“Gilt Building?” Joe asks, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“Yes, Joe.”
Silently, we make the short drive to the building where, right now, Rachel Foster has no idea what’s about to hit her.
Me.
“This is such a pleasant surprise,” Jessica declares, rounding her desk to place kisses on both my cheeks. She’s lovely for her age, which is something around the mid-sixties. I’ve known her for most of my life, first as one of those people who orbited around my parents, and later as part of the whole circle of events and patronages that make up my social life.
“I was in the building and I had to stop by.”
She smiles at me, her eyes showing that she’s not quite taken in by the lie. She’s probably guessed that I want something, and now she’s curious.
“Have a seat, Landon.” She walks back to her side of the desk. Behind her, the view of Central Park is almost like a painting. “So, tell me, what’s going on with the Swanson Court hotels?”
I shrug. “Business is good.”
“Oh, don’t be modest. What you’ve achieved in a few short years is simply incredible.” She smiles and continues in a softer voice. “Your parents would be proud.”
My smile is bitter. “Yes, I suppose they would.”
Her voice brightens. “How’s your little brother?”
“Aidan…he’s fine. Raising hell on Broadway.” I pause. “So, the article about Insomnia Lounge.”
“Yes, that.” She smiles. “It went up on the website today.”
“Yes, and it was very well written.” She gives me a queer look and I respond with a charming smile. “I’ve been considering the feature you pitched to me some time ago, about…the new hotel in San Francisco.”
“I’m still interested.” She sits. “A new Swanson Court hotel rising out of the ashes of the Gold Dust. It’s the sort of thing our readers want. Have you changed your mind?”
“I have.”
“Well then.” She grins. “I’ll get a team on it.”
That’s not what I want, but I don’t argue. Instead, I meet her eyes and smile. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to meet the writer who did the article about the lounge. I had a chance to read a few other pieces she has written and I’m curious.”
“Oh…” She raises an arched brow as her eyes dig into me. “You were specific about wanting her for the lounge article.”
I hold out my hands. “As I said, I read some pieces she wrote, and I was curious.”
“Of course. I’m sure she’ll be glad to meet you.”
She makes the call to her assistant, asking for Rachel to join her in her office. We talk about Aidan’s play and how eager she is to see it. It seems like an eternity before the door opens behind me and Rachel enters the room.
I want to see her face, but I force myself to hold on, to give her a moment to approach Jessica’s desk. She takes a few steps then stops, and I can feel her eyes on me. That’s when I turn around and meet her gaze head on.
Her eyes widen in shock. Her body seems to freeze. Confusion and realization slowly wash across her face.
Yes, Rachel. I know.
“Rachel,” Jessica is saying, making Rachel turn her gaze to focus on her boss. “I’m glad you’re here. This is Landon Court.”
I rise from my chair and take a step toward her. Her throat works and color stains her cheeks. I hold out my hand to her. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She places her slim, small hand in mine, and I pull in a breath at the buzz from that small contact. No, I won’t be satisfied with this. I need more than her confusion and realization. I need her body. I need to lose myself inside her again.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she stammers before facing Jessica, waiting for an explanation.