Flirting with Felicity Page 2

  Blake returned his gaze to Felicity. Her expression was emotionless, her wide brown eyes blank. No smile lurked at the edges of her full, unpainted lips. He could feel judgment radiating from her. “Look, Felicity, I think we both agree that there are things to discuss.”

  “My lawyers would be happy to talk to you.”

  A twinge of irritation moved through him. “It’s better if we talk. You and me.”

  She looked at him, hard. “Why? What else is there to say?”

  He thought for a second of something that might persuade her to at least give him a chance to explain his position. Losing the flagship hotel in their hotel chain would be a terrible blow to the corporation. Upon his uncle’s death, Blake had always planned to use the old building to establish a new trend in green living. What better way to establish the hotel chain as a leader in the industry than to turn a broken-down, money-leeching building into something other hotels would strive to become? If he could revamp the Bancroft Hotel and remake it as a success, he would attract new investors for more expansion across the country and around the world.

  Then Bancroft Industries would lead the way for its competitors. The Bancroft name would mean not only quality, but sustainability worldwide. Seattle was already a leader in the nation with its innovative recycling programs, but he wanted to do so much more. And that renaissance for his hotel properties had to start with their first hotel.

  Truth be told, she wouldn’t stand a chance against his legal barracudas. She had the will. He had the Bancroft name and a history with his uncle and the Bancroft properties that was undeniable. Her relationship with his uncle was something he intended to explore and exploit. “My uncle left you this hotel, and I’d like the chance to know why. Can we talk in the restaurant?”

  “The restaurant is closed.”

  He gave her his most charming smile, the one he used to sway many a female his way. “Aren’t you in charge around here?”

  She stared at him, hard, and he knew she was considering his offer. “You’re right; I do own the restaurant.”

  He didn’t miss the jab. “So that’s a yes?”

  She leaned toward him, and for a second, just a second, he thought she was going to touch him. For some reason, the prospect set his nerves on fire. He was used to people touching him, yet with Felicity it somehow seemed different. When she pulled back, disappointment fizzled along his nerves.

  She nodded. “Vern asked that I protect the Bancroft, and I intend to do just that.” She drew a harsh breath. “This place is more than just a hotel, Mr. Bancroft. It’s where a father can stop his busy life for a short time to go on vacation with his family, or where a husband can spend the night with a wife he’s loved for years. It’s not just a building. It’s a special place—a gift.”

  The truth of her words made him feel a little sick. The Bancroft was special, but with his upgrades, it would not only be special, it would be a destination hotel for years to come. “Call me Blake, please.” He waved her toward the entrance to the darkened restaurant.

  They entered the Dolce Vita in awkward silence. He was hyperaware of her as they walked—the way her hips gently swayed, the way she smelled of herbs and lemon, the way a stray tendril of hair had escaped her ponytail. He was tempted to smooth it back over her ear to keep it out of her face. He doubted she would welcome the gesture.

  Once they reached the empty dining area, she stopped to flick on the lights, and then waited for him to choose one of the tables and sit before she asked, “So why do you want to talk to me?”

  A slight wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows as she watched him. She was worried, even though she wouldn’t admit as much to him. He studied that furrow in her clear, silky skin with something close to fascination. He could see the rapid throb of her pulse in her delicate temple. He felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch that faint thrumming, to run the pad of his finger over her silky skin. He glanced away hurriedly. Christ, what was the matter with him? For a fraction of an instant he had felt a hot thickening in his groin that could only be described as lust. “You’ve been at this restaurant for three years?”

  She fidgeted and sat a little taller. “A little more than three.”

  “How long did you know my uncle?”

  She met his eyes. “I arrived at the hotel as sous-chef a few months before he became a full-time resident here.”

  He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Her voice was soft, melodic, and he found himself listening to the soft rhythmic cadence rather than the words themselves. What color were her eyes? Brown, he’d thought at first, but now he was sure he’d caught a hint of gold in their depths. “When did you become head chef?” he said, though it sounded harsher than he’d intended.

  “This doesn’t feel like a discussion. It feels more like an interrogation. I keep waiting for the bright lights to come on and the good cop to come out to assist you.”

  “Making me the bad cop?”

  He was rewarded with a quick grin before her lips thinned. “To answer your question, I took over as chef two months later when the head chef’s elderly mother became ill and he had to move back to Italy.” She reached for a bottle of water and poured them both a glass.

  Blake swallowed hard and tried not to stare at the smooth column of her neck as she took a sip from her glass. She had a small freckle at the base of her throat, right where her neck met the arch of her collarbone. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he wondered how she would taste if he pressed his lips to the spot?

  Desire slid down his spine. He studied her eyes; at such close quarters in the dimly lit room, they gleamed like beaten gold, shadowed and mysterious, giving nothing away about who she was or what her relationship with his uncle had been.

  She’d had a relationship with his uncle. It was more than he’d ever had. In their final heated argument before Blake had been sent away, his uncle had told him the only purpose he had in Vern’s life was as the continuation of the Bancroft line. He’d never wanted children, and he didn’t want to raise Blake now that Blake’s own mother and father were dead. The memory of that fight more than fifteen years ago cooled Blake’s ardor. Slowly, he brought his eyes back to hers. “What was the relationship between you and my uncle?”

  “I hope I was a friend to him during his final days.”

  “Indeed.”

  She stiffened, steel infusing her. “I cooked for your uncle. Nothing more. As far as the hotel is concerned, I was as surprised as you that he left it to me. But he did. And I intend to keep it, if not for myself, then for every person who is employed here who depends on the Bancroft to support their families. The Bancroft is their livelihood. I won’t let you take that away.” Her words rang with outright challenge.

  “If you want to keep this matter out of the courts, I’m willing to make you a decent offer for the hotel and the restaurant. You’ll end up with enough funds to purchase another restaurant anywhere you choose.”

  “That’s not an acceptable solution,” she said, her voice tight. The feathery curve of her dark lashes came down to hide her eyes.

  “It’s just a kitchen and a location, and with your growing reputation, it shouldn’t be hard to get your customers to follow you.”

  Her eyes snapped back to his. “You can’t just create something new, something different whenever you want to. A location is part of the magic of a restaurant.” She shook her head. “What about preserving the historic significance of this place? What about the people who work here? Live here?”

  “It’s admirable that you care about their welfare.” He smoothed his hand across the surface of the table. “And completely unrealistic. You can’t save them all, the building included.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Why would you say that? Are you planning to tear down the building?”

  He shook his head. “I understand the significance of this hotel to the Seattle area. I won’t tear it down, but I do intend to do an aggressive renovation. The exterior will remain mostly the same, with a few upgr
ades. The interior will need to be largely gutted. I’ll try to preserve as much as I can. The goal is to make the Bancroft a LEED-certified building and an example of what can be done to old buildings.”

  “I have no objection to making the Bancroft greener, but I will not sacrifice my employees’ livelihoods to those efforts. You have no idea how hard it is to earn a decent salary in this business, one that can keep the employees above poverty level.”

  A flush came to her cheeks as she talked. The woman was certainly passionate about the people who worked at the Bancroft Hotel. “The people who work here can reapply for their jobs when the hotel’s renovation is complete.”

  “And how long would that take?”

  He shrugged and took a sip of his water. “A year, maybe two.”

  Her face became ashen. “No. Absolutely not. Two years is an impossibly long time to be out of work. I will keep the hotel, and I will fight you in every way.”

  He looked into her eyes and saw not only her distress but her strength—a combination he didn’t usually see in the women in his world. Most of those beauties allowed the men in their lives to make all their decisions for them. Blake firmed his lips. They were the kind of women with whom he usually fraternized. The thought left him flat. “I expected as much,” he said with honesty.

  “The Bancroft must have some sort of historical protection. Isn’t that what historical societies do—protect against insensitive men like you?”

  Blake frowned. He’d been called much worse, but her barb still stung. “My uncle never filed for protection by the National Register of Historic Places or the local historic preservation program.”

  She sat back in her chair, studying him. “Did you love your uncle?”

  Love him? “What kind of question is that?”

  “An honest one. When was the last time you saw your uncle? Because I’ve known him for three years and I’ve never seen you.” It was a question designed to hurt him, and it did. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his uncle. Four years ago? Maybe more? It was the day Blake had taken over as acting chair. His uncle vanished from his life that year.

  Thinking about it all now made him feel disconnected. He had lots of people in his life. Lots. Blake gave her a disgusted look. “Now who’s playing the bad cop?”

  She shrugged. “Vern might have benefitted from having his nephew around.”

  “I had a company to run. A company he left to my administration. He knew what it took to make the hotels a success. Just as he knew what needed to happen to this hotel to take the company into the future.” And that didn’t involve pandering to familial relationships.

  Bitterness brought a thin smile to his lips. He was thirty-four years old. He was a successful businessman in both national and international circles without his uncle’s help. His uncle Vernon had found little use for an orphaned relative. He didn’t need the woman before him to remind him of that.

  At his continued silence, Felicity stood. “I won’t back down, not without a fight. Take me to court, if you must. In the meanwhile, I suggest you find another hotel to stay in.”

  He stood, meeting her gaze across the table. “Am I unwelcome here?”

  “We’ve never turned away a guest yet, but—”

  “Are you a gambler, Felicity?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Absolutely not.”

  “I am. I’ve gambled on many things in my life, and I’m willing to do it right now, with you.”

  Felicity startled. “What are you talking about?”

  He wished for a crazy, desperate minute that they’d met under different circumstances. That Uncle Vernon was not the only thing that had brought their lives together. Or maybe he should be glad the old man had made their meeting awkward, allowing him to keep her at a distance, so he could sue her without remorse. But before things went that far, he had one last idea. “Uncle Vernon placed us in an odd situation. I’m willing to keep this out of the courts, if you agree to my plan.”

  She frowned. “What are you offering?”

  “We each spend one day with each other. We’ll start here in Seattle. You can show me why you want to keep the Bancroft as it is. Then, you’ll spend the day with me, and I’ll show you why I want the hotel and what changes I have planned. At the end of those two days, we’ll determine if either of us has persuaded the other, or if we still need to take this battle to the courts.”

  He saw a flash of temper in her eyes. “Why would I do that? The hotel is already mine.”

  “A lawsuit over the ownership of the hotel will turn your life upside down and cost you every cent you have to fight me. The end result will not be in your favor.” He shrugged. “At least this gives you a fifty-fifty chance.”

  Felicity’s cheeks flushed, but indecision flickered in her eyes.

  He held out his hand to her. “We each spend one day with the other. When we’re through, we both must agree on who can best serve the Bancroft Hotel and take her into the future.” And the extra days would allow the necessary time to prepare a lawsuit, if it came to that.

  “But if we don’t come to a decision, we’ve wasted two days of our lives.”

  “Are you worried about your powers of persuasion?”

  “No,” she said in an irritated tone.

  “We’ve both wasted at least two days of our lives before,” he said, then paused to give her time to consider. “Do we have a deal?”

  She stared at his fingers for a moment before she accepted his hand. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly, telling him she wasn’t as worldly as he had given her credit for a moment ago, but she was brave. Not many men stood up to him. And fewer women.

  She pulled her hand back and offered him a polite smile. “I’ll let them know at the registration desk that you’ll be checking in, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  “All right. Until tomorrow, then.”

  He nodded. “Until tomorrow. When and where should I meet you?”

  A smug grin replaced her smile. “Meet me in the lobby at five thirty in the morning.” At his frown, she added, “My day starts early. I’ll get Marie to cover the housekeeping meeting at the hotel for me, so we can head straight to the waterfront to buy seafood, then we’ll go to the farmer’s market to see what fruit and vegetables are available.”

  “I’ll be there,” he agreed, as she turned and walked out the door. The room suddenly grew cold and dark without Felicity’s vibrant presence.

  Blake dismissed the thought and reached for his water glass, wishing it held something stronger. He never mixed business with pleasure, but maybe it was time to break his own rule. Felicity was not his usual opponent. She was passionate and headstrong, an interesting combination. If he was going to win, he was going to have to use every possible advantage he had, perhaps including seduction. He could be very persuasive. He lifted his water glass to his lips, his mind dwelling on the possibilities.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Felicity walked the short distance from the hotel to her studio apartment two blocks east without seeing a thing along the way. Dear God, she was frightened. Not of Blake Bancroft, but of what he could undo. Just this morning, Vern had given her a dream and a future. Blake could take all of that away and more.

  If he took the hotel away from her, she would lose her job and her income. Blake wouldn’t keep her around to oversee the restaurant if he took ownership. Without that, where would she be? Where would her father be? She fisted her hands at her side. She would never go back to the poverty of her past. A siren screamed from the street below as she let herself into her apartment and shut the door behind her. Her “Pill Hill” location was affordable, but she did have to put up with the noise of ambulances all hours of the day and night as they rushed to and from the three hospitals located nearby. Usually she could tune out the noise, but this afternoon she couldn’t.

  Too strung up from her encounter with Blake Bancroft, Felicity paced the small confines of her home. She cast an
anxious glance about the sparsely furnished apartment. She’d happily accepted her austere lifestyle, because of what else it enabled her to do: provide for her father. The memory of the car accident that killed her mother and left her father permanently disabled came flooding back. Only Felicity had walked away without any visible scars, but emotional scars were there, buried deep. Her family had always struggled to make ends meet before the accident. But afterward, poverty had swallowed her father and herself in an unending cycle of bills from her mother’s funeral and her father’s hospital expenses. At sixteen, she’d had to sacrifice everything normal teenage girls dreamed about in order to give her father round-the-clock care.

  Another siren blared outside her window. Felicity stiffened, the muscles of her shoulders going rigid before she forced herself to relax. The man her father had been would never return, but she had to care for what was left of him.

  Felicity frowned. She’d never told Vern anything about her past, not that he had ever asked. Still, some part of her wondered if his act of kindness went much further than giving a nice girl a restaurant. If he was as rich as his lawyers claimed, then he could’ve had her investigated. She’d tried to hide the truth about how poor she’d been in the past, but if someone were determined enough to uncover her secrets, it wouldn’t be hard.

  Felicity forced her thoughts back to the present. She would never know what had motivated Vern to do what he did. All she could do was accept what he’d given her and be grateful. And she was so grateful. At the thought, the skin on her arms tingled and the giddy elation she’d experienced earlier returned. She owned a hotel—a hotel that was well furnished, luxurious, and blissfully quiet.

  As the full impact of her situation washed over her, she stopped pacing. She owned a hotel. She could move in there, rent-free, giving herself an instant raise. The experimental therapy her father needed but could never afford was now within her reach.