Can't Help Falling In Love (6 page)

Wild, wacky, and maybe a bit wonderful would be replaced by tried and true and a little
bit tired. That was the Whitmore way. Travelers might not get the fun surprises of
the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel but they could depend on a certain level of… competence.

How depressing.

Maybe she’d been doing this for too long, but the idea of getting rid of something
unique for more of the same rubbed her the wrong way. If the hotel was hers, maybe
she could save small parts of the Rock’n’Rolla.

She’d done so many hotel renovations that projects like this were a simple matter
of calculations most of the time. And her handy spreadsheet did most of the heavy
lifting. The Rock’n’Rolla was different, though, and Randa had no idea how to calculate
the unknown. She’d been happy enough to estimate the savings from the pieces they
could keep on the first floor, but Tony had mentioned “themes” for the other floors.
Based on the currently over-the-top restaurant, lobby, and now pool, she really needed
to see those rooms for herself, just to get an idea of how far the renovations would
go. Were they looking at buying new bed linens or tearing every room back to the studs?

Plus, she was curious about what a luxury suite consisted of at the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel.
Did each room have its own personal Elvis butler?

The lobby, with a little pruning and some new art, would work.

The small gym would also be fine. That was a guess. She hadn’t seen any more of it
than she could absorb through the glass window from the hallway. And that was as close
as she was going to get too. As a rule, she avoided sweat in all forms if she could.
She hated to sweat herself, but being around other people’s sweat was really unacceptable.

Plus, she’d conveniently forgotten proper shoes. She could probably walk the treadmill
in her heels but it might alarm other hotel guests.

And as far as Viva Las Vegas went… well, it was a rare event to take one look
at a room and try to figure out a way to make it darker, but that was going to be
her recommendation. After they got rid of the stage and put in a new, more tasteful,
less high-wattage bar, it would be ready for business too. The cook staff had job
security. She’d go to bat for them and serve up that burger to anyone who had doubts.
Changing the competent waitstaff out of canary yellow showgirl uniforms with insane
flowered headdresses and into white button-downs and black slacks would probably lower
the tips, but raising the prices should offset the change.

Keeping good staff was the secret to Randa’s success. Training could be a huge expense,
so she wanted to hold on to as many effective workers as she could. Now all she needed
to do to finish up and head back home to the land of frosty manners and lofty ambitions
was get into the other rooms somehow.

Her father had said a week but it would never take that long for him to line up her
next job or possible dynastic match. Marcus Whitmore always moved quickly in the effort
to take the opponent by surprise.

She’d never faced a challenge like this one. Most of the time, the W Group negotiated
hard contracts with companies or families who wanted to sell. Every owner entered
talks expecting a good price, but by the time her father wore them down, they were
just happy to be done. Then she swept in, keys in hand, and made a plan to conserve
costs and keep the hotel open through the transition. Losing business and the money
required to recoup the costs would be the worst thing that could happen. Underestimating
the price tag would be a close second. There were at least five men who would never
let her hear the end of it.

Whitmore mistakes were rare so they were easy to remember. They had long lives.

More than fifteen years after rear-ending one of her mother’s Junior League cronies
in an ill-fated attempt to read a shoe sale sign, someone invariably said, “Eyes on
the road” when they saw her with car keys in her hand. Trip, her oldest brother, did
his best to keep her father’s pressure on her to a minimum, but it was a little bit
like holding back an avalanche. He understood how hard it was to live up to her father’s
expectations. He’d acquitted himself very well, of course, so the rest of them had
just been keeping up. They didn’t talk about it much, but she thought sometimes she
could see the gleam of commiseration in his eyes.

Considering the reaction that failing to acquire and renovate this hotel might engender
made Randa cringe.

She needed to get her eyes on the rest of the rooms. And as soon as she did, she could
go home. She’d be back to oversee renovations but it might be cooler at that point.

But first, she needed a book. She’d discovered she’d left her tablet charger at home
and the Rock’n’Rolla didn’t keep one for emergencies like this. She made a mental
note to make chargers standard Whitmore hotel amenities. That might be her gift to
humanity.

She had to fight down the panic brought on by the idea of spending six days without
a book.

And a little bit of disgust at herself for being so dumb. She didn’t forget things.
Yes, she’d had to pack in a hurry, but that was absolutely no excuse. She’d spent
the last twenty minutes squinting at her phone so she could read something, anything.
A trip to Graceland was beginning to sound like a good idea.

She leaned her head back against the lounge chair she’d pulled over into the shade
around the pool. It was already almost ninety degrees. She wouldn’t be able to stay
outside much longer. Unless she actually got brave and went for a swim.

She sighed. Maybe she’d look into rental cars. The worst-case scenario was a taxi
ride back to the airport. She’d just have to fight the urge to skip the car rental
counter for the plane ticketing agent. A car would make it easier for her to scout
out the competition too.

Randa shook her head as she tried to imagine what the hotel would look like after
the conversion. It wasn’t hard. She could see the same hotel in at least fifteen other
cities. The idea that they would take something totally unique, a one-of-a-kind experience,
and make it average was depressing. But if she dared suggest that the uniqueness of
the hotel contributed to the high booking rates, her father would suggest she go shopping
and leave the strategy to him.

This pool area was an excellent example. She calculated space, occupancy, and safety
requirements. It was pretty perfect for this hotel size, even if it was shaped like
a guitar. The headstock was a shallow pool that little kids would love. Three child-sized
water guns lined the edge, perfect for loud screechy water fights and drenching innocent
bystanders. The neck was a long stretch that slowly deepened into the body, where
the clear blue water was deep enough to dive. It was a resort pool for a nice hotel.
Safe, serviceable, and surrounded by the best foliage Hawaii had to offer. Landscaping
and upkeep must cost a fortune. The fun guitar would become a safe and serviceable
rectangle painted with lap lanes. The trees and flowers would be replaced with something
less expensive and easier to maintain.

The bright red lounge chairs could stay. They were very comfortable.

Exhausted by her unusual fit of conscience, Randa closed her eyes and rested her hands
on her abdomen. She’d try a nap and then see what she could get from Laura.

She hadn’t slept well. First she’d had a nightmare about a homeless Misty who wandered
the busy Memphis streets because her hotel was gone. And then when she’d started awake
to see that it was only midnight, she’d fought the urge to sneak out to the lobby
to make sure Misty was safe and sound. Telling herself it was crazy to worry about
a dog that wasn’t even hers, she forced herself to stretch out and think of something
else.

After she’d finished the hardcover she’d carried on the plane, she put it and her
drugstore reading glasses on the nightstand. Still too restless to sleep, she had
plenty of time left to think about Misty. And Tony. Misty would never be homeless.
Willodean would take her… somewhere. And Tony would land on his feet in another
job. Of course he would. Unless he was related to Willodean Jackson somehow. Maybe
he was manager here because he couldn’t get a job anywhere else. Maybe he was on parole
and lucky to have family to call on, a situation that she was just about to put an
end to, possibly plunging him into despair and God knew what else and dooming him
to roaming the streets instead of Misty.

She’d slapped her own forehead then and she repeated it now by the pool. She really
shouldn’t read in bed. Clearly it made her imagination run wild. He was a grown man.
He’d find another job.

Randa was the one with a potentially bigger problem. Her runaway brain would have
her shooting herself in the acquisition foot if she didn’t watch it.

All because of a dog. Or a man she didn’t even know and had no business worrying over.
She had plenty on her own plate to worry about.

“Was that an a-ha moment or a mosquito?”

Randa took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see Tony standing next to the lounger.

Then she forgot every worry she’d ever had and most of everything she knew.

Because if Tony lost his job running the Rock’n’Rolla Hotel, he had a future in underwear
modeling. His swim trunks rode low on his hips and even though she’d seen swimsuits
that showed a whole lot more of what a man was working with, she’d never seen another
man with a body like his.

In her experience, handsome men were either gym rats or couch potatoes. She’d seen
a lot of manscaping in her time too: hairless chests, spray tans, and even hair plugs
once upon a time.

Out of the Hawaiian shirt and khakis, Tony was perfectly imperfect. His olive skin
was lightly tan. Black ink swirled up his left arm. This close she could make out
the words “Semper Fi” and then what looked like names, all in a simple script. She
wanted to touch his tattoo, to trace her fingers up his arm. She wanted to feel his
skin. Black curls covered his pecs and trickled to a thin line down his abdomen to
disappear into…

God, help me.
Randa felt the need to fan her face or stick her tongue out to pant. August in Memphis
might camouflage her reaction, but she hadn’t known heat until Tony stood in front
of her with no shirt on.

There was no doubt in Randa’s mind that women would buy whatever he was selling, as
long as he did it shirtless.

And she wanted him. She wanted to cancel the scouting trip and drag him away somewhere.
Anywhere with air conditioning and a lock on the door.

She’d never felt like this. It was uncomfortable, but at the same time she was happy
to know she could. She’d spent so much time carefully evaluating every man she met
against her father’s checklist of suitability that she’d never taken one look and
fallen into very deep lust. Besides, expensive suits and perfectly tailored tuxedos
had nothing on Tony in swim trunks.

Maybe he wasn’t classically handsome but there was something magnetic about him. His
intensity was hard to resist. But right now, his ferocious frown was telling her she’d
been stuck at Defcon One of animal attraction long enough to cause problems.

The other thing she knew? He’d asked her a question but she had no idea what it was.
She couldn’t answer it anyway. Her tongue had lost all feeling.

T
ONY TOSSED HIS
towel down on a lounge chair and dragged it over into the shade next to Randa. She
hadn’t said a word in response to what he’d felt was a pretty good teasing opening.
He was out of practice chatting up women, but common courtesy seemed a reasonable
expectation.

Maybe Randa Whitmore didn’t understand common courtesy. Rich people probably didn’t
have to use it as much as the rest of the world.

She just sat there, in her floppy straw hat, her dark sunglasses, and the cover-up
that covered her up from neck to knees in filmy white gauze. Her lipstick was bright
red and Tony loved it. It was like she was some kind of vintage Hollywood starlet,
taking in the restorative waters while also waiting for her close-up.

He wanted to yank the hat off, toss the glasses in the pool, and run his fingers through
the long length of blonde hair dangling over her shoulder to rest on her breast. He
wanted to do that right before he covered her sexy red mouth with his. He could see
it in his head, right up to the point that she shoved him in the deep end for pushing
his luck.

He was battling a monumentally stupid attraction while she couldn’t be bothered to
speak.

Maybe he wasn’t quite as ready to find a girl as he’d thought.

And he knew she was a long shot anyway. If he’d just asked Cat out to dinner, he’d
be making progress. Nice, steady progress. Instead, he’d tried running before he could
walk. And against his own better judgment and the plans he’d made just the day before.

It had been the same damn story his whole life. And that pissed him off. When things
were going pretty good, something changed. Sometimes it was something good like his
new job managing a hotel, but often enough it was bad news, like Randa probably would
be. And until she showed up he’d been satisfied with everything he had. He could feel
the frown on his face.

She should at least tell him to go to hell. He decided then that he was going to insist
she say something.

He propped his hands on his hips and waited. Randa opened her mouth and then promptly
closed it. He had the strangest idea that he should do everything he wanted. Get rid
of the hat and the glasses and kiss her senseless. More senseless maybe. At the very
least, she’d be forced to react then. If this was going to turn into a mess, he ought
to grab everything he could right now.

Huffing with disgust at the dangerous sensations fighting for control, Tony walked
to the deep end and dove in. He needed the break and the cold water. This was probably
his last shot at having the pool all to himself for a while. The Elvis Week crowds
would take over, and this would be a busy place. If he stuck to the middle, he got
some decent laps in from end to end. Over the weekend he’d be lucky to get a toe in
without bumping someone else.