“You will,” I say confidently.
“As I said, I have no doubt.” He makes no move to go, leaning on the door frame as he looks at me. There’s a strange half-smile on his face. “A week has never seemed so short,” he says finally, before leaving me reeling with all the possible implications and interpretations of that simple statement.
LANDON’S few people turn out to be an army of five from the hotel spa. They arrive after I finally finish working on Mark’s comments and sending the second draft of the article to him, so he can read it first thing on Monday morning.
After I take a quick shower, they give me the hair, nail, and makeup treatment. By the time they’re done, I look, and feel like a glamorous Hollywood star on the red carpet.
When I’m ready, I leave my room and find Landon waiting in the living room. At the sight of him, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s really unfair for one man to have so much, to look so perfect, achieve all that he has and still be blessed with such incredible sex appeal. His black tuxedo is perfectly molded to his figure, like it was custom-made for him, which it probably was. His hair is brushed backward into sleek waves that curl at the ends, but the dark gold strands are already finding their way out of the orderly arrangement. As I enter the room, he turns to look at me, his eyes gleaming with sensual intensity as they travel over my body.
He strides towards me, his movements both sure and graceful. “You look ravishing.” His eyes make no attempt to hide the fact that he’d like to be doing the ravishing.
“I had help.”
He makes a dismissive sound. “No. This is all you.”
My stomach tingling with the compliment, I follow him out of the suite.
There’s a limo downstairs, and once we’re inside, he pulls a black velvet box from his inner jacket pocket, and opens it to reveal a glittering diamond choker and earrings. The colors are perfect for my gown, and they are beautiful.
“God it’s perfect,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you think so.” He takes the choker out of the box. “May I?”
“I don’t…,” I look from the obviously expensive piece of
jewelry to him. “I don’t think I can take this.”
He looks surprised, “Why not? It’s just jewelry.”
“A very expensive piece.”
He looks at me, “You wouldn’t feel better about it if it were a cheap one.”
“That’s not the point.” I pause. “How many women have you given jewelry?”
There’s a short pause before he replies. “A few.”
“Well, this makes me feel like one of ‘your’ women, and I don’t want to feel like I’m being given expensive gifts for spending time with you.”
He grins, his teeth gleaming white in the dimness of the car. “Even if I had any ‘women’ I’d never consider you as ‘one of them.’ He clasps the choker around my neck, his hands lingering at my nape before he pulls them back and gives me the earrings. “Consider it a loan then, just for tonight. They look wonderful on you.”
The limo drops us off, and we walk up a flight of steps to the entrance of the public building where the pre-performance reception and dinner is being held. There are flashing lights everywhere as cameras go off. We walk into the lobby, where cocktails are being served, and I spot a few famous faces. There are politicians and Hollywood stars liberally sprinkled among the designer suited moguls, trophy wives dripping with diamonds, as well as the powerful women with the aura of confidence that only comes from facing the world on their own terms. Landon navigates a politely reserved path through them all, stopping for a word here, a handshake there, and a compliment for some of the women.
I’m enjoying myself, sipping my champagne while watching Landon engage in light conversation with a couple he just introduced to me, when a man who, though handsome, looks as if he’s already drunk too much, steps directly onto our path.
“I suppose now you have more reason to be in San Francisco,” he says to Landon, his expression practically dripping with hatred. He turns to look at me, his eyes traveling insolently up and down my body, “Something else you’ve bought, I presume.”
“You have to learn to control your tongue if you don’t want to get your nose broken,” Landon replies, his expression retaining the mask of politeness even though I can hear a dangerous bite in his voice. “You already lost too much to risk losing that pretty face of yours too, haven’t you, Sinclair.”
I recognize the name even as the man blanches, involuntarily rubbing the nose in question, before turning and walking away. Evans Sinclair, the former owner of the Gold Dust Hotel.
Landon watches his retreating form with hard uncompromising eyes, and I’m reminded of Jack’s warning about his ruthlessness in business. “Well, that’s one person who doesn’t like you,” I say lightly.
“He happens to be one person whose good opinion I can do without.”
“Hey Red,” a familiar voice says from behind me. I turn around and see Cameron McDaniel’s broad smile and friendly eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still hanging out with this one,” he nods in Landon’s direction.