Room Service Page 22

  Olivia gasped. Marty?

  “Oh crap,” she whispered aloud, looking at Rhys. “Last night, outside the kitchen…”

  He nodded. “Seems they were recommended through a friend of your uncle’s here. And he recommended them strictly to ensure he would have a few spies on the inside, as well as people he could ask to perform a bit of sabotage now and then.”

  “Olivia, I swear, I didn’t know anything about this,” Angel protested. He was pale and furious and had leapt to his feet as if he were about to march out and track the guys down.

  She waved a hand at him. “Hey, I thought they were good guys, too. They were always here, always willing to help…”

  “Well, that’s the rub, you see,” Rhys added. He was circling Stuart now, his hands behind his back, disgust written all over his face. “Your hired hands have had a change of heart. Today, it seems, the spirit of Thanksgiving got the better of them, and they decided to confess their sins. Apparently, six turkeys will be returned here tomorrow after a bit of holiday in Davey’s mother’s deep freeze.”

  “Idiots,” Stuart muttered. He’d gotten his color back, but fury would do that to a person.

  Olivia was pretty sure she was a nice mad red, as well. “You hired them to make trouble here? What exactly did you think they were going to do?”

  “Oh, Christ, Olivia, I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Stuart spat, but he flinched when Rhys glowered at him. “Don’t you get it? You’re a ridiculous child who’s been given a toy much too expensive to play with. You don’t know the first thing about making a profit, and you’re just as nostalgic and absurdly sentimental as your father.”

  For a moment, Olivia was convinced Rhys was actually going to punch him. She could practically hear his blood boiling. Running across the room, she laid a hand on his arm and urged him backward a few steps.

  “I’m sorry, and this is your business how?” she said evenly. She was sure it wasn’t the wine this time—she wasn’t in the least bit afraid of the man, and she wasn’t positive that all of his efforts to intimidate her had been nothing more than some half-assed attempt to get himself out of trouble.

  “You’ve screwed up, haven’t you?” she said softly, staring him down. “You need the money from the sale of this place, you don’t just want it. And since you have no legal basis for taking this hotel away from me, you thought you could simply scare me off like some little kid.”

  She could actually feel the pride in Rhys’s grin, but for the moment she ignored it. “Did you really think a few overflowing toilets and some spilled paint was going to do it?” She shook her head, enjoying the powerful wave of outrage when he scowled back at her. “This place is my life, Stuart. My home, my family, my whole world. You might have scared me once, but you can’t anymore. I have plans for this place, big plans. Shops, maybe a writer’s retreat, renovating the restaurant, all kinds of things. And whether or not they succeed is my business. Mine. And I swear to you, I’ll eat all of those missing turkeys myself before you ever see a dime from this hotel.”

  Behind her, the room burst into noisy applause, and she flushed with pleasure. And triumph, too. Because Stuart had actually slumped in defeat, all the hot air hissing out of his stiff frame like a deflated balloon.

  “It’ll never work, you know,” Stuart insisted. A last-ditch effort to spread the hate, she guessed. “You need the backing of one of the big chains. You’re going to sink cash into this place and never see it again.”

  “Well, at least she’ll have some free labor for awhile,” Rhys put in slyly. “Marty and Davey would like to keep their jobs, without pay, to make up for the trouble they caused. Since ‘Olivia rocks,’ as they say, and Mr. Callender is a…‘nasty old ass-wipe,’ I believe were the words they used.”

  Olivia laughed at that, and the rest of the room joined her. Stuart was spluttering with rage, but when he protested that he was sure they wouldn’t want his pay, Rhys shook his head. “No, they’re quite willing to take your money, you idiot. Rather stupid of you to pay them so much in advance, don’t you agree?”

  Stuart pushed past him to leave, muttering to himself, but Rhys grabbed his arm. “One more thing, old man. Anything happens to those friends and relatives of Marty and Davey who live in your buildings, and you’ll hear from me about it.”

  Stuart wrenched away again and stalked out, and Olivia threw her arms around Rhys.

  “That was…incredible,” she murmured, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him.

  His arms tightened around her. “I didn’t do a thing, love. Just the messenger, over here. You’ve saved the day yourself, and pretty handily, I should say.”

  “I wonder why Marty called you instead of me,” she said, leading him to a pair of empty chairs at the nearest table.

  “I think he was too ashamed to tell you the truth,” Rhys said gently. “He nearly stumbled over himself a dozen times, trying to explain how sorry the two of them are.”

  “How did they get your cell phone number?” she wondered, sitting beside him, their hands still linked.

  He gave her a tired smile. “They called the front desk, and Rob gave it to them when they asked. Some things work properly around here, you know.”

  “Rob!” she said, standing up. “I hope someone brought him a plate of food.”

  “Roseanne did, long ago, love.” He sat back, his eyes dark and smoky again.

  “You need some pie,” she murmured, leaning toward him. She put her hands on his thighs as she watched his face. He looked so tired, and strangely sad.

  “I’m all right, love.” He kissed her forehead. “I think I’m going to go upstairs, yeah?”

  She watched him walk out of the room, her heart sinking. What had just happened?

  She loved him. God, she loved so much it hurt a little bit, in good places and bad ones. It was all she could give him, but she had no idea if it was what Rhys wanted.

  When Olivia didn’t come to bed by eleven, Rhys walked out of her apartment and shut the door behind him. She’d given him a key when he got back from L.A., and as he stepped onto the lift he fingered it gingerly.

  Keys. Such a perfect symbol, yeah? They opened doors, and locked them. The person with the key was given power, wasn’t he?

  Strange that he didn’t feel that way.

  The hotel was hushed and mostly dark now, all the partygoers off to their beds—or the beds of their loved ones. Janet, he assumed, was passed out on hers, as she’d stopped ringing his mobile a few hours ago.

  He’d have to bundle her back to London tomorrow, whether she liked it or not. The plane fare was nothing, if it meant she was safely across the pond. His life was here now, one way or another.

  Tonight, he’d find out if he would live it with Olivia.

  He found her in the deserted dining room, where just one row of sconces had been left lit. She was sitting at the piano with a glass of wine, her shoes abandoned on the floor beside her.

  She was so beautiful. Well, he knew that the minute he picked himself up off the sidewalk, didn’t he? But she was so much more than the dreamy princess in the tower he’d imagined her to be. Woman had an impressive vein of iron in her bones, and a heart as big as the planet. And she’d shared it with him so generously, he’d begun to forget that women like Clodagh existed in the same world.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, kiss her breathless, and whisper nonsensical words of love to her all night, just to hear her giggle. He wanted nothing more than her, for the rest of his life.

  But she hadn’t come up to bed, even now that the party was over and the dining room was empty, and he didn’t have a clue why.

  He walked into the room just as she plinked out a tune on the piano, smiling to herself in the dim light.

  “Do you play?” he asked.

  He’d startled her—her fingers landed heavily on the keys. “Rhys! I thought you went to bed.”

  “I was waiting for you,” he said and sat down when she made room for
him on the polished mahogany bench. “What are you doing down here in the dark?”

  “Thinking.” She looked up at him, and her eyes were full of questions, doubts, even fears.

  She didn’t deserve to feel any of that. He’d been the one to doubt her, when she’d given him no cause. He’d been the one to hold back, when she’d opened her heart and her home to him. He was the one who needed to explain—and tell her how much he loved her.

  Instead he said, “Why didn’t you ask me, Liv? Why didn’t you ask me?”

  Bloody hell. He hadn’t meant to say that.

  She blinked in surprise. “Ask you what?”

  “To take over the restaurant.” He stood up and paced away from her, feeling like a total git, but wanting her answer just the same.

  She set down her wineglass and got up, hurrying across the room in her stocking feet. Taking his hands, she pulled him to a stop and waited until he was looking at her to speak.

  “Are you kidding?” she said.

  That stung. “No! I’m not kidding,” he said. “I was a bit taken aback, you know, reading about your plans in the newspaper instead of hearing about it from you, and then…” He stopped and shook his head. He felt like a stupid git, and now he sounded like one, too.

  “I guess I thought you knew, or assumed…” she began, and shook her head. “There have been so many things I wanted to tell you, but I never knew what we were doing, where it would go…I kept reminding myself to be happy with now, you know? Not to think about the future. Not when I didn’t have any idea what your plans were.”

  “You thought about the future?” he asked, trailing his fingers down her arm gently. “Our future?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Rhys…”

  “I have, you know,” he told her. “I haven’t thought of much else in the past few weeks. Out in Los Angeles, I couldn’t keep you out of my head. I kept thinking about what you were doing here in this blasted old place, what you were probably painting, what you were planning, when you might be sleeping…”

  She turned her eyes up to him. The doubt was still there, a dark flicker, but hope was shining brighter. “You thought about all that?”

  “I did.” He put his arms around her, leaning down to whisper into her hair, “The day I came back, I didn’t think I would survive until I got you upstairs where I could say hello to you properly.”

  He could feel her pleased blush, and her arms circled his waist, her fingers hooking in his belt loops.

  “But, you see, that’s why I was confused,” he went on. “I came back, and you were talking about a whole new restaurant, and then you didn’t ask me to help…” He let his words trail off into the quiet room. Yeah, he still sounded like a git. A helpless, hopeless git who’d fallen in love so hard, he was still dizzy.

  “I…well, I wanted to do everything on my own, you know?” Olivia murmured, pulling away far enough to look at him. “You taught me that, somewhere along the way. That I had to wake up and look around and take charge of my life.” She pulled away entirely then, her brow screwed up as she chose her words. “It was like a dream, you know? My whole life before I met you, just one long fantasy or memory, holed up here and not really paying attention to…well, anything. And when you made love to me…” She bit her bottom lip again, shy. “Well, it woke me up somehow. Everything was clearer, brighter, real. And as much as you seemed like some knight in shining armor, I knew I couldn’t depend on a fairy tale ending.”

  “But I was here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I came back.”

  “Without one word about what it meant,” she reminded him gently. “Without one word about what you were going to do when it was announced that you won.”

  He deserved that, he knew. He shook his head, but she took his hand and pulled him back to her again.

  “I’d thought about you running the restaurant practically since we met. How wonderful it would be, how perfect. But, well, when the time came I didn’t know if you would say yes. And I couldn’t bear to hear no.” Her eyes shone with tears.

  “But I was the obvious choice, yeah? I mean, I have the money to sink into the place, and I’m a sodding chef!” He shook his head, still incredulous. “I won the blasted competition. I just assumed…”

  “The worst?” she said softly, her breath warm against his chest. “That people who love you want something from you? That no one really loves you, that all they want is what you can do for them?”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. He swung her into his arms, pulling her off her feet to bury his face in that glossy cloud of hair. “Doesn’t matter now. I love you, Liv. I want to…well, I’d like you to consider me as a chef for the new restaurant. Please.”

  She was laughing, actually laughing—he could feel the gentle vibration of it against his throat.

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded. “I’m serious.”

  “I just…” She collapsed in giggles again. “I know you are.”

  Crikey, the woman had cheek. “Then why are you laughing?”

  “You want me to consider you?” she said after a breath. “Are you kidding? I can’t think of anything better. I just told you I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks.”

  “Well, it never hurts to be sure,” he said with a sullen pout, but she didn’t let him get away with it, and smacked him on the shoulder.

  “Believe me, I’m sure.”

  “You mean it?” he murmured, setting her down and kissing his way up her slender throat, along her jaw, the round curve of her cheek.

  “Oh, I mean it,” she whispered, and her head fell back as he steered her toward the closest table and laid her down on it. “Rhys…”

  “Quiet, love, I’m rather busy,” he said, sliding his hands up the soft fabric of her dress’s skirt, revealing her long, slender legs in their silky stockings.

  She made one of the vague little noises he adored, but she didn’t protest when he reached up to tug her stockings down. He feathered breathy kisses down her thighs as he went, smiling when she trembled.

  It was when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties that she angled up on her elbows and looked at him from beneath her lashes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Having my dessert,” he whispered, and prepared to feast.

  Chapter 21

  “S hh, it’s coming back from commercial!”

  “Someone pass the pretzels, please.”

  “Be quiet, it’s on!”

  It was two weeks later, and the hotel bar was crowded with staff and friends as the finale of Fork in the Road aired. Olivia glanced up from her stool at Rhys—he was behind the bar, overwhelmed by the attention. Gus had given him a baseball cap the other day, and he was wearing it now with the brim down low, over his eyes.

  Tommy reached out with the remote control and turned up the volume on the big TV mounted to the wall. “Come on now, folks, quiet,” he bellowed. “I’ve got the man of the hour back here, you know.”

  Rhys, it was interesting to discover, could blush, too.

  She almost hated knowing the outcome of the competition already. For one thing, it had been hard not to crow about Rhys’s success when the first of the two-part episode aired last week. They’d all watched that one here in the bar, too, to hoots of approval and generous applause when Rhys first appeared on screen.

  “He was born to be a star,” Frank had said wisely. “I can see him with his own show on that food channel now, you know. Huge hit, definitely. The women viewers would just eat him up.”

  Her eyes had widened at that idea, but Frank had patted her hand gently. “Never fear, sweetheart. The man is completely gone on you, and you know it.”

  That same day, she and Rhys had walked around the tenth floor, deciding on a new apartment.

  “I love your place, Liv, but it’s a bit cramped, yeah?” he’d said one morning shortly after Thanksgiving, when he’d tripped over his suitcase and spilled a full mug of coffee into the cat’s bowl. Eloise ha
dn’t slept for days.

  He was right, of course. He’d checked out of his room the morning after Thanksgiving, and despite his relative lack of stuff, he was a huge male presence in her small space. And as much as she loved the cozy little place she’d made for herself, a studio was too small for the two of them. The two of us. It was still such a wonderful novelty to repeat the words to herself that she found herself doing it in the shower, at her desk, even on the street when she was out at the drug store or off to the library.

  And it wasn’t just a dream this time. Rhys had spent a day on the phone with a few friends and a shipping company and had arranged to sell some of his things, and ship the rest of it to the hotel. When the shipment arrived, they were going to move into the apartment she had grown up in.

  “It won’t be weird?” he’d asked her, when she’d opened the door to the big two-bedroom apartment she had loved as a child. She’d only moved out of it when she was in college, and trying to be “on her own” even if she was living in the same building as her father.

  “It will be wonderful,” she’d told him, and given him the tour of the spacious apartment, with its working fireplace in the large living room, its generous, if slightly outdated kitchen, and the two good-sized bedrooms with their view of Madison Avenue.

  “We can renovate the kitchen, if you want,” she’d told him, “although you will have the big kitchen downstairs to play in.”

  “Maybe I’ll treat myself and get an Aga for in here.” His eyes had lit up at the thought, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about it. “A bigger fridge, too. I don’t want to be running downstairs every time I feel like making you pancakes.”

  “No pancakes,” she’d groaned, slumping against the counter with a laugh. “Living with you is going to make me as big as a house.”

  “I know quite a few ways to work off calories,” he’d promised with the wicked grin that melted her every time.

  And then he’d proceeded to show her one of them, right there on the bare floor in front of the fireplace.