“Tony will arrive tomorrow,” Landon replies, without looking up from whatever he’s reading on the tablet.
I start to go over my notes on the article. I had a meeting with Mark Willis earlier in the day to discuss the outline, and now I type in new ideas in addition to the ones I’ve already put down. I’ve been doing my research and learning more about the history of the hotel, from the high profile people who’ve stayed there over the years, including presidents and movie stars, to the mismanagement by the previous owner, a career playboy called Evans Sinclair. I’ve read about the coup in which the members of the board, all of whom were members of the extended Sinclair family, forced him to agree to sell the hotel to Landon.
After a couple of minutes of working, I look up to see Landon looking at me. Our eyes meet and my stomach twists. I look away quickly, concentrating on the screen of my computer.
“If you need anything, a drink, food…” He interrupts the nervous silence, “there’s a button right there.” He points to a yellow button on the arm of my seat. “If you’d like to lie down, there’s a bedroom through the doors at the back.” I look from the direction of the doors back to him, my mind already full of images of the bed that’s in there and the things we could do on it.
“You’re the one who looks in need of a bed,” I say lightly, doing my best to disguise my carnal thoughts.
“Yes, but I have no intention of going in there without you.” His eyes cut a sensual path from my face down my body, “and if I get you in there, neither of us will be getting any sleep.”
Oh boy! My thighs clench and I tear my eyes away from him, fixing them on my screen, and forcing my mind to thoughts of the article. I can feel his eyes on me, but he doesn’t make any move towards me.
“I have some questions,” I say, breaking the silence.
“Shoot.”
I ask him about his reasons for acquiring the Gold Dust and his inspiration for the refurbishment. He answers my questions, displaying a love for the hospitality industry he was born into and the hotel brand he successfully expanded in such a short time.
“I’ve learned to see past appearances, to look at something and see its potential. I could see the possibilities in the Gold Dust even at the height of its mismanagement, when the standards kept falling, and I know exactly how to ensure it reaches its full potential.”
“Why are you keeping the old name?” I ask. “Why not Swanson Court San Francisco? Wouldn’t that be more decisive in announcing that the hotel is entering a new era in its management?”
“It was an agreement I made with the Sinclair family.”
I ask some more questions, and after I’m done, he calls the stewardess and orders two glasses of orange juice, then goes back to reading whatever he has on his tablet.
I must have fallen asleep after drinking my juice. When I wake up my head is resting on Landon’s shoulder and I’m curled against his side. I straighten, blinking the sleep away from my eyes.
“I fell asleep,” I say unnecessarily, embarrassed and sure that I look disheveled.
“So you did.” Landon’s voice is strangely gentle. “I hope you enjoyed using me as a pillow.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shrugs. “I didn’t mind. I think we’ve established that my body is here for you anytime you want it.”
I ignore his teasing grin as color floods my face. “Are we almost there?” I ask, eager to change the subject before I make a fool of myself and jump on the part of his body I really want.
“We’re about to land.” He leans over me to fasten my seatbelt before he does his.
It’s still dark when we land in San Francisco. A car comes to take us from the airport to the hotel where we’re staying. I’ve never been to the city, so even though I’m tired, I keep my eyes out of the windows taking in the sights.
It’s early hours of the morning, but at the hotel, an eight-story establishment with turn of the century architecture, slightly set back from the street, with a black awning over the entrance with the name of the hotel, Rosemont Royal, written in flowing script, there’s a crisp looking man in a suit waiting to greet us. “Good Morning Mr. Court,” he says cheerfully, “Welcome back to San Francisco. How was your flight?”
Landon’s voice is brisk. “Good Ralph, Thanks.”
The man turns to me. “Welcome to the Rosemont Royal, Miss Foster. I’m Ralph Groff, the manager. Should you need anything during your stay, I am entirely at your service.”
I nod my thanks, admiring the lobby with its thick carpeting, richly ornamented walls and columns, and plush waiting areas. “Your suite has been prepared,” Ralph is saying, leading us to a private elevator, while a few steps behind us, a bellboy wheels the cart containing our luggage away from the lobby.
Ralph follows us up to the top floor, all the way to a spacious suite which reminds me of Landon’s apartment at the Swanson Court in New York. The entrance foyer has a gleaming black and white diamond marble tile finish, dark colored walls and an elaborately framed mirror over a carved side table. The living room is large and richly furnished with thick carpets, heavy curtains, and elegant furniture. There’s a grand piano at one corner, and through an archway, a formal dining room boasting about ten seats, and a sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
“I imagine that you’re tired from your journey,” Ralph continues in his courteous voice, “but if there’s anything you would like, we’ll send a chef up.”
“No nothing, thank you,” I say, enjoying the solicitous service.
Ralph nods. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe your luggage has arrived.” He disappears through a door leading out of the living room.