfect legs on display, her flawless, glossy hair streaming over her shoulder.

Savannah detoured in the opposite direction and made polite conversation with the competition. She ignored the itch at the back of her neck, the one that told her someone was staring at her, talking about her, and feigned interest in the people she met.

“Savannah,” Patrick called from over her shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Tanner. He’s like a son to me.”

She turned to meet vibrant blue eyes and a playboy smile that threatened to melt her panties. But the introduction hadn’t been lost on her. Patrick was far more enthusiastic about introducing this man than he had been about his biological son.

“Hi.” Her grin was genuine under Tanner’s hungry stare. “Nice to meet you.”

“Tanner is one of my executives. He determines what brands go into every Grandiosity room. From the televisions to the tiny liquor bottles.”

“Impressive.”

“I think I can handle it from here on my own.” Tanner’s voice was deep and smooth. Almost edible.

“I know. I know.” Patrick held up his hands. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Savannah smothered a laugh and remained quiet until they were alone. “That sounded awfully close to matchmaking.”

Tanner chuckled. “Get to know him a little better and you’ll realize there’s no doubt.”

“Really?” This time she couldn’t hold in a snort. “I thought I’d be considered the competition. Maybe even the enemy.”

“There is no competition between Grandiosity and Rydel. We’re in two different leagues.” His warm eyes didn’t even flicker with the insult. “But Patrick has been very vocal about how impressed he is by you. Apparently, you acted like GI Jane and stomped into his office, demanding his attention and cooperation.”

A sneer threatened to curl her lip. “I guess it would’ve been shocking—a mere woman from an insignificant company dictating terms to a business god,” she drawled. “Crazy, right?”

“It shocked the hell out of him.” He didn’t even notice her sarcasm.
Pretentious asshole.

She gave him a tight grin and sipped her champagne. Her focus strayed from Tanner’s nauseating million-dollar smile to the bar, where a formidable man leaned against the wood, staring at her.