Billionaire's Love Suite (7 page)

“So what do you say, Shana?” Justin said with sincere smile.

She was quick to answer. “Yes.”

Justin hadn’t intended to expel a sigh of relief, but he did. He hadn’t
realized his tension was as severe as it was. For a man who rolled the dice
on Wall Street as much and as often as he did, his attitude had always been
cavalier about money and success. He’d always thought such things were
his birthright. But the hotels were different. This was to be his legacy. This
was the empire his forefathers had built and he was damned if he would let
the thing go down the tubes. “Well done,” he said. “Shall we go over this list
you sent to me on Wednesday?” he asked holding out a file.

Shana nodded her head in a clipped, business-like fashion. They had put
the past behind them.

“I think we should start with the recommendations I’ve made for the
suites themselves,” Shana said flatly. “I’d like the bedding to be executed
in sateen sheets in golds and creams. All the beds should have Hungarian
goose down comforters rather than bedspreads. Goose down pillows should
be standard with non-allergenic pillows stored in the closets as an option.
Baths in aqua blue paint, white marble floors and old-style medicine cabinets
with sconce lighting rather than hanging mirrors.”

Justin watched her as she continued her litany of preferred design
changes. He knew the marble floors would up the budget, but as she spoke
and described the layouts, he knew her vision was dead on. All he could do
was marvel.

They finished their meeting and Justin stood and held out his hand to
her.

“Your concepts are good, Shana. We’ll talk later.”

She took his hand.

It was meant to be a business handshake. People did it every day in
countries all over the world. It was a goodwill gesture. It was not meant to
elicit shock waves of sensual pleasure, but Shana felt every tingle as if she’d
stuck her finger in a light socket.

Had she actually jumped?

Shana retracted her hand and lifted her chin with an ever-so-slight air of
haughtiness that she used to cover her embarrassment.

“I’ll be in my office,” she managed to say over the fuzz she felt clogging
her brain. She looked at Justin and for an instant, he looked dazed.

She blinked.

He blinked.

Shana realized that Justin had seen her jump. He must absolutely know
that she was affected by his touch.

Then he smiled.

Oh, God. I’m doomed. He knows I’m thinking about the kiss again
.

Shana turned on her fashionable high-heeled shoes and walked across
the Persian rug that had been loomed especially for the outsized room. No
matter how quickly she walked, the office door kept moving away from
her like one of those scenes in a horror movie. At last, her hand reached the
doorknob and she turned it. This time when she turned around to look at
him, she didn’t have any sassy defiant words to throw at him and no towel
to drop.

On the mental tally sheet she kept, Justin had won this round. Shana
made a vow that it would be the last win in his column.

J
ustin was all too familiar with the glittering glass and steel offices of
Leon Turnbull, the sharp shooter of all Manhattan contractual attorneys.
The day after his father’s death, he’d consulted Leon about the feasibility
of breaking Peter Yates’ contract with Felicity Cummings, then Director of
Operations for the Lux Hotel Chain.

The flash of Felicity’s exquisite face and flawless body across his mind
created an acrid taste in his mouth like he’d just tasted poison.

Felicity had come onto Justin like a bullet train. From the minute they
were introduced in Peter’s office, no less, she’d let Justin know she wanted
him. He’d reciprocated. It took less than two months for Felicity’s devious
intentions to show and she waved them like a battle flag. She told Justin she
was pregnant and produced a doctor’s report to prove it. For a brief week,
Justin had been taken in by it all. During his momentary flash of insanity,
he’d actually thought the idea of child of his own was something he wanted.
The problem was that the child was part Felicity. He realized as he listened
to her talk that her requests were cleverly disguised “demands” and
nearly all her “dreams of their future” were underscored by his ability to pay
through the nose for her upkeep and that of her child. Justin was immediately
suspicious. Justin got a court order to demand another pregnancy test.
Felicity failed. When he confronted her with the truth, she continued to lie.

In a rage, Justin escorted her out of his office and told her that she was
never to speak to him again. He told her that he would inform his father of
Felicity’s deviousness and he did. Peter, however, didn’t seem surprised.
Peter told Justin that he liked Felicity and that he had hoped Justin would
settle down with Felicity and stop his playboy ways. He’d even suggested
Justin marry Felicity even though she’d tried to trap him. Outraged at his
father, Justin threw up his hands. “You deal with her. I’m done!”

Peter promised to do just that. Incredulously, Peter kept Felicity on the
staff, though he’d told Justin he’d cut her pay and her responsibilities. She
was efficient and at the time Peter didn’t have time to hire and train someone
new. Felicity stayed and Justin avoided the Lux Hotel offices even more.

Fortunately, Leon had found the loophole Justin needed to remove
Felicity from the staff and Shana Jackson had now taken over the position.
Thinking of sexy Shana, Justin was grateful to Leon in more ways than
one

“You want this straight out, or do you need morphine?” Leon joked as
sat in his black leather ultra modern desk chair and handed Justin a written
report.

Justin swallowed but didn’t flinch. He’d hoped Leon could save him. He
guessed he was out of saviors for the moment. “Hit me.”

“It’s ironclad. Your father’s Will is one of the best I’ve seen. Geezus. It’s
so good, I hired Bernstein and Goldman to do my Will,” he laughed.

Justin looked into Leon’s honey colored eyes and tanned face. He wondered
when Leon had time to vacation. Leon was such a stickler for details
and so anal about his work that Justin imagined him going to bed with his
laptop still running every night. Maybe he’d gotten one of those spray-on
tans. “Dad always bought the best when it came to things like this.”

“He may have made some mistakes in the hotels and he admitted to
many of them, but he apparently believed you were making a mess of your
life,” Leon said tugging on his monogrammed French shirt cuff.

“He believed I was a screw up and the only thing that could save me was
being married. Didn’t matter to whom or if I was in love, just be married.”

Leon nodded. “Old school. I know the type. Have some for parents
myself. If it makes you feel any better, this kind of proviso is not going to
go away in the future. Do you have any idea the amount of American dollars
that are tied up in trust funds? Billions. All those baby boomer parents
who founded companies and worked their lives for their goals are not going
to allow their children or grandchildren to lose the kitty by marrying the
wrong person or spending a dime of it frivolously. You wouldn’t believe the
legal stipulations put on these trust funds today. You have a lot of company
in this kind of Will, my friend.”

“Somehow, Leon, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Romantic marriage is a thing of the past, Justin.”

“Cripes, it’s like we took a step back a hundred years,” Justin groaned
as he swiped his face with his hand.

Justin looked past Leon’s beveled glass topped and polished chrome
German made desk to the expansive window behind him and to the bustling
scene of New York City twenty stories below. Only two months ago Justin
had felt he’d had the world by the tail. He was wealthy, he had or could
have any woman he wanted by simply hitting speed dial on his cell. He was
respected by his clients and investors. His friends always made time for a
game of handball or invited him to go sailing on their yachts they harbored
in Nantucket, Fire Island or off the Florida coast when the winter turned
cruel. His life had been perfect. Then his father had the gall to die and leave
him with this blasted, idiotic Will.

Justin’s eyes shot back to Leon. All he had to do was reject the Will. He
could walk away from the Lux Hotels just as easily as he had strolled into
them a month ago. He could wash his hands of the whole damn thing.

He didn’t need this kind of aggravation in life. In a few years, this kind
of stress could kill him, for gods’ sake.

Yes. That was what needed to be done. Be done with the Hotel. Shana.
The whole thing.

Shana. She would go away, of course. Probably to some exotic foreign
country and work her witchcraft on both the next ailing hotel and some
devastatingly handsome aristocrat who would fall victim to her kisses just
as Justin had.

His mind skidded to a halt. Had he fallen victim to her kiss? Wasn’t it
the other way around? All he had intended to do was get her into bed, have
sex, find it strangely disappointing somehow like he always did, though he
could never define exactly
why
that always happened and then he would
move on to the next woman in line. That was his life. That was how he’d
made it work all these years.

Shana.

Hearing her name echo in his head stabbed his core like an erotic javelin.
His breath hitched. Like a match being struck to the fuse on a keg of
dynamite, he looked back at Leon and said, “I have to get married.”

“Only if you want to keep the hotel chain.”

That was the rub of it. Justin wanted the hotels more than he wanted
anything in his life. They were his goal. They were his Mecca. He would do
anything to keep them for himself. The Will said he had to get married. It
didn’t say he had to stay married. He could do this for a year, which should
be long enough to make certain the stipulations of the Will were met.

He looked at Leon. “I do.”

Leon smiled. “Those are the words to remember, but say them to a
woman.”

Justin frowned.

Leon leaned forward in his chair, gazing intensely at Justin. “You do
have a woman you can use. Yes?”

“I…I’m not sure.”

“Oh. That’s not so good.”

Shana stifled an urge to applaud as she watched the crew of burly
workmen remove the tacky and very boring gray and gold patterned carpet
that had covered the one hundred year old white and gold veined Italian
marble floor of the hotel mezzanine. “Who would ever cover this magnificent
floor? Design Nazis?”

Shana’s Blackberry vibrated and rang softly alerting her to a text message.
“Justin.” She smiled happily to herself not realizing her own reaction.
She read the message.

“I want to discuss a series of cost reductions for the renovations. Meet
me at L’Absinthe on 83
^rd
at one for lunch. J.”

Shana sent a quick reply affirming the lunch. For a long moment she
held the Blackberry in her hand and realized she was feeling disappointment.
But why? Justin was her boss. He had requested a business lunch.
She had wanted their relationship to be strictly business. She got what she
wanted. Didn’t she?

She gazed over the expansive changes that were occurring due to her
vision co-mingled with Justin’s mandate. Everything was in upheaval. The
old smoky mirror tiles had been removed from the staircase walls. All the
old wallpapers had been removed and the walls were now being plastered
and scored and would be painted by skilled faux painters. Gone were the faded print fabrics on the lobby furniture and the scared and chipped wood
tables and occasional chairs had been sold to second hand shops.

Shana loved her work. She only had to look at a room, a lobby, and a
guest quarter to see its real potential. It was as if this old hotel and all the
people who had lived in it and come to it in the past were cheering her on.
When the New York Lux Hotel had been built prior to World War I, it had
rivaled the best hotels in the country and even some in Europe. But the
owners had allowed her to grow old.