Chapter 17
Kellin
South of Santa Monica and Venice Beach, Los Angeles gets gritty and industrial. Fast.
Today, I head to a warehouse that Declan owns. According to the report Rory sent through, the Port Kings sometimes use this place to stash “prisoners,” which means there’s a chance, however slight, that Doyle’s here.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I jog around the back, sticking to shade created by the overhanging tin sheets as much as possible.
The building doesn’t appear guarded at all.
Not necessarily a good sign.
Could be a trap or a colossal waste of my time.
And my mind continually distracts me with memories of Maeve’s warm, willing touch…
I almost destroyed her last night.
I wanted to ravish every last drop of her soaking wet form.
And I meant what I texted her too.
I’ll have that rain check.
Get your shit together, Kellin. You’re on the job.
Up ahead, a door comes into view on my left. I strain to catch any noise on the other side and then shoulder in, weapon drawn.
Eerie, echoey, shadowy silence.
So far, the place is a ghost town, but I still conduct a thorough sweep of the compound before declaring this trip a bust and returning to the Cypress.
Still no sign of Doyle.
That only reinforces my gut instinct. They must be keeping him somewhere in the hotel, probably in the penthouse with Declan.
No matter how I think about it, that’s the only logical explanation.
Every other place we’ve checked—in person or virtually by hacking into security feeds—has led to a dead end.
Doyle in the hotel would be ideal for me anyway. That puts him within spitting distance and simplifies my job. But part of me clings to some hope that they hid him somewhere else.
That way, I might stand a chance of minimizing my guilt around Maeve.
If completing this mission involves her hotel, she’ll view it as a betrayal of trust.
I try not to think about that on the drive back.
After handing over my rental car to the valet, I shoot a quick text to Finn to update him on the warehouse. I’m still staring at my phone when I waltz through the front doors into the Cypress lobby and catch Maeve’s frazzled voice.
Perking up like a watchful guard dog, I scan the room and find her near the elevators, engaged in a heated argument with someone over the phone. A quick read of her lips suggests she’s bickering with Brody…about…an employee.
Something’s wrong. I squint at her mouth, which now moves almost faster than I can read…
An employee just quit.
Why would that be of interest to Maeve’s brother?
I hang back, hidden behind a giant potted plant, hoping to overhear or lipread important details, but Maeve ends the conversation before I can parse anything else.
She appears ready to stomp off in a huff by the time she spots me approaching. Her anger visibly dims.
Quelling my satisfaction over her reaction is a losing battle.
Maybe because her hungry expression matches my own greedy craving.
Either way, the longing in her eyes throws me off my game. Every damn time.
I stop in front of her and touch her arm. “What’s wrong? You seem stressed.”
Maeve rubs her temple, then shakes her head. “There’s this big wedding scheduled for next weekend.” She heaves a sigh. “Long story short, we’re short-staffed, and it’s causing problems for the vendors and…”
While she speaks, a lightbulb switches on in my mind.
If I play my cards right, this could be my opportunity to gain greater access to the hotel and more of Maeve’s trust in one fell swoop.
When Maeve trails off, I wave my hand like a schoolboy. “Let me help.”
Her eyebrows hop up her forehead. “What?”
“Let me help you with the wedding.” I give her my most charming smile, the one that I know left her weak in the knees during our first dinner.
“I’m confident I can solve your problem.
And the best part is that understanding your event-hosting process might assist me when I create my final report for Zenith. ”
Her brows climb toward her hairline. “Are you serious?”
“As the grave.”
She sinks her teeth into her lower lip as she studies me. “Then, yes. I accept. Whatever you can do to help ensure this wedding goes off without a hitch, please… I welcome your assistance.”
The tension in her shoulders eases.
She must be incredibly stressed, because none of my actions to date demonstrate competency as a wedding planner.
Guess she’s just that desperate.
I’m thankful for this sweatless victory, but I also hate that I’m preying on Maeve’s troubles to manipulate her.
She piles enough on her plate already.
Wait. What am I doing? Since when am I Mister Empathy?
What’s wrong with me?
“Come this way.” Maeve’s fingers alight on my forearm. “We can hammer out the details in my office—”
She stops short, redness claiming her cheeks as she backs away from me. Undoubtedly remembering that text I sent her this morning.
We’re both teetering on the edge.
Without another word, she marches up the hall without waiting for me to follow.
This is going to be interesting.
Meeting with Maeve in her office proves…challenging.
The last time we were alone together, she tried to seduce me. And after that…I held her all night. Breathing in her scent, feeling her heat against my chest, my legs, my cock…
It’s a wonder I got any sleep at all. It’s a wonder I let her get any sleep at all.
We got through last night, and we make it through the meeting too.
At least, we survive.
And by “survive,” I mean we manage to discuss the wedding and what she needs help with without me interrupting to bend her over her desk and ram my cock into her.
But, damn, the image taunts my mind the entire time.
For the better part of an hour, we talk about coordinating caterers and photographers and ordering enough flowers, though all I really want to do is stretch that insane body of hers around my shaft.
Despite the sexual tension threatening to incinerate us both, we succeed in brainstorming a work plan for our impromptu collaboration.
I start by shadowing her, meaning I follow her around the hotel while she bounces from event-related problem to event-related problem while simultaneously fending off the everyday stressors of hotel management.
I should focus on identifying both Maeve’s and the Cypress’s weaknesses, but like a spotlight, she commands my attention. In her presence, the rest of the world tends to fade into the background.
The more time we spend together, the more her sharp mind impresses me.
Her ability to get things done under pressure—especially while her overbearing family lurks around and uses her as their personal concierge—is nothing short of admirable.
But I need to quit admiring Maeve’s affinity for her job and do my actual job. Before Finn kills me.
I glance at my watch. My opportunity is approaching.
“—and that’s why we always bring the flowers in through the Loading Bay C door, so—”
“Maeve.” I cup her elbow.
She stalls her monologue long enough to meet my eyes. “Am I going too fast?”
“No.” I resist the urge to kiss her cheek. She’s too damn cute. “But I am worried you’re going to be late.”
“Late for what?”
“The afternoon staff meeting you mentioned about an hour ago?”
“Shit, you’re right.” She checks her smartwatch and offers me an apologetic glance. “Will you be all right for a bit?”
I chuckle. “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to perform a quick inspection of the hotel with fresh eyes to see if I notice anything in need of update or repair.”
“Sounds good. Let’s touch base later.” She gives me an adorable little wave and scampers away to run things like the boss bitch she is.
She’s off to work.
And so am I.
As soon as she leaves, I head for the emergency stairwell and climb up to the penthouse. My gut insists Doyle is up there. The penthouse floor is the only part of the hotel Maeve refuses to show me. There must be significance in that.
When I reach the top of the stairwell, I try to open the door. Locked. A keypad to the right offers keyless access, but not without a code.
Cautiously, I peer through the small window.
Holy fuck.
Even with my obstructed view, I spy a penthouse hallway crawling with Port Kings. Infested. Big, tattooed, severe-featured enforcers stand at attention at uncomfortably even intervals.
There’s no way in hell I’m getting through all this security.
Not without a serious and precisely executed plan.
I still lack proof, but my gut insists more than ever that they stashed Nolan up here.
Otherwise, why all the muscle and guns?
One of the guards starts to swing his head in my direction. I duck to the side and glide back down the stairs as quietly as possible.
Time for a new strategy. If searching the penthouse is a no-go, maybe I can at least rustle up documentation on the current occupant.
Maeve’s office.
That’s where the files would be, right?
And Maeve won’t be around to prevent me from snooping. She’s stuck in a staff meeting until at least late afternoon.
I hurry down to the first floor. Luckily, I stole a copy of her master keycard when we were in here earlier.
This way, I don’t have to break in and risk setting off any alarms.
As soon as I step inside her office, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of lilac and vanilla.
Maeve is fucking everywhere.
I swallow a groan as I close the door behind me. Even when she’s not around, she messes with my ability to focus.
Get it together, Kellin. Your reputation is on the line.
I go through every drawer of every cabinet in Maeve’s office and find a hundred different pieces of information on the hotel.
Nothing about her father. Nothing about the LA Gallaghers.
Unless someone disguised the files as innocent hotel documents, which would mean bad news for me. I lack both the time and patience to decode riddles.
As I finish combing through the most promising files, Maeve’s voice from the day we met fills my head. She mentioned storing her files in her bedroom.
That’s the place I should investigate. If I locate and infiltrate Maeve’s suite—
“Kellin? What are you doing in here?”
My heart slams against my ribs. Maeve hovers in the doorway to her office even though I didn’t even hear her come in.
I greet her with a smile. “Hey. How’d the meeting go?”
“Fine.” She squints, her gaze flicking around the room. “How’d you get in here?”
“The door was open.” I snap the folder in my hand closed. “Sorry to barge in. I was searching for the file on this weekend’s wedding so I could learn more about the couple.”
She crosses her arms, tapping her toe against the floor. “I’ll email it to you.”
The skepticism doesn’t leave her tone, hinting that my practiced charm doesn’t land as well as I hoped.
Time for Plan B: Distraction.
“That would be great.” I stride right up to her and grip her shoulders. Satisfaction purrs through me when I see her gulp. Those luscious lips fall open in question.
I love the way she reacts to my touch.
“In the meantime, why don’t we duck out for a bit?” I lower my pitch to a deep, seductive rasp. “I think you need a break. Is there somewhere we can go to unwind? You know, someplace quiet. Maybe outdoors. Somewhere private.”