Chapter 9 Maeve
Maeve
Irritation prickles at my skin as Kellin saunters off. Earlier, he brought me coffee and chatted me up. Then, in a huge pivot, he shut off the charm and started listing demands. Warm and propositioning one minute, all business the next.
What the heck is his hot one minute, cold the next persona all about anyway?
I don’t need to see his face to notice his smug attitude. The swagger of his firm ass is more than enough.
Last night, I almost climbed him like a tree. If he hadn’t stopped me, I might have woken up in his bed this morning.
Outside his door, I could hardly breathe, each inhalation sharp as a dagger. My blood hummed with urgency, and lust curled in my belly.
But when I was ready to ditch all reason and pin him to the nearest wall, he lifted my chin with a firm touch, regarded me with dark, steady eyes…and then shut me down cold.
I might have called him noble, if not for the extreme embarrassment.
“Not yet.” Those two little words dumped ice water on my libido, shifting my hunger to shame. Based on the tent in the front of his pants, his dick wasn’t in charge of decision-making.
Even though I realize his rejection was for the best, I drop my chin toward the floor, wishing a potion existed that could erase the mortifying memory from my brain.
If he wants us to stick to all business, we’ll stick to all business. The smarter choice, for sure. Even if my ovaries protest.
I head for my office to nurse my wounded pride in private and smack right into Lenora.
“Watching the tide roll out, I see! You know, there’s no harm in welcoming a certain guest with special treatment.” She winks, a smirk lifting her pink-glossed lips. “It might help you secure that investment.”
I shake my head, too humiliated to reveal that I already failed to seduce him. Probably because my seduction skills are buried under a six-inch layer of dust. Assuming I possessed any in the first place.
“What’s up? What’s so urgent we just about pulled a ‘Freaky Friday’ there?” If only we had switched bodies. Then the next time I ran into Kellin, I wouldn’t be forced to pretend his proximity doesn’t set off entire fireworks in my belly.
She heaves a dramatic sigh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially when your father is in-house, but one of the boilers blew last night. I already got an estimate. It’ll be about ten grand in materials alone.
Labor costs will be an additional expense, and they charged three hundred dollars simply to come out and assess. ”
Great. If costs keep stacking up, I’ll never afford to buy my father out. Another ten grand may not seem like a huge expense, but it’s just one more thing for my father to dangle over my head as proof of my failure. More red numbers in the ledger.
I flash her a grateful smile. “Thanks for getting them out here.”
“Want me to schedule the repairs? The earliest available time is next week, but the guy said the system can continue to operate on backup power until then.”
“Yes, go ahead. We can’t exactly go long without it.”
My phone chirps with a text from Dad, who’s demanding my presence in the penthouse.
Lovely. I do so enjoy hosting Father Dearest in our finest suite so that he can treat me like his personal assistant.
I head to the private elevator, a straight shot to the top with no stops in between. Though it’s a direct ascent, the ping at every floor between the lobby and the penthouse reminds me that my father still owns everything I’ve fought to claim as mine.
He handles none of the hotel’s day-to-day needs or event planning—or really anything at all—which is perfect. What I don’t love is how he just occupies the place whenever he wants, transforming my hotel into a revolving door of “extra security.”
As the elevator opens on the penthouse floor, I inflate my chest with slow breaths and remind myself not to get riled up. If I starve him of criticism material, our interaction should go better, plus I’ll stand a chance of minimizing the duration of our meeting.
If he starts on a rant, though, I could wind up trapped here for half a day while he regales me with my entire life history of disappointments.
When I was younger, all I craved was a modicum of his attention. Once I hit my older teen years, I realized remaining off his radar helped me preserve my mental health.
Whatever he wants, I might as well find out and get this over with.
Bracing myself, I unlock the suite with my key card.
Floor-to-ceiling windows comprise the far wall, showcasing a larger-than-life balcony with an uninterrupted view of the pier and the beach.
The same expensive Italian tiles from the lobby comprise the flooring in the main part of this suite, accented by delicate wallpaper and a black leather conversation set.
Recessed lighting in the ceiling provides a welcoming glow. A modern chandelier hangs above the glass dining table near the black-and-white kitchen.
I worked for weeks to ensure this suite’s perfection. No detail missed, no expense spared.
And thanks to my father constantly commandeering the penthouse for his stupid mafia bullshit, most of my effort goes unappreciated.
Nolan Doyle, my father’s newest stooge and the man who crossed the Irish Kings in New York City, sits on the recliner, his leg tapping against the floor.
This particular “business associate” stands at only five-five, if that, with a scrawny body that a strong wind could snap.
His brown hair’s slicked back with au naturel gel, and he smells like he hasn’t showered in a week.
How this guy got in with the Kings on either coast—and isn’t dead yet—is beyond me. But Dad’s decided he’s useful, so here he sits, alive and kicking back in my exquisite three-grand-a-night suite.
That’s three grand we lose every single day my father and his cronies stay here.
Brody’s leaning on the bar near the back of the room, pouring himself a whiskey. In their line of work, ten in the morning isn’t too early to drown an enemy, so I guess it’s not too early to drown your sorrows either.
Connor hovers near the electric fireplace, his brown eyes trained on the back of Doyle’s head. The accountant tosses a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if he can sense my older brother’s predatory glare.
Connor is dangerous to his enemies, but to me, his calm, watchful presence is familiar. Almost soothing.
If anyone could be soothed with Dad in the room, that is.
I snap my spine upright and erase any trace of nerves or annoyance before approaching my father, who’s lounging on the sofa, tie loosened, diamond cufflinks winking in the sun.
With one arm draped over the banquette and a highball glass dangling in his grip, he could pass for the king of his castle. A lit cigar between his fingers pollutes the otherwise pristine room, and I suppress the urge to cringe.
God forbid Dad obey the hotel’s no-smoking policy.
His lips tip into a frown around the cigar as he subjects me to a once-over. “About time you showed up. I was beginning to wonder if you forgot I was here.”
If that were an option, I’d sign up in a heartbeat.
I squeeze my right hand into a fist and then relax my fingers, attempting to emulate Connor’s calm exterior. “All our rooms are non-smoking. You’ll need to pay to get the smell out once you leave.”
Dad raises a brow and smirks a little while inhaling a pointed puff of the cigar. I know better than to believe he’ll actually do as I ask, but I feel better at least calling him out. “There’s a boiler out.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I know everything that happens in my hotel.”
My hotel.
I expend astronomical effort to keep my mouth shut and not snap at him. I should win an award for divine patience.
Despite the anger simmering in my blood, I maintain a level tone and neutral expression. “I’m calling to schedule a repair later.”
“Good.” He waves the cigar at Doyle, and the curling smoke only cranks up my aggravation. “Also, while I’ve got my guest here, I added an extra presence in the halls. Just a few men. You know, for security purposes.”
No shit. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
“Well, those extra eyes have pointed out a few things you must have missed. The roof leaks in the northwest corner. Several fountain spouts are clogged in the atrium. The landscape suits the slums, not the wharf, and the fucking help doesn’t know their place.”
I clench my hands behind my back. The help doesn’t know their place? He can rag on my hotel, he can insult me, but to talk about my employees like they’re beneath him or exist to serve him…
“Everything is being taken care of, Dad. I don’t have help, I have employees, and there is no place for anyone to know. Everyone does their job well.” Including me, though he’ll admit that when hell freezes over.
“Just get it done, Maeve.” I cringe as cigar ashes drop onto the leather cushion beside him, the embers burning through the material before smoking into nonexistence. Dad doesn’t miss a beat. “And this furniture is in shambles. Replace it.”
I have no idea what my face is doing, but from the sympathetic glance Brody tosses me from behind our father’s back, I imagine my expression isn’t pretty.
That simmering anger bubbles into a boil, forcing me to count to ten to maintain my composure like a kindergartener or someone with anger management issues.
The cuts from my father’s unwanted criticism never completely disappear, but usually, I can busy myself enough to forget.
Except, today I’m struggling. Trapped with him in this suite, choking on his reeking cigar, his words claw at my self-esteem and slash the peace I’ve worked so hard to attain. The hurt and rage swell, gurgling up my throat, ready to spew into his face like venom.
But I don’t say anything.
I can’t.
Declan Gallagher will never acknowledge what I’ve accomplished here. What I’ve created. To him, this hotel is just another front, another hiding place.
And no matter what I do, he’ll never see me as anything other than the beholden daughter whose only value resides in keeping his favorite safe house running. Nothing more than a tool.
I wish that realization brought me peace, but I only ever leave our interactions feeling blinded by anger or numb and empty once all the fury inside me burns.
Today, numbness wins.
I turn away, fighting to revive my tongue. “Do you need anything else?”
I’m already at the door when his cold voice reaches my ears.
“This place is a family asset, Maeve. Treat it like one.”
The door slams shut behind me as my numbness cracks. I opt for the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the extra time to ground myself.
Treat it like one. As if I don’t already dedicate myself entirely, body and soul, to the hotel every single day.
The Cypress is mine. The only thing I’ve ever asked him for.
I wouldn’t have even needed to seek his help if he hadn’t used a good chunk of my inheritance as his personal ATM. The only reason I could still afford half is because my mother’s mother was smart and put all the money she left me into an unbreachable trust fund.
I spend most of my free hours trying to keep this place. Meanwhile, his goons drink the bar dry and scare away my guests. Honestly, I’m just waiting for the day when the FBI or DEA or one of those other three-letter agencies shows up and shuts us down for criminal activity.
Cold, heavy reality weighs down my stomach, slowing my pace as I near the ground floor.
Though I may be irritated with Kellin, I still need him. Sure, other investors and opportunities exist, but he’s here now, and the promise of his company’s backing is too good to pass up.
Zenith’s my ticket out from under my father’s sleazy thumb.
I slip out of the stairwell into the main floor hallway, pulling out my phone and dialing Kellin on the way to my office.
He answers on the second ring, and I snap instructions before we exchange any greetings.
“Meet me in my office at seven tonight.”
“Hello to you too.” Subtle laughter laces his voice. “Is this for business or pleasure? Or business and pleasure?” The seductive way pleasure rolls off his tongue steals the oxygen from my lungs.
Though his teasing almost lures me into a better mood, the memory of my father’s dismissive, patronizing attitude prevents me from succumbing.
I slam my office door closed. “You want to see the books. Fine. Come by tonight, and you can see them. Two hours, and I’ll be right there the entire time.”
My hopes of owning this hotel outright and truly freeing myself from my father, his mafia, and the ghosts he keeps stashing upstairs ride on Kellin Jameson’s offer.
But I also require proof that he’s not just another man trying to own me. I won’t allow that.
There’s a pause on the line, so I push a bit harder. “Oh, and Kellin? I’m going to need something from you.”
“Not yet, Maeve.” The playfulness in his voice is obvious.
I grit my teeth at his callback to last night but refuse to take the bait. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Bring a full prospectus on your firm, the last three years of your annual reports, the assets under management, and anything else you can think of that might be useful.”
“Of course.” He’s all business now. “Seven o’clock, your office.”
I slump down into my desk chair, rubbing my temples.
Zenith’s investment in my hotel would provide the opportunity for real independence.
I can’t let that slip away.