6. Phoenix
Phoenix
A fter Slate left my office, I was caught on a conference call that droned on for a half hour longer than necessary, as my lawyers went through the lists of additional—and unrealistic—amendments-slash-demands to a contract for the potential purchase of twin family-owned hotels in Cleveland.
The management is shit and as inflexible as an oak tree.
The location isn’t prime, but you don’t build a hotel empire solely on five-star accommodations.
Variety is the key to success. The plan is to turn those new acquisitions into four-star hotels.
They’ll pad our bank account just as nicely.
The two brothers who own the hotels think I’m short-changing them. I beg to differ. It’s a generous offer. They’re nitpicking. Translation, they’re grating on my last nerve. Sometimes, you have to know when to fold.
Once that was behind me, I dived right back into my day. I’m immersed in last week’s sales figures of our Texas Pompadour hotels, when the phone on my desk rings.
I pick it up. “Yes?”
“Mr. Konig,” the temp, says on the other end. “There’s a Miss Michaela Knight on the line.”
A cocky grin stretches my lips. “You can put her through.”
I have something you need, kitty cat.
I can’t remember ever being equally amused, intrigued and attracted to a woman like this before.
Miss Knight breaks the mold.
“Is she the same Michaela Knight you’re going to marry?”
I frown.
I don’t appreciate a temp pocking her nose into my business.
The press is busy putting their twist on how a high-profile COO can keep a passionate romance a secret in this day and age.
I doubt the press would’ve paid me as much attention if it weren’t for my former boy group days.
Our publicist is losing her mind. She’s itching to put out a press release with my side of the story in the hopes of containing the frenzy.
Until I hear back from Niels or Michaela Knight—ideally, both—I’m keeping my mouth shut.
“I understand with social media the lines between privacy and what should be public are blurred,” I say. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t discuss my personal life with my staff. Ever.” My tone is curt. “You’re a temp. Do you think that’s an appropriate question?”
“No, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. I should never?—”
“Put the call through.” She needs to mind her own business. I don’t need too many people poking around and sniffing out my bluff.
“Right away, sir.”
I grab my Montblanc pen and tap it against the desk.
“Hello, Phoenix.” Her melodic voice comes through the receiver.
“Michaela, darling. Don’t tell me. You miss me and the urge to hear my voice again was too much to bear, so you had to call.”
“Oh, get over yourself, you royal prick.” I bet she’s rolling her eyes at the phone.
“Always so agreeable, kitty cat.”
“Stop calling me kitty cat. I’m not a feline.”
“You could’ve fooled me. I’m still licking my wounds from your claws slashing my soul.”
“From hotel mogul to poet? Don’t quit your day job, Konig.”
“For the record, I miss your sweet disposition.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yet, you call to hear my voice.”
There’s a stretch of silence on the other end.
“Did you hang up on me, Michaela?”
“No, I’m still here.”
“How can I help you?” I’m twisting the knife in.
“You know why I’m calling.”
“I have many talents, sweetheart, reading minds isn’t one of them.” I’m not going to make it easy for her.
“I left my driver’s license at your office and I need it back,” she says.
“If you give me your address, I can have it delivered within the hour.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Michaela?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I did,” she says. “I thought–– Maybe it’s–– I mean––” She lets out a long sigh. “Can I come by and pick it up instead?”
“Suit yourself. I’ll leave it at the concierge desk downstairs in the lobby.”
“I was hoping I might pick it up from you.”
“You’re eager to see me again?”
“Are you sure your ego is going to fit in your office? Or even the entire hotel?” She’s as quick as a whip.
“I have something you need and you’re giving me attitude?” I pour salt on an open wound. “I don’t have time for this?—”
“Phoenix, please don’t hang up. Can we talk in person?”
“I’m afraid to let you near me,” I say. “Your words were so violent, they practically gave me whiplash. I’m not sure if it’s a learned skill, but you make quite the entrance and exit, Miss Knight.
I’m still recovering from the way you torpedoed out of my office.
I’m not sure I can take another serving of what you’re dishing out today. ”
“Okay, I deserve that,” she says. “I flew off the handle a little.”
A lot.
“I didn’t have all the facts, so… I might’ve been at a disadvantage.”
“Is that an apology?”
“I apologize for not having all the facts.”
Oh, that’s sneaky.
“Do you have all the facts now?”
“Yes.”
“You spoke to your father?”
“I did.”
“He told you everything?”
“He did.” The fire in her voice is gone, snuffed out.
I can’t even imagine how she must feel right now. She has a heavy burden to carry.
“I’m curious,” I say.
“About what?”
“I’m still scratching my head, trying to understand the motives behind this morning’s publicity stunt.
I get that your father is walking a tightrope, but that was an impetuous move—one that could’ve made me reconsider our agreement.
The contract was signed, sealed, and delivered.
I gave him my word. I wouldn’t renege on the deal. ”
“I can explain when I see you.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me.
I weigh my next words as Slate’s advice rings in my ears. “Are you free tonight?”
“Why?”
“Down, girl. It’s just a question. You either have plans or you don’t.”
“I’m free.”
“Let’s have an early dinner. Six o’clock?”
“You’re not afraid I’ll try to stab you with a fork?”
“On second thought––”
“I’m not violent. I’m vocal,” she says.
“I don’t have to fear for my life?”
“Not today…”
I chuckle. “So, we’re on?”
“Yes.” One word that holds so many possibilities.
“Why don’t we exchange phone numbers. That way you can text me your address, and I’ll have a car pick you up.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” There’s no hiding the trembling in her voice.
“I’d suggest a restaurant at one of our many hotels, but we need a private setting for this conversation.”
“We do.”
“You’re docile all of a sudden,” I say. “Such a contrast from earlier. I much prefer you submissive.”
“If you’re looking for a submissive wife, Konig, get a freaking mail-order bride.”
My fire-breathing dragon roars to life.