So Kayla’s spontaneity was infectious. She dragged him to exhibits, lectures, and even a local dig where construction workers had stumbled upon a Native American burial site. For weeks, she immersed herself in the study of human history.
And then, just like an earthquake when there are no warning signs, her interest in archaeology caved in and crumbled like an ancient civilization.
“It’s so incremental,” she grumbled. “It takes years, decades, and even centuries to analyze a culture. I need to feel like I’m accomplishing something now, like I’m making a marked difference in someone’s life.”
She decided that the best way to immediately save the world was to feed it, and a few weeks later registered at Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts in Boston. The cooking school was close to Harvard and Nate told himself that this was a good thing. She was now entering his world—the hospitality industry—and together there wasn’t anything they couldn’t accomplish.
When he told his parents the news, they seemed less than enthused. “She sure does change her mind a lot,” Nate’s father said.
Maddy tried to be more optimistic. “It sounds like she has ADD, but hey, she’s finding herself. That’s good, right?”
A couple of months later, Nate thought Kayla’s career indecision was over. He’d never seen her more happy. The woman was born to cook. Often she showed off her new culinary skills by whipping up gourmet meals and complicated pastries. As a graduate student, he’d never eaten so well and his belly was starting to show it.
“Hey, Kay, they teach you how to make anything healthy at that cooking school?” he said as he dressed one morning for class. “I’m getting fat.”
“You are not,” she argued, pushing him down on the bed and unbuttoning his shirt to have a look for herself. “And even if you were, I’d love you forever.”
“Yeah? Maybe we should get married then.” And there, without a ring, on the unmade bed with her sprawled on top of him, he proposed.
“Let’s do it now, Nate, and surprise everyone.”
“Don’t you want a wedding, baby?”
“Weddings are so bougie.”
He didn’t think they were. Weddings were traditional and he liked traditional. But later, he would always wonder what would have happened if they’d just run off and done it.
“That would make my mother, and I suspect yours, unhappy,” he told her, undoing the zipper on her jeans. “We don’t have to do a long engagement, but we should plan something.”
“Whatever you want, Nate. Because I love you that much . . . and this much,” she said, stripping him bare and rocking his world.
They decided on spring, which was only two months away. Kayla vacillated between having a large wedding and a small one. Eventually, they settled on holding it at the Cumberland estate and inviting four hundred guests. And for a woman who originally didn’t want a wedding, Kayla went to town. She delved into color schemes, menus, and seating charts with the same manic fervor as she did all her new projects.
At night, when they lay in bed, they talked about their future. Going to San Francisco, where Nate had a job waiting as soon as he finished school and Kayla had unlimited culinary opportunities. They talked about kids and where they should live and how they would grow beautifully old together.
Everything was perfect. No signals that Kayla was unhappy or having second thoughts.
After the rehearsal dinner, an intimate party with just immediate family and a few close friends, Nate dropped his parents and sisters off at their hotel. Superstitious, Kayla went back to the Cumberland compound, afraid that being together on the eve of their wedding would bring them bad luck.
At ten o’clock, while Nate packed a suitcase for the honeymoon, his phone rang. It was Milton Cumberland.
“I think you should come over,” he told Nate.
“Is everything all right?” Clearly it wasn’t, unless old Milt wanted to get his drink on early and wanted company, which wasn’t totally uncharacteristic for him.
“Kayla’s got a case of the jitters. Neither her mother nor I can talk her down. We thought you should come.”
Nate bit back a sigh. “I’ll be right there.”
It took him eleven minutes to get to Back Bay, where Kayla had locked herself in her room. “Kay”—he knocked on the door—“let’s talk it out, honey.”
Still wearing her rehearsal dress, she let him in. “I can’t, Nate. I’ve made up my mind. To go through with this wedding would be a farce.”
“Slow down, Kayla, and tell me what’s wrong.”
“I should never have said yes to this.” She held her arms wide, and he wasn’t sure if she meant yes to having the wedding on the estate, to sleeping in her own room, or to marriage in general. That was the thing about Kayla; her internal dialog moved at warp speed and it was impossible for the rest of the world to keep up.
“Yes to what? Us getting married?”
She nodded and started to cry. “Being a wife . . . it’s just so archaic. Tyrannical, actually.”
He handed her a tissue so she could blow her nose and tried to stay calm. This was Kayla, after all. These little fits of whimsy had been what attracted him to her in the first place. “Kayla, honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yesterday you were crazy about the idea of being my wife. When have I ever been tyrannical?”
“Not you, per se, but the institution of marriage. It’s all bullshit, Nate.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dress.
“We don’t have to be like everyone else, Kay. We’ll have a different marriage. A completely non-tyrannical marriage.” This talk about tyranny was completely crazy, but right now he’d say anything to calm her down and get her back on track.
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t buy into it, Nate.”
He gently clasped her shoulders. “What are you saying, Kayla? You want to call off the wedding?”
She took off her engagement ring and put it in Nate’s palm. “It’s for the best, Nate, before we start hating each other.”
“Start hating each other?” Where the hell had that come from? “Up until a few hours ago you told me I was the love of your life.”
“I’ve had time to think about it and I believe it was an illusion. I wanted to love you, so I convinced myself. But it was never real, Nate.” She got off the bed and opened the door. “My parents will take care of notifying everyone. But I think you should leave now.”
Nate was a proud man. Never in his life had he begged for anything, but he got down on the floor and groveled. He pleaded and said they could buck the institution of marriage and continue to live together, even though he wanted it all. He made a lot of promises that no self-respecting person makes. Anything to keep her from leaving him. But she was done, just like she’d been done with being a lawyer and an archaeologist.
After he left the Cumberlands he went to the hotel and told his family.
“The woman is obviously mentally ill,” his mother said. “Who does something like this?”
But Nate knew the truth. Kayla’s craziness was an act—an affectation that she thought made her seem more interesting. When in fact, she was nothing but a spoiled, mercurial rich girl who used people and hobbies to keep her entertained until she found something more amusing.
Samantha Dunsbury might come off saner than Kayla, but the two of them were cut from the same cloth. If you didn’t believe him, just ask Royce Whitley.
Chapter 14
“N
o, I think they should go here,” Sam told the furniture delivery guys who had put Nate’s new couches in the wrong spot.
She wanted the seating to take advantage of the view, the fireplace, and the flat-screen TV. No easy feat, given the configuration of the room. The furniture had arrived in record time and luckily Nate had given her his key before he’d left for San Francisco.
Good riddance to the creep.
She’d only gone through with decorating his house because she’d said she would. Sam kept her word. And wouldn’t he be surprised when he got home? The place was shaping up nicely. After approving her first few purchases, he’d given her permission to do the rest without him. Apparently, he trusted her taste, even though he didn’t like anything else about her. Oh, except for her body. He’d made it perfectly clear he liked that just fine.
“That’s much better,” she told the men, who now had the two couches in the proper location. “I think the recliners should go here.” They went back out to the truck to get them.
Sam had been dead set against the recliners. In general she found them tacky. But Nate had insisted. In fact, the chairs and big screen had been his only requirements. That, and the dictate that there be no throw pillows and no “over-the-top art.”
In a spare bedroom she’d found boxes of books and arranged them on bookcases she’d purchased from Colin. She’d also gotten the coffee table and dining room set from him. Colin’s pieces were works of amazing craftsmanship and she figured Nate must like the furniture because he had one of Colin’s beds.
In less than a week, she’d managed to stock his kitchen with dishes—antique ironstone knockoffs she’d found at Nugget Farm Supply—glassware, flatware, cookware, a coffeemaker and toaster she’d ordered from Williams-Sonoma. She was still waiting for the bar stools to come.
According to UPS tracking, the rugs and lamps were due in tomorrow. By the time Nate got back, his house would be a home. And she planned to charge him an arm and a leg in overtime for her hard work. She’d donate the money to charity.
In the meantime, she had a few more errands to make for Emily’s wedding and a meeting later that afternoon with Lucky. Then tomorrow she was off to San Francisco for the bridal expo. Saturday night, after the expo, she planned to have dinner with an old friend from Greenwich at a restaurant that Emily had recommended near Fisherman’s Wharf.
Andy had sworn up and down that he could be trusted to hold down the Lumber Baron while she and Nate were away. Sam got the sense that he was looking forward to having the inn to himself. Nate wasn’t too thrilled about it, but Maddy had offered to check up on the place a few times during the weekend.
Once the delivery guys returned with both recliners, set them in place and removed the plastic wrap, Sam nearly texted Nate a picture of the room, it looked so good. Nah, she decided, let him see it in person with the rugs and lamps and all the other finishing touches. Maddy had volunteered to be here for the delivery tomorrow and Sam had drawn a diagram of where everything should go.
She eyed the room one more time and just for the hell of it tried one of the recliners, leaning all the way back to view the flat-screen. Comfortable, she had to admit, and had a hard time making herself get up.
On her way out, she stopped in Nate’s bedroom. Earlier she’d replaced the ratty quilt with new bedding she’d also gotten at Farm Supply. Who knew the feed store was like Macy’s? Seriously, it had a little bit of everything. The owners’ daughter did the buying and although the home décor and clothing had a decidedly Western flavor, the woman had marvelous taste.
She carried the old quilt to the laundry room and couldn’t help but notice that it smelled like Nate. Woodsy and citrusy and soapy, like Irish Spring. Nate was an ass, but he did smell good. And look good. And feel good . . . especially when he was excited.
Get your head out of the gutter.
She shoved the blanket into his laundry basket and left the house before she could have any more naughty thoughts about its owner.
The next morning, she made it to the Reno airport with just enough time to grab a muffin and coffee before her flight boarded. She was surprised to find that Nate had booked her in business class, even though it was such a short flight. Everything else—pamphlets highlighting their services, a portfolio of past events and a poster-board display of the inn—she’d sent with Nate in his car.
When she got to San Francisco, a driver waited for her, holding a big sign with her name on it.
“Slight change of plans, Ms. Dunsbury,” he said as he loaded her carry-on into the trunk of the Town Car. “Mr. Breyer has you at the Theodore instead of the Belvedere. It’s just a few blocks away, so you can walk or catch a cab for the bridal expo tomorrow morning. But he thought you would like the accommodations better.”
“That sounds lovely.” She’d searched all of Nate’s hotels on the Internet and knew that the Theodore was his flagship as well as corporate headquarters.
Sam stared out the window as the driver zipped onto the freeway. She’d been to San Francisco many times and loved it. Tonight, after she got settled in, Sam planned to walk around Union Square and maybe do a little shopping. Boy, had she missed Barneys and Saks and the designer stores that dotted Manhattan and Greenwich Avenue.
“Sorry about the traffic, Ms. Dunsbury,” the driver called back to her. “Friday, everyone’s going into the city.”
“No worries. I’m enjoying the ride.”
Twenty minutes later, they inched up Powell Street as hordes of people vied for an open cable car. Most of the trolleys were packed so full that riders hung off the sides three deep.
“That looks dangerous,” Sam commented to the driver.
“Nah. But you stay away from those Muni buses. Those drivers are either drunk or crazy. Every day there’s another accident.”
Sam made a mental note not to take any buses. She wanted to leave in one piece. When he finally pulled up in front the Theodore, she couldn’t believe how big and centrally located the hotel was. It was just a few blocks away from the St. Francis, where Sam usually stayed. Pictures on the website didn’t do the hotel justice.
A bellhop took her luggage and when she went to give the driver a tip, he said, “It’s been taken care of, Ms. Dunsbury. You enjoy your stay, now.”
She followed the bellhop into the lobby, an enormous space with marble pillars, high ceilings, and the most gorgeous moldings Sam had ever seen. The architecture was breathtaking. Sam had stayed in some of the finest hotels in the world, but the Theodore matched any of them in opulence.
For some reason, she’d thought Nate ran boutique hotels. Elegant but small, and less luxurious than places like the Four Seasons and the Ritz Carlton. The Theodore proved her wrong. She went up to the check-in desk, a long, graciously designed marble counter, where at least ten clerks tended to guests.
“Hello. Samantha Dunsbury. I’m checking in.”
“Welcome, Ms. Dunsbury. Mr. Breyer has you on the thirty-second floor.” The clerk smiled and handed Sam an envelope with a card key. “Enjoy your stay.”
The bellhop took her up on an elevator and she noticed that the thirty-second was the top floor. When the doors slid open, Sam was greeted with a panoramic view of the city. She could see the Golden Gate Bridge, the Bay Bridge and a bridge to the south, which she didn’t know.
“Is that Alcatraz?” She pointed to an island not far from the Golden Gate.
“Yes, ma’am.” The bellhop turned slightly and motioned at the row of windows. “That’s Oakland.”
“Wow. You can see everything up here.”
“You got the best room in the hotel,” he said. “Mr. Breyer’s penthouse is just down the hall.”
She wondered if Nate put all the Breyer event planners working the expo up on the thirty-second floor of the Theodore. If so, mighty generous. The bellhop, Paul, according to his name tag, opened the door to a perfectly appointed three-room suite. Very posh. And the views every bit as breathtaking as the ones in the hallway. She couldn’t believe Nate would give a room like this to the help. Sure, she was a Dunsbury. But in California she was simply Nate’s employee.
“I hope it’s to your satisfaction, Ms. Dunsbury,” Paul said, and stowed her luggage in the walk-in closet.
“Are you kidding? It would be to the Queen of England’s satisfaction.”
“Actually, she liked it very much.”
Sam did a double take. “Queen Elizabeth stayed here? In this room?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was in 1983. I was here, but it was before Mr. Breyer’s time. The Theodore’s a legend. It was one of Hollywood’s favorite hotels. Samuel Taylor brought Audrey Hepburn here to persuade her to play the lead in
Sabrina
. At least that’s how the story goes. Now that was even before my time.” He laughed and tapped the wall. “The Reagans used to stay next door.”
“Really?” She had no idea. Not once had Nate talked about what a storied hotel this was. “Paul, are Mr. Breyer’s other hotels like this?”
“In my humble opinion the Theodore is the best, but the Belvedere also has a lot of history. Before the old owners let it go to pot and the big names came to town, the Belvedere was one of the city’s crown jewels. Like the Theodore, Mr. Breyer renovated the place from top to bottom and brought it back to represent what this city used to be.” Paul harrumphed. “Not like that InterContinental glass monstrosity on Howard. His other hotels are smaller, have fewer services, but are real swank.”
“Thank you so much for sharing the history of this beautiful hotel,” Sam said. “I wasn’t aware that it was so famous.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Dunsbury.” As he went to leave, Sam handed him a tip. “It’s all been taken care of, Ms. Dunsbury.”
Alone, Sam took the time to really look around the suite. A big basket wrapped in cellophane sat in the middle of the coffee table. She pulled out the card. “Compliments of the Theodore,” it said. “We hope you enjoy your stay.” Sam took off the plastic. Inside was a bottle of Napa Valley cabernet sauvignon, Ghirardelli chocolates, Cowgirl Creamery cheese, Columbus salami, crackers, and fresh fruit. Nice how they included only local delicacies. She put the cheese in the mini fridge, once again wondering if all Nate’s employees got this kind of treatment.
She unpacked her suitcase and removed the outfits she planned to wear from her suiter and carefully hung them in the closet, hoping they’d be wrinkle-free by tomorrow. Halfway to the bathroom to organize her toiletries, the phone rang. She dropped her cosmetics bag on the bed and picked up, fearing it was Andy with an emergency. “Hello.”
“Hey. How was the flight?”
She smiled. “It was great. And so is this room. My God, Nate, this place is amazing.”
“You hungry?”
She looked at her watch. It was already lunchtime. “I could eat.” She wondered if he would have food sent up to her room.
“I’ve got a couple of meetings, so we’ll have to go to one of the restaurants here. You okay with that?” He planned to have lunch with her. She hadn’t expected that.
“Of course. Give me ten minutes.”
The second he clicked off, she started pulling off her clothes. Damn! She hadn’t packed a going-to-lunch-with-my-hot-boss outfit, just comfy travel clothes. She rifled through her offerings and decided on the dress she’d planned to wear to dinner with her friend Saturday night. It was a black-and-white Kate Spade. Very fitted. So she quickly shimmied into a one-piece Spanx number before pulling the dress over her head and grabbing the shoes to match.
By the time he knocked on her door, she’d had just enough time to run a comb through her hair and touch up her makeup.
“Hi,” she said. “Let me grab my purse.”
He stepped into the room and she saw him do a visual sweep of the suite. Cute. Obviously, he wanted to make sure that his staff had put everything in order. Then he did a visual sweep of her, giving no hint to whether he liked what he saw.
As they walked out he took her arm. “I got us a table at Mitch Mica.”
Sam recognized the name of the high-profile chef and had seen the entrance to his restaurant in the lobby. “Do you eat there a lot?”
“Usually I grab a hot dog off the cart on Powell,” he said, and she checked to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t.
“Why don’t we just do that?” she said.
“The health department shut them down for listeria,” he said in that droll way of his.
This time she was sure he was kidding, but who could tell with Nate? He steered her onto the elevator.
“This hotel is spectacular, Nate. The architecture, the views, my room . . . Queen Elizabeth stayed there, for goodness’ sake. I can’t believe you never talk about it.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually talking to me.” He looked at her to gauge her reaction. “Does this mean you’re no longer giving me the silent treatment?”
She sidestepped. “You’re my boss. I don’t really have a choice.” He smirked. “You have more choices than anyone I know, Samantha.”
“You’re one to talk. Look at this place, it’s worth a fortune.”
“This place is owned by hundreds of investors. I just have an infinitesimal piece of it.”
“But you have nine more.”
“Again”—he led her out of the elevator—“lots of investors. The only place I truly own is the Lumber Baron. And even that I share with Maddy.”
“Isn’t that the way most large hotels are owned?” she asked.
“Many. But some, like the ones owned by my ex-brother-in-law’s family, are a sole proprietorship.”
Sam knew he meant the Wellmonts. She’d heard through the powerful Nugget grapevine that Maddy had been married to Dave Wellmont, who’d been a “cheating son-of-a-bitch.” A direct quote from Donna Thurston.
With his hand at the small of her back, he guided her into the restaurant.
“Mr. Breyer, we have your table ready.” The hostess escorted them to a private spot in the back corner of the restaurant. “Chef Mica would like to send a few items out before you order. Either of you have any allergies or diet restrictions?”