Undone by the Star (10 page)

The Sadler couldn’t afford to be absent.

But Grannie couldn’t walk.

And Alex didn’t own a long dress, let alone an evening gown.

She raised her head, drumming her fingers on the mahogany surface of her desk while Clare hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically stressed. “I am so sorry.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Alex locked eyes with her assistant. “What we need is a fairy godmother – preferably one with good taste. And no mice.”

“What about a professional shopper? We have a number on our roster.”

Alex rubbed her temples. “Too impersonal. But we do need to find someone who can capture The Sadler look on short notice.” Alex lowered her hands and pushed herself back from her desk. “Helen!” she exclaimed leaping from her chair. “She’ll know what to do! She always dresses Grannie.”

“Shall I send her a text?” offered Clare. “See if she has any ideas?”

“Better still, ask her if she can meet me on the quiet!” And with that Alex bolted from the room and practically ran for the elevator. If Helen hadn’t so graciously agreed to stay with Grannie while she convalesced, she would already have been on her way home.

The elevator pinged open and Alex stepped inside. For a moment she hesitated, then pushed the button for Grannie’s floor four times. “Just for luck,” she whispered with a smile tugging her lips. Riding an elevator would never be the same again.

The doors slid open – and there was Helen Wolcheski.

“Oh, Helen,” Alex gasped. “Am I ever glad you’re still here!”

“I gather this is about the premiere.”

“It is, and I seriously need your help.” The woman was an oasis of calm, thought Alex as she followed Helen towards the tall windows at the end of the hall.

“The housekeeper is with your grandmother,” Helen told her, “so we have a few minutes.”

“Grannie’s going to be so disappointed,” Alex worried. “She loves walking the red carpet.”

Helen clucked. “Her pride in her granddaughter will be more than enough compensation. Now, let me think.” The woman’s eyes stared into the distance for a few moments, and then returned to Alex assessing her from head to toe.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

Alex did as she was bid, automatically straightening her shoulders.

“You have your grandmother’s bearing,” said Helen. “And the promise of elegance. If you could look this way now.” She raised Alex’s chin with her finger. “You are very like her, you know.”

“Thank you,” said Alex, humbled and relieved that, like Clare, Helen was eager to support her.

“Give me a day or two, Alexis, and we’ll see what we can do. Your grandmother has donated a lot of her gowns to charity over the years, but she kept her favourites.” Helen gave Alex an impish grin. “I can plump pillows with the best of them, but preparing you for your red carpet premiere is far more exciting.”

Alex gave the woman a quick hug. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“It will be my pleasure. Now off you go....”

“…before I turn into a pumpkin?”

“You know how the story ends, don’t you?” said Helen, and off she went humming a familiar refrain as fairy godmothers are wont to do.

Ten minutes later, Alex was back in her office. She glanced at the clock – past five. Folding her hands in front of her on the desk, she mulled over every aspect of attending the premiere, lingering on each detail, considering how every element from dress, to limo, to press releases would be covered. In her new position she needed to be flawless; she had to telegraph to the world that Alexis Kirkwood, heir to The Sadler Hotel, was just as fabulous as her grandmother had ever been. Grannie had soared into the elite by virtue of her family, her marriage to a diplomat, and her own indomitable personality. Alex was determined to do no less.

She had the same family connections.
One down
.

She stared at her tightly clasped hands – she was not a social being like Grannie, but she would never let a single sliver of fear, shyness, or insecurity jeopardize her beloved hotel. She could and would step onto the public stage when necessary. After all, along with ledgers and customer service, it was part of her heritage.
Two down
.

And then there was the small matter of an escort. Alex propped her head on one hand, remembering warm kisses and the feel of Marc’s silky hair in her fingers. She didn’t need any man to give her credibility, but the vision of herself in a dream of a dress floating onto the red carpet with Marc on her arm, just about took her breath away. Her fantasies spun faster, the warmth of his hand, the muscles at play beneath his tuxedo jacket, the smile in his eyes as he looked down at her….

Alex groaned. And she had thrust him away when she thought someone might see them, told him off for allowing his celebrity to put her and the hotel in jeopardy. It would be disingenuous to pretend that Marc’s fame wouldn’t be exactly the right kind of image to couple with the hotel at a society event.

“Damn,” Alex muttered. She wouldn’t have cared if he really was a plumber – she had never responded so completely to any man. She wanted his kisses, the warmth of his embrace, but more than anything, she wanted the kind understanding in his eyes, the twitch of laughter around his mouth, the flash of connection when he caught exactly what she meant – every time. With a ripple of wonder, Alex realized that no one in her entire life, not even Grannie or her closest friends, had ever caught the meaning behind even half of what she said.

She wanted Marc, and no one else, on the red carpet beside her.

Picking up the phone, she rang the dining room. “Kate, I know you’re busy with the dinner rush, but can you find an excuse to come up to my office?”

“Twist my arm,” Kate muttered. “The Duchess of who-knows-where is picking through the menu like a pig in you-know-what.”

Alex smothered a laugh and set the phone back in its cradle. Within minutes, Kate entered pushing a linen-covered food cart with a flower in a vase, cutlery and a covered plate.

“Crazy tonight,” Kate declared. She maneuvered the cart over by the sofa and collapsed with an airy gesture at the plate. “Your dinner, ma’am.”

Alex came over, lifted the cover, and burst out laughing. “Crisps, cheese, and a piece of chocolate torte?”

Kate grinned. “It was all I could scrounge without putting in an actual order.”

Alex dropped onto the sofa beside her.

“I need some information, Kate.” She reached for a wedge of cheddar. “Marc Daniels mentioned that the food at The Sadler has been keeping him going. Exactly what has he been ordering and how much?”

Kate waggled her eyebrows at her and helped herself to a crisp. “Taking a deep interest in all the habits of our Mr. Daniels, are we?”

Alex laughed. “Spill,” she commanded.

Kate grinned. “Well, not that I’ve really paid attention…but he loves the scones – has a couple every day and takes one home for snacks. At lunch, he goes for the chicken Caesar or bavette steak sandwich on ciabatta. When he’s in meetings, he keeps a running order for cream tea and cheese boards, or in the late afternoon, tapas.”

“And he prefers dark beer,” Alex interrupted, ignoring Kate’s raised brow.

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied. “But he does drink a lot of tea. And he tips really well.”

Alex sat back and considered what Kate had reported. The plan was taking shape in her mind rather nicely. “Okay,” she said, “here’s the deal…,” and quickly explained her need to backtrack with Marc.

“Well, they do say ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’” Kate offered.

“Exactly.” Alex grabbed a notebook from her desk, wrote down everything she wanted, and then handed the page to Kate. “This goes to the head chef. Top priority. I want it ready by seven-thirty at the latest.”

Kate glanced at the list and then up at her friend. “There’s only one problem – what are you going to do if he says, no?”

CHAPTER SIX

 “Now what!” Marc pounded down the carpeted stairs, holding his mobile phone next to his ear. It was high noon in L.A. and the word was out.
Marc Daniels had gone rogue.

 “You’re crazy,” his soon-to-be former agent shouted in his ear. “The franchise is good for at least three, maybe five more films! They’re yours for the taking!”

 “Doesn’t matter,” snapped Marc as he rounded the first floor landing. What was it about this guy? “I don’t want them,” he reiterated. “I’ve paid my dues, and it’s time to move on.”

“Marc, think about the money…,” his agent began.

“Forget it. I’m done.” Marc interrupted, just as the buzzer went again. His bare feet hit the black and white tiles of the ground floor vestibule. “Hang on,” Marc shouted to whoever was on the other side of the door. “No, not you!” he said into the phone tucking it under his chin as he reached for the lock. He shot the bolt and yanked open the door.

The phone slid out from beneath his chin and clattered to the floor.

Alexis Kirkwood stood in front of him clutching a massive wicker hamper. A slight breeze flitted through the door, giving him a taste of her scent as she gave him a tentative smile.

All his stress, all the conflict melted away. Marc stared, drinking in every inch of her. His suit-wearing, uber-efficient and occasionally irritating CEO of The Sadler Hotel was wearing a kick-ass skirt that stopped just short of her knees. Her long legs were bare, and her pink-painted toes peeked out at him from a pair of sandals. He’d never seen her toes before.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear his L.A. agent buzzing like a gnat.

“I’ve brought dinner.” Alex tilted her head and smiled, eyes anxiously scanning his face.

“Right.” Marc nodded. Of course, she had. Anticipating her clients’ every wish was motto number one – but since when did the hotel send senior staff on a delivery run, and why did she seem so apprehensive?

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” She shifted slightly and adjusted the hamper.

“No, no.” He gave himself a shake. “I’ve been on the phone with a moron…and apparently, it’s catching.” He reached for the hamper. “Here, let me take that.” She was gripping it so tightly, he had to pry her fingers off the handles. Warmth shot through him as his hands slid over hers. “Good grief. What’s in here? Dom Perignon?”

“Dinner for two, actually. Think of it as a housewarming gift.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. He was such a dunce. “Please…please, come in.” He used his shoulder to push back the door.

Alex crossed the threshold. “Um…what’s that noise?”

“My agent,” said Marc. She followed his gaze to where his phone lay on the floor. “Could you?”

Alex bent over to pick it up. “Shall I?” she asked turning back to face him.

He nodded.

“I’m afraid Mr. Daniels is no longer available,” she said into the phone. Then she simply ended the call.

“I like your style,” said Marc. Every little bit of it. From the lacy summer top she wore to the revealing curve of her ankles. “Come on up,” he cocked his head towards the stairs.

She led the way.

Marc followed, his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him, the swaying hips as she mounted the stairs to his flat, the swirl of her skirt, the smooth length of her legs. By the time they reached the open door, the blood was pounding in his ears.

Once inside, he led the way to the kitchen, setting the hamper on the island counter next to his laptop. Alex added his phone to the clutter.

“Wow,” she said, her eyes roving about the kitchen. “This is fabulous. My whole flat would fit in here.”

It was, Marc had to admit, rather impressive. Granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances and a refrigerator the size of a bank vault. “Kind of a waste, really. Should I be putting anything in the fridge?”

“No need. There’s a thermal pack inside.”

“Would you like a quick tour?”

“Yes, please.”

Marc’s surge of pleasure at having Alex here was almost overwhelming. But he kept it in check. She was a bit skittish, and he didn’t want to come on too strong. Relationships were a delicate dance, in his opinion, but he could almost hear the orchestra warming up in the background.

They looped back through the empty dining room with its ornate ceiling and glistening chandelier. With a wave of pride, Marc watched as she stood in awe of the reception room. The windows were magnificent, soaring over the trees tops and giving a bird’s eye view of the street below. Alex wandered about the room,
oohing
and
aahing
at its beauty, the Georgian fireplace, the glossy hardwood floors, and finally the tiny lead soldier standing guard on the mantelpiece. But it was another room devoid of furniture. She didn’t ask, and he didn’t answer. The flat was barren because it had seemed pointless to furnish it. Alex’s attention was all on The Sadler, with nothing left for him. He’d simply lost heart. Or, to be more exact, he’d thought he’d lost her.

Now that she was here, he wasn’t so sure.

“You like it?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Alex replied, turning back to him. “It’s like someone got into my mind and created the perfect flat.”

Pleasure and satisfaction flared in him; he had gotten it right.

Marc held out his hand. She slid hers into his, and he led her through the rest of his new digs. The two unfurnished bedrooms, and the master bedroom, where the only “furniture” was a mattress on the floor.

“It’s like camping without the bugs,” said Marc, using his foot to shove a discarded sweatshirt out of the way. His open suitcases acted as dresser drawers, and piles of books and papers littered the floor next to his bed.

“What no box springs? No sleeping bag?”

Marc laughed. “Okay, I may have screwed up on the box springs, but I did check with your housekeeping staff about the bedding.”

“Clever man.”

“Thank you,” he said releasing her hand. “We have two choices. Sit on the stools in the kitchen and eat off the counter, or…,” he bent down, grabbed a corner of the duvet, and gave it a rolling tug, “…picnic in front of the fireplace.”

 Twenty minutes later the gas fire danced and glowed, and the contents of the hamper lay spread out in front of them on the soft comforter. Everything from champagne flutes to cutlery, to bruschetta and strawberries, had been beautifully prepared and carefully packed for their enjoyment including a pair of candlesticks now casting a soft light from atop the mantelpiece. There was roast duck with spears of asparagus and creamy camembert, and a small jar of caviar bearing The Sadler’s own label.