Thankfully Page was able to accommodate my request for tonight, and gladly too, with a chipper voice and a go-get-‘em attitude. My one request was for her to bring Penelope. She didn’t seem surprised on the phone when I asked her. It almost seemed like she expected it.
And although she said it wasn’t a problem, Penelope has yet to show up, which has grated on my nerves more and more with each passing minute. I keep eying Page in the kitchen, who plasters on a happy smile every time she makes eye contact with me, but when she thinks I’m not looking, there’s a worried frown on her brow.
I know that frown has nothing to do with the elegant dish of filet mignon with pesto sauce and seasonal vegetables that I picked out for dinner, because from the smell coming from the kitchen, dinner will most definitely be a success. It has to be from the missing girl who has yet to show up.
“Place looks great,” Scott says, eyeing the dining room table. “Did you really invite Kit Henderson to dinner tonight?”
Kit Henderson is an investor in Las Vegas, always has a hand in starting up any hotel that decides to place itself on the Strip. He’s made a fortune off of this city and continues to look for business wherever he can find it.
I nod. “I did.”
“You going into the hotel business? Starting something I don’t know about?”
“No,” I laugh. “But it’s always good to have a guy like him on your side. Figured it would be good for Graham to meet him since he’s been dabbling in the idea of expanding Hotel Paragon beyond Vegas. Just trying to help a friend.”
Eyeing me skeptically, Scott raises his eyebrow, leaving me to believe that he thinks there are ulterior motives. There might be but he doesn’t need to know that.
From the front entryway, the door bursts open and in walks Graham, holding the lapels of his jacket like a pompous dick. He’s wearing a slate grey suit, black shirt and black tie. His hair is styled to the side, in a faux pompadour style, and his cufflinks twinkle under the light of my villa. He’s got style, I’ll give him that.
“I’m here. Dinner can begin now,” he announces to the room while looking around. “Shit that smells good. What’s cooking…” his words cut off when he sees Page walking around in the kitchen, utter dread falling over his face.
I completely forgot my initial reasoning for this dinner, to fuck with Graham and his Page complex. Inner glee spreads through me from just the look of his face.
Snapping his head in my direction, he stomps his pansy ass toward me, finger ready to poke me in the chest.
“What the fuck is she doing in your kitchen?”
“Who?” I ask casually, my hands in my pockets.
“You know who, dick-hole.”
“Page?” I ask, feigning innocence. “She came highly recommended. I can’t pass up an opportunity to digest some marvelously cooked food, now can I?”
“Count me out,” he tosses his hands in the air. “I’m not dealing with this bullshit.”
He starts to leave when I say, “You’re not going to want to do that, brother.”
Next to me, Scott has his drink up to his lips, chuckling the whole time.
“Why’s that?” Graham asks without turning around to face me.
“Just so happens I was able to invite Kit Henderson to dinner. Thought it might be good to talk about those expansion plans with him.”
The tension in Graham’s back eases as he spins on his heel. “Kit Henderson will be here?”
Checking my Rolex, I confirm. “In about ten minutes. Might want to get your elevator pitch ready.”
Mulling it over, Graham grinds his teeth and finally concedes. “I hate you.” He points at me. “I really hate you, you… evil genius.”
I pat his shoulder. “I know. You can thank me later.”
Leaning in close, he says, “But seriously, dude, Page?”
I shrug. “I had to have a little fun. Can’t make it that easy on you.”
A knock on my door tears my gaze from Graham. Wondering if it’s Kit, I stroll to the door, buttoning my suit jacket in the middle and plastering on a bright smile.
However, it’s not Kit, it’s Penelope, an hour late for the job. I glance down at my watch and say, “Miss Prescott, how nice of you to finally join us. I would have thought you got lost, although that wouldn’t have made sense since you already work here. I suggest you put your apron on and get to work before I ask you to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. It’s the lack of fire in her voice that puts me on edge, causing me to really look at her. That’s when I take notice of her tear-streaked face.
“Penelope?” I question her, trying to get a better look at her.
“I need to get to work,” she says, trying to walk past me.
Before she can get far, I grab her by the arm and escort her down the hallway. Page eyes us but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she focuses on the food in front of her, tenderizing the meat and stirring the sauce.
With my hand holding on to her tightly, I guide Penelope into my library and shut the door. The room is full of books, mostly mysteries, some thrillers, and a small collection of erotica. I’m not going to lie, I love a good sex scene in a book. There’s nothing like reading the slow seductive process of foreplay. It can get me harder than a rock at times.
“Gavin, I have to get to work,” Penelope protests.
“I know you’ve been steered wrong in the past, but this time, you
do
work for me and I tell you when you’ll work,” I state, taking in her broken down appearance. “Why have you been crying?”
“Why do you care?” she shoots back, putting her apron on while staring at the ground, avoiding all eye contact.
With my index finger, I lift her chin so she’s forced to face me. “I care because I don’t like to see you upset. What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” She brushes her hands over her apron, straightening it out and then places them on her hips. “Can I go now?” she asks, looking me dead in the eyes, a mask of strength falling over her.
“Not until you tell me why you came in here with tear stains on your cheeks,” I demand, not letting up.
Exhaling in frustration, she says, “Fine, I stubbed my toe on a corner, really thought I broke the damn thing. I’m prone to injuries and am sensitive when I get hurt. I’m a big wuss. Yup, ouch…” She shifts on her foot, “Hurts real bad.” If her voice wasn’t so monotone, I might have allowed her to walk away, both of us knowing she was lying, but not this time.
“Is that right? What corner?”
“Uh, one in the lobby. Jammed the sucker.” She thinks about it for a second. “A, uh, tourist was texting while walking. I fell victim to their carelessness, bumped into them and then shot my foot into the corner, stubbing it right then and there. It was a fly by, the person didn’t even say sorry.” She sucks in a deep breath. “The nerve of these tourists. It’s not like the Kitty Glitter slot machine is going anywhere. It’s still going to be there, waiting to suck them dry, but you know those kinds of people. Careless, careless, careless.” She shakes her head, almost believing her own damn story. “Anywhoo, I cried, pretty sure I split a toenail but don’t worry, if anything, I’m a woman of my word and I will be damned if I let this dinner party go to hell because of a walk by toe stubbing. I will prevail.” She holds her tiny fist to the sky and then awkwardly lowers it, knowing she’s gone a little too far.
I straighten my jacket, gathering my thoughts. “A walk by toe stubbing, huh? Sounds vicious.”
“It was,” she nods. She then bends down and rubs her right foot with her hand. “Poor little digit didn’t know what was coming. Guess I should wear steel toed boots in the hotel, huh?” She laughs awkwardly and then takes a deep breath, letting it out in a low whistle while looking around the room. “Lots of books in here.” She squints. “Is that
Fifty Shades of Grey
?”
Not answering her, I say, “I’d like to see your toe. I don’t want you walking on it if it’s severely injured. We might have to take you to the emergency room.”
“Not necessary!” she says in a squeaky voice. “You know,” she places her finger on her chin and thinks while shifting her stance. “It’s getting better. I’ve always healed pretty fast.”
“But you cried, Miss Prescott. If you cried over the pain, it must be bad.”
“Low tolerance for pain but really fast healer.”
“Penelope,” I warn. “Let me see your foot.” From the stern tone in my voice, she succumbs. I know full well that there is nothing wrong with her foot, but I want to see how far she will go with this farce. It’s almost comical.
Giving in for some asinine reason, she flops her body on the ground, her skirt up around her upper thighs, and kicks off her left shoe. She holds it out for both of us, wiggling her toes and plastering a look of pure shock on her face.
“Oh my gosh, look at that. It’s all better! I told you I was a fast healer.”
“It was your right foot,” I point out, making her jovial attitude fall flat.
“Ugh, what do you know,” she mutters, putting her shoe back on and getting up from the floor. She attempts to walk past me again, but I stop her, spinning her around so her back is pressed against the door and my body is flush with hers.
“I don’t like to see you hurting,” I admit honestly, trying to look past the armor over her eyes.
“You make it seem like you actually care about me,
Mr. Saint
.”
I don’t admit my feelings, ever, but my persistence has obviously shown one of my cards. For some reason, I do care about her. I don’t know why and I don’t care to explore it. All I know is that I didn’t like seeing her upset when she came in here and I needed to find out what was wrong.
“I don’t like to see my staff distressed,” I answer her, watching as disappointment flashes over her face.
With thinned lips, she nods her head. “Well, your
staff
is okay. So, stop delaying me from my duties.”
With a hefty push, she sends me backwards a few steps, just enough to escape the room and head back to the kitchen.
Fuck.
I run my hand through my hair, hating myself for what I just said. I didn’t have to show my emotions, but I didn’t have to be a dick either.
Frustrated, I walk out of the library and head back to the main room where I see Page talking quietly to Penelope who is shaking her head to whatever Page is telling her. From afar, you can tell they are good friends. Page is rubbing Penelope’s back, a mother-like nature radiating off of her as she soothes Penelope. I want desperately to know what she is saying, to hear how Page handles Penelope and gets her to relax. There is a deep ache inside of me that wants to be able to do that for her, to make her feel better, but all I know is how to be an asshole. There’s not much changing that.
“That was a quick fuck,” Graham pokes, licking his lips with a giant smile on his face.
Leaning into his ear, I whisper, “I didn’t fuck her you prick, she was upset. And I suggest, if you want to stay for this dinner, you show a touch more class than the shit spewing out of your mouth right now.”
“Damn!” Graham says loudly. “Someone’s got his dick twisted in a knot.”
And that’s all it takes. “Page,” I call out, staring Graham in the eyes, which have grown wide.
“Yes, Mr. Saint?”
“Will you come here for a second? I want to introduce you to my friends and talk about the dinner.”
“Of course.” I don’t have to turn around to know that she’s rinsing her hands, quickly drying them off on a towel and coming over here, I can see it all in the panic reflecting in Graham’s eyes.
Walking up next to me, Page stands tall and holds her hands in front of her.
“Page, this is Scott Turner, he works with the Fighting League in corporate communications. He’s a brick shit house, and a big eater.”
“Hope you have enough steak for me in there,” Scott chuckles, holding his hand out.
“I believe I do,” Page smiles politely back.
I turn to Graham who is now looking anywhere but at Page. “And this is Graham Larson, owner of Hotel Paragon, massive jackass, and cries when he’s tickled.”
“I’m not going to ask how you know that,” Page laughs, holding her hand out to Graham who doesn’t take it.
I snap my fingers, feigning my recognition. “Oh that’s right, Graham, you’ve already met Page, haven’t you? She catered a dinner for you one time, didn’t she?”
Seething, Graham looks me dead in the eyes. “You know damn well she did,” he hisses at me.
Ever the professional that she is, Page lowers her hand away and nods. “Good to see you again, Mr. Larson. I hope you find my meal well prepared tonight.” Graham doesn’t answer her. “Well, if that’s all, Mr. Saint, I’d like to get back to the kitchen to make sure everything is on course for our timeline.”
“Thank you, Page.” I dismiss her, a smarmy smile spreading across my lips.
Pointing at me, Graham says, “You’re a giant asshole, man.”
I can’t help the chuckle that comes out of me. Scott joins in with me. “You couldn’t have even shaken her hand? That was cold, man.”
“No,” Graham seethes back at me. “What you just did was cold.”
A knock sounds at the door, straightening all of us up. “That’s Kit. Better get that ‘I got kicked in the crotch’ look off your face if you want to make a good impression.”
“Fuck you,” Graham mutters, righting his pocket square.
Chuckling, I go to the door and open it wide, welcoming Kit to my home, a gorgeous woman standing next to him with an equally gorgeous woman standing next to her. They’re both leggy, blonde, blue eyed, and showing off amazing racks. They’re wearing skin tight black dresses and mile high heels, shaping their legs to perfection. Damn. They’re hot, too bad they do absolutely nothing for me. Not when there’s a little brunette on my mind.
“Kit, I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for having me,” he says, flashing that genuine smile, pearly whites staring back at me.
And here I thought Graham reeked of money. Compared to Kit, Graham was a meager piece of lint. Standing tall, his blonde hair perfectly coiffed, and dressed in all black, he looks dangerous yet welcoming, almost like he is part of a mafia…for surfers. His California looks make him attractive to women and his money makes him appealing to the masses. He’s suave, cultured, and an all-around good man.