Chapter Twenty-four
Just because he forced me to go shopping with him after I ruined his shoes, doesn’t mean I’m not going to continue to fuck with him.
It’s why I have a pair of scissors in my hand and I’m cutting off all the buttons on his shirts with a satisfied little grin on my face.
But I am sad I’m not going to be able to see his reaction because sure to his word yesterday, Dennis is taking me to my hotel this afternoon. Malakai is out somewhere, I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell me where, but he had left with a stern, “don’t fuck with my shit.” So naturally, I’m fucking with his shit.
With the final shirt now buttonless, I hang it back up in the closet and smooth my hands down my pencil skirt, slipping my feet into the nude heels I forgot I even owned. It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve been back to the hotel, and I’m nervous to go. The staff know who I am, they know I’m now the boss and they didn’t treat me any differently the last time I was there, but I’m now married to Malakai, and I’m worried about what they might think about me.
It”s not like they know he was involved in my father’s death or that he threatened my sister. For all they know, Malakai swooped me off my feet and we couldn’t wait to get married.
The thought makes me want to gag. I can’t imagine Malakai swooping anyone off their feet, not with his constant scowl and severe need to have everything in control. But then his chuckle is to die for, this deep, warming sound and he smells like sex and sin, an intoxicating aroma that has made me brainless a couple of times.
And the way he talks, the deep baritone of his voice strips you bare, and those neon blue eyes that feel as if they’re looking right through you, seeing all of you. And his hands, his skilled hands, long fingers and –
What the fuck am I doing?
I shake my head to clear the thoughts and turn, walking out of the bedroom. My heels clip against the floors and when I get to the foyer, Dennis is already waiting.
“Mrs. Farrow,” He greets professionally.
“Just Olivia is fine,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer me or even move his face out of that stoic expression, so I just follow him out to the waiting car.
“Do you always drive around whoever Malakai tells you to?” I ask him after he’s closed my door and climbed into the front. His eyes flick to me in the mirror before focusing back on the road.
“Yes.”
“Do you drive him around?”
“Sometimes.”
So chatty. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, “He drives himself?”
“Sometimes.”
I loosen a breath, “Why doesn’t anyone want to talk to me?”
Those eyes move to me once more, staying longer on me in the mirror than before, “It isn’t you.” He eventually says.
“Did Malakai tell them to ignore me?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” He focuses back on the road as the gates slide open at the end of the long drive.
“That’s because no one tells me anything,” I lean back against the warm seats, “Of course I’m going to be curious.”
“Malakai didn’t tell them. The staff are hesitant with you because the previous woman who was in the house treated them like shit. Plus, they know you’re messing with his order, and they worry they’ll be blamed.”
“Malakai is very aware it’s me doing it,” I roll my eyes, “And whoever she is, I’m nothing like her. Ask Louis!”
“I know, Mrs. Farrow,” Dennis sighs.
“Olivia,” I correct, “Say it with me, Olivia.”
A smirk tugs on his mouth, “Would you like music, Mrs. Farrow?”
I let out a disgruntled huff, “Yes.”
He laughs as he presses a button on the dash and music begins to play through the speakers.
There is a constant stream of people coming in and out of the hotel, the reception filled to the brim with people as staff scurry back and forth trying to accommodate them. Dennis parks the car out front, in the spot reserved for me and gets out to open my door.
“I’ll be here when you’re done,” He tells me.
“Thank you, I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“Take your time,” He gives me what can only be an attempt of a smile, but it looks more scowl like. I shake my head and walk toward the doors, letting a couple out before I slip in the open door.
It smells like home here. My father never once changed the scent of lilac and honey that had been a constant here, or the burgundy walls and gold trimmings. The décor was a bit outdated if you asked me, but the guests seem to like it.
I head to the front desk, finding Meredith, one of our oldest members of staff, smiling behind the computer.
“Hi, Mere,” I greet her, walking around the desk to give her a hug.
We grew up here and this woman had been our babysitter on more occasions that I could count.
“Oli!” She beams, jumping up far quicker than a woman of her age should be able to manage. She’s due to retire… actually I think she was supposed to a few years back, but she never did.
She wraps me up in a warm hug, the feel of her arms around me easing some tension that had been lining my body for a week now.
“What are you doing here?” She asks, “Shouldn’t you be off on some romantic honeymoon still?”
“You saw the papers?”
“Of course I did!” She tuts, “Well, I went to read them, then they pissed me off because they couldn’t be more wrong about you, so I just looked at all the pictures. You looked stunning.”
“Thank you, Mere,” I touch her arm, “But no, no honeymoon. I actually came in to see if there is anything I can do. I know dad has been gone a couple months now and things seem good here.”
“They are,” she goes back to her chair, “Management have been great with the transition.”
I nod, “Well I guess I’ll just go do paperwork then.”
She gives me a smile and greets the waiting guests as I wander through the staff only doors, my heels clipping on the tiled floor until I come to a stop outside my father’s office. It used to be his name in gold on a plaque on the door but now it’s mine.
My finger traces the name, my name. Lauder, not Farrow.
With a sigh, I push on it, finding the office exactly how my father left it. There’s still a half empty bottle of whiskey on the shelf and a box of cigars on the desktop. His laptop sits in the middle of the desk, a fine layer of dust settled on the top. People had been in here but only to deposit paperwork. I wipe off the dust and pop the laptop in the top drawer before I tackle the mountain of paper in front of me.
It’s just HR business and some legal papers to sign and I get through them quickly. I wasn’t needed here, not really. It’s my hotel, my name above the door, but this place thrives on its own. My father had made it that way, but he was a businessman. He lived for this place, especially after my mother died when I was younger.
But I’m not my dad, I’m not savvy in the business world.
I just have a pretty face and an expensive last name.
I’ve only been here an hour or so, but I feel out of place. This hotel used to be a second home, but it no longer feels that way, this office doesn’t belong to me, the staff may be employed by me, but it isn’t me they report to.
Shuffling all the papers, I get up from the desk, a droop in my shoulders that wasn’t there before as I head down toward the small offices we have toward the back. I can see people working behind their desks, ensuring the smooth running of the hotel.
“Miss Lauder!” A girl from the HR department announces my presence with shock which quickly turns to a grimace, “Mrs. Farrow, I mean, my apologies.”
“Miss Lauder is fine,” I assure her. I didn’t plan on being Mrs. Farrow for long so it would be easier if everyone just called me by the right name, “I have some paperwork here, who should I give it to?”
“Oh, I’ll take that,” She smiles, holding her hands out for the stack.
I hand it over, glancing around the room but my attention gets caught by the small conference room. The door is open and a large whiteboard dominates the back wall and on it are images and color schemes, and across the top are the words, WINTER BALL, all in capitals and underlined several times.
“Oh, is that the plans for the ball?” I ask, stepping closer.
She cringes, “It is, or at least it was.”
“Was?”
“Our event coordinator quit last week,” She fiddles with her hands, “She’s the third one in the last year.”
I wince, “Shit, really? Why?”
“Too much work?” The girl shrugs.
“Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen as her cheeks pinken before she shoves her hand out, “It’s Nora!”
“So, these plans are no longer usable?” I shake her hand as I put my attention back to the board.
“They are but we have no idea what we’re doing.” She admits, “Between that, trying to recruit a new event coordinator and our daily jobs, I don’t know how we are supposed to pull it off.”
“I know how,” I beam at her, “Me.”
“What!?”
I shrug, “Why not? I’ve planned plenty of events and god knows I need something to do.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” I start for the room, heels clipping on the floor as a newfound confidence lifts my shoulders, a sense of purpose settling in, “I’ll start right now.”
“Miss Laud – I mean Mrs. Farrow, are you sure?” She chews her lip, “I mean isn’t this, I don’t know, beneath you?”
I scoff, “Absolutely not. I’d love to do this.”
“Well okay,” She follows me into the room, “The portfolio is on the table,” She points, “I don’t think everything is ready though. I’m worried we will have to postpone it. It’s next week!”
“I’ve got it,” I assure her, “We won’t be postponing. Did Mr. Farrow have specifics on the event?”
“No, just that it’s held here.”
“Perfect,” I nod, mostly to myself.
“Can I get you coffee?”
I shake my head, “I’m good, I’ll grab one in a minute. Just leave it all to me.”
She gives me an unsure smile and heads off with the paperwork, leaving me staring at the mess on the board. Nope, this just won’t do.
First coffee, and then I’ll get to work.
I’m at the coffee machine in the staff kitchen when I get a call.
Pulling out my cell, I grin at Willow’s name, excited to tell her I’ll be planning the event. She’ll get involved; I know she will.
“Oli,” she says before I can get in a greeting, sounding breathless.
“You okay?” I ask, concerned.
“Fine,” She huffs, “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?” I hit the button to begin to pour my coffee, watching the dark liquid sputter out the nozzle.
“Bradley.” She says his name with a bite, but it’s not as coated in venom as it usually is. She usually refers to him as the ‘prick who shall not be named’.
“What about him?” I mentally swat at the memories that instantly bloom with his name, tackling the fresher ones from the recent images that had been dug up.
“He’s dead.”