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“We made love six weeks ago. I’d feel a lot better knowing your fiancé wasn’t in the picture then. I don’t pursue taken women. The thought of it makes me cringe.” That much was true. He’d lived through infidelity. He’d endured that violation of trust, and he didn’t take it lightly.
She pursed her lips. “Fine, then. If you must know, the ring is a very recent development in my life.”
“How recent?”
“Very. But for our purposes, it’s merely a reminder that we are nothing but business associates.”
He’d leave it alone for now. She was putting up walls that said to back off. That was enough. “Got it.”
“So, what’s your timetable?”
“The reopening gala is New Year’s Eve.”
“It’s October 7. We don’t have much time.”
“Indeed.” Brought back to earth, Sawyer again felt the weight of the responsibilities waiting for him—dealing with the contractors, trying to see if there was a way to get through to his dad, and hoping that, somehow, Kendall Ross would ultimately be his savior and help him pull off the impossible—a flawless reopening of the Grand Legacy Hotel.
“Can you give me a tour of the hotel? I need to see it as soon as possible.”
Sawyer had a ridiculous schedule tomorrow, but getting Kendall up to speed was of paramount importance. Plus, the thought of time with her sounded like a vast improvement over what would otherwise simply be more things he didn’t feel like dealing with.
“Can you meet me there at ten tomorrow morning? I’ll send a car to your office.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking a cab or the subway.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
She shook her head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”
“Fine. I’m not about to argue with you.”
She stood and smiled, nearly knocking the breath from his chest. It would take some time to get used to working in such close proximity to Kendall. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” He shook her hand, which felt odd. Considering what had happened between them six weeks ago, his departure warranted something closer to an embrace and a kiss on the cheek.
He walked outside, relieved that the PR was now sewn up, but conflicted about everything else. He couldn’t stop wondering about her fiancé—who he was, and more specifically, how he’d swept her off her feet in such a short amount of time. Judging by the rock on her hand, the guy had money. Did Sawyer know him? He really hoped not. What did he look like? What did he do? And why was this bothering him so much?
He climbed into the back of his waiting town car and pulled out his phone to call his brother. He needed to get his mind on work and off Kendall, which would be a near impossibility now that she was on the project. But the reality was she’d never called him after their night together, and judging by the cool composure she’d radiated during their meeting, she’d done it with good reason.
Starting with the ring.
Three (#u0bb942e3-940e-580c-b68d-00476ee6b7b0)
Kendall stepped out of a cab in front of the Grand Legacy Hotel in midtown Manhattan a few blocks from the touristy chaos of Times Square. Fall leaves fluttered down the city street, a mix of drizzle and cool wind whipped at her cheeks. From somewhere beyond the hotel entrance came a buzz of saws and clamoring of metal against metal.
She walked into the shadow of the looming building she’d seen a few times before in passing. Right now, it didn’t look like much—obscured by a maze of metal scaffolding, a tall chain-link fence and a temporary facade of gray, painted plywood. Four intimidating muscle-bound men dressed in black, wearing wraparound sunglasses and earpieces stood sentry at the entrance, sending a clear message: no trespassing. Kendall couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to mess with those guys. Whoever had taken the pictures that appeared in the Times had risked life and limb to do so. After researching the Locke family and the hotel last night, she had to wonder if Sawyer’s dad was behind that story. From where Kendall sat, the passing of the hotel to Sawyer couldn’t have gone over well.
“Good morning,” Kendall said to the least menacing of the security guys. “I’m here for Sawyer Locke. He’s expecting me.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a security camera panning in her direction. Sawyer was probably sitting inside behind a massive desk, a wall of TV monitors allowing him to survey his kingdom.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Locke is waiting for you inside. I’ll walk you in.” The man opened a ramshackle, temporary door and Kendall followed him into an area stacked high with building materials. “You’re going to need this.” He reached into a bin and pulled out a yellow construction helmet, handing it to her.
“Is this really necessary?” I’m having a spectacular hair day.
“Mr. Locke’s orders.”
“But you aren’t wearing one.”
“Most of us aren’t, but Mr. Locke insisted you do.” He opened one side of a glass double door cloaked in dirty construction paper. The hotel’s revolving door was closed off with caution tape.
Kendall grumbled under her breath, putting the helmet on her head. Yellow was so not the right color for a redhead who avoided the sun at all costs. Was this Sawyer’s way of getting in a dig after she’d refused to fess up about the ring? He had to know how stupid she would feel.
They walked into what she could only assume was the lobby. The floors were blanketed in a patchwork of heavy paper. Sawdust was everywhere. Her pumps were going to be filthy by the time she left. Workers milled about, and the noises that had seemed loud outside were practically deafening. Judging by everything she was seeing, the newspaper story had been correct—this project was nowhere close to completion.
“Where do I find Mr. Locke?” she called out above the noise.
“Over there,” the man yelled, but then he pointed to one of the workers.
“No. I need Mr. Locke.” Kendall screamed in as ladylike a fashion as possible, while scanning the room for the hunky billionaire in a killer suit.
“He’s right there,” he replied, annoyed.
All Kendall could see was a man in jeans, a blue flannel shirt and brown work boots crouched down in front of the elevator. The guy had a nice rear view, and he certainly had the right hair. She took a step closer and he turned, a slight but familiar smile crossing his lips. I’ll be damned.
Sawyer straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans. Kendall was going to have to be on her A game today. Otherwise, she might die from a lethal dose of shock and handsomeness. He approached her, the sight of his shirtsleeves rolled up over his firm forearms making her heart flutter. She couldn’t afford to botch the most important job of her professional life, so she’d just have to learn to look at him as if he was a normal person and hope that over time, she’d build up immunity to his face and presence. Good luck with that.
“Hey there,” he said above the noise, raking his hands through his thick hair and knocking dust from it. “I should’ve told you to dress for a construction site.” He eyed her while she fought the part of her that wanted him to say something nice. “Not that you don’t look great. You do.”
Heat trickled through her veins. What was it about him that made his kind words so much more potent than any other man’s?
“Love the helmet,” he continued.
“I see you aren’t wearing one.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“How do you know I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“This is your first visit, and I have to keep you safe.”
She wasn’t sure she was buying it, but she had work to do. And her hair was going to be a wreck when she took the dumb thing off. “Fine. Just show me the hotel.”
“There’s not much to see down here. We’ll just get in the way.” He stepped aside as a worker carried a ladder past them. “I’ll show you the grand ballroom.”
He started past the elevator doors. Kendall hurried to catch up, her eyes stubbornly darting to him—that long and lean frame that looked good in, well, everything she’d ever seen him wear. And especially good wearing nothing. Sawyer in jeans was not what she’d prepared for today. Judging by his wealth and privilege, he did not strike her as a man who would get his hands dirty. It was more than a little bit sexy.
They turned down a wide hall and the construction noise faded.
“Busy morning?” she asked.
“I was going over the restoration of the metal overlays on the elevator doors. A lot of the original art deco features were lost over the years.”
“I researched the hotel last night. Everything in the older photos was so grand and luxurious.”
“It was once considered one of the most beautiful buildings in the city. I’d like to have it be seen that way again.”
It was indeed gorgeous in the pictures, but Kendall found the history she’d dug up more interesting than the architecture—it read like a tabloid magazine, salacious tales of events that she’d thought only happened in movies. The Grand Legacy had seen mobsters roll up in Bentleys with beautiful women in mink stoles, high-stakes poker games between politicians and Hollywood elite, and New Year’s Eve parties that made Times Square look like a church social.
Sawyer led them into to a large open room like a reception area, with a chandelier wrapped in plastic and five sets of double doors. Sawyer fished a large ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked one set. “I’m glad you got up to speed. Shows me you’re serious about the project.”
“Isn’t that the appeal? The secrets of the Grand Legacy Hotel?” She followed him into the dark room.
He grinned and nodded, then flipped on the lights. “It is.”
Kendall’s eyes were immediately drawn upward, to the barrel ceiling. High above them, a procession of intricate geometric patterns in white and blue glass, trimmed with gilded metal, ran the length of the room. A soft light glowed through the panes. “It looks just like it did in the pictures. It’s lit from the other side, isn’t it?”
“It’s meant to look like moonlight is shining through, but in reality, the fourth-floor rooms are above it. It took months to clean and repair. Entire sections had fallen during the fifteen years the hotel was closed.”
“Right after you inherited it.”
Surprise flickered across his face. “You did do your homework. I was seventeen. I wasn’t in a position to run a hotel. But I sure wasn’t going to let my dad get his hands on it either.”
“I was curious about that. He really thought the building should be knocked down?”
Sawyer gazed up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “He still thinks that. Can you imagine all of this, gone forever?”
Kendall admired his profile, and the way he got lost in the details. This meant a lot to him. She could hear it in his voice. “It’s going to look incredible in a magazine or newspaper. We’ll get a photographer in here right away.”
“If you think this looks good, let me take you up to the main bar.” He locked the ballroom and they traversed the reception area to a metal door. “Ladies first.”
Kendall stepped into the dimly lit stairwell. “The fire stairs?”
“Only way to get there right now. They’re working on the wrought-iron railings of the grand staircase.”
She began to climb the concrete steps. “How far up?”
“Third floor.”
“Have you been this hands-on through the entire project? Or is it just because you’re behind schedule?” Sawyer was directly behind her. Was he doing what she’d been doing earlier and ogling her backside? He shouldn’t be, but part of her wanted to think he was.
“I’m here all the time. There are so many tiny details and they all have to be exactly right. I spent enough time here as a kid to remember most of it. Everything else I research in my great-grandfather’s records.”
“Don’t you have an architect to do that?”
“I take the lead. No one could possibly care about it as much as I do.”
Kendall stopped on the third-floor landing. “So you’re a control freak.” She didn’t mean it as an insult. She admired his dedication. How many men in his position cared about the details?
He reached past her to open the door. Inches apart, they faced each other. His presence resonated through her body, memories of his skin touching hers impossible to fend off. “I prefer methodical, but sure. Call me a control freak. That’s how you get what you want.”
She held her breath, recalling exactly how much control Sawyer had taken during their one night together—the way he’d gathered her wrists in his hands and pinned her arms to the mattress as he trailed kisses along her jaw, her neck, then across her collarbone and down the centerline of her chest...
Now she was happy for the construction helmet. She’d save herself a tragic head injury if he continued to plant these thoughts in her head and she fainted.
They entered a service hall and found yet another door hidden away around a corner. How anyone would ever find this was beyond her. He opened it and she stepped inside, the odor of fresh paint hitting her nose. Sawyer again flipped on the lights, revealing a room that put the ballroom ceiling to shame. She had not seen this room in her research.
A long, ebony bar lined one side of the room, with leaded glass pendant fixtures pooling light on the gleaming surface. The other side had more than a dozen intimate booths, with dark leather seats and ornate black and gold metal screens separating them. In the wall at the far end of the room was a massive circular frame, tall enough to skim the ceiling and graze the floor, and just as wide. It was shrouded in paper, but sunlight filtered through at the edges.
“A window? On the front of the building?” Kendall asked. “I don’t remember this.”
Sawyer nodded. “It was an original feature, but it was taken out in 1919. I had it rebuilt from the first photos of the hotel.”
“Why would anyone close up a window?”
“It’s a bar, and it was Prohibition. The entire thing was closed up, at least from the outside. In fact, the Grand Staircase led to nothing but the third floor elevators at that time. As far as the outside world knew, this didn’t exist. But if you were in the know, it was the busiest place in the entire hotel.”
“A speakeasy?”
He smiled with a hint of mischief. “You know, my great-grandfather bought the hotel with money he earned from bootlegging. The speakeasy is how he found out about it in the first place.”
“So that’s true? The Locke family fortune came from running liquor?”
“My family comes from very humble beginnings. But my great-grandfather had big ideas.” There was a fondness in his voice that warmed her heart. She hadn’t expected him to be sentimental. “It makes my father crazy. He’d prefer to think of the Lockes as upper crust through and through, but that’s just not the case.”
“You can’t change family history.”
“Exactly. And isn’t that the American dream? Make your way however you can? So much of what I have is because my great-grandfather was determined to make a better life for himself. Starting with this hotel.”
The fire in his eyes and the way color rose in his cheeks said how much this meant to him. She’d learned in Maine exactly how passionate he could be. “I’m sensing the hotel is more than another piece of your real estate portfolio.”
He turned to her, scanning her face. It was much more difficult to stay trained on the task at hand when they were alone like this. Another time or in another set of circumstances, it wouldn’t take much to convince her to kiss him, to see how much of his fire he might be willing to unleash on her.
But she was stuck with the here and now. Her lips and his were never to meet again.
“The Grand Legacy is my baby. I’ve been in love with this hotel since I was a kid. It’s a tie to my true family history, not the version of it my dad wishes were true.”
The Locke family tree was starting to come together now. “Is that why your great-grandfather left it to you? Instead of keeping it as part of Locke Hotels?” Kendall pulled out a notepad, wanting to take notes. As soon as she got back to the office, she was going to pen her first press release and start setting up the key interviews.
Sawyer shrugged. “Care to sit for a minute?”
“Oh, sure.” They slid into the closest booth.
He reached across the table and took the construction helmet off her head. It was such a simple gesture, but it all happened in slow motion as it brought back a memory from the wedding. “I think you can lose this. You’re safe.”
She smoothed her hair, wishing she had a mirror and a moment to collect herself. She saw him in the elevator at the wedding, the moment he’d brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand, telling her she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. It had probably been a line. She’d suspected it at the time. But part of her wanted so desperately to believe it, even now, when she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him like this. That was how good Sawyer was at getting what he wanted. He made her want to give him everything.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked, steadying her voice. “Do you think your dad could be behind the story in the paper?”
Sawyer didn’t say a thing, he merely melted her resolve with his warm brown eyes. They were so soulful, so deep, so sad. “I don’t have proof, but yes, there’s more than a chance. Is it that obvious?” His voice was low and rough.
