Chapter 12
My life was ruined, and it was all my own fault.
Ever since I received a call from the director of the executive board of the hotel yesterday, my brain has been in a crazy scramble of fear and horrible possibilities. Why they wanted to speak to me was a mystery they’d refused to reveal. All I knew was I’d been summoned to the boardroom one hour after my shift.
When Needledick arrived at reception to take over my shift, his creepy sneer looked triumphant and made the acid in my stomach churn. Even his stance was cocky and confident. Whatever was going on, I suspected he’d instigated it. And that wasn’t good.
“Morning, Jane.”
I wanted to slap the cockiness right out of him. Instead, I reached down to grab my handbag and mumbled, “Hi.”
Determined not to look at him again, I decided not to do the shift handover and threw my bag over my shoulder and strode to the elevator.
I spent nearly an hour in my apartment pacing back and forth as I stewed over difficult, unanswerable questions. By the time I got back in the elevator, I could barely breathe. Even swallowing was nearly impossible.
My career was over. Never again would I be able to work in the hotel industry. For the rest of my life, my name would be bandied around as the lying, deceitful fraud I was.
Each step I made toward the boardroom was like swimming in concrete. My tongue was barren of moisture, making it impossible to swallow. My body was a furnace from the hot flush blazing through my insides, and my thighs rubbed together so much that it was a wonder they didn’t squeak.
The boardroom door was ajar, and I heard muffled banter inside. I paused outside, wiped my sweating palms down my pencil skirt, sucked in a few deep breaths, and counted to ten. When I couldn’t delay a moment longer, I knocked, and the door creaked open.
“Come in.”
The banter stopped as I entered, replaced instead with stony silence, and for a couple of horrible seconds, I thought I’d throw up.
Five people sat around the table. Two women with blonde hair, wearing power suits and high-class jewelry, had stern looks that indicated they’d clawed their way to the top. Two men were of Asian descent. They, too, looked at me with enough contempt to confirm I was in trouble.
The final man stood upon my entrance and walked toward me with his hand forward. “Good morning, Jane. Thank you for meeting with us. I’m Richard Thompson, and I’m head of Australian operations.”
“Hello, Mr. Thompson, it’s lovely to meet you.” I was surprised any words came out.
“Please, call me Richard.”
As I rolled his name around my head half a dozen times, determined to memorize it, he indicated toward a chair. I sat quickly before my wobbling knees had me face-planting on the carpet.
Richard sat to my right and picked up a silver pen that he flicked between his finger and thumb. Each of the others had a blank notepad and pen before them and a glass of water that looked untouched. I wanted a water so badly, but was certain my trembling hands would have me spilling it.
Richard held his hand toward the first woman. “This is Romana Everson. She’s in charge of quality control and hospitality services Australia.”
He directed my attention to the woman at her side. “This is Brandi Frost; she’s head of human services in Australia.”
He nodded at the Asian man on the opposite side of the table. “This is Mr. Hiro Nomataki, General Manager of the Asia Pacific region.”
I resisted the urge to throw up as he pointed to the second Asian man in the bright yellow tie. “This is Mr. Akio Chuanli, responsible for strategic planning and control of Asia Pacific.”
Richard opened his hands. “Jane, for the benefit of us all, can you please give us a summary of your history?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, and my frenzied brain hit a whole new level as I wondered why they’d want this information when it would already be on my file.
“Well, I grew up in Mildura, which is a small country town in north-west Victoria. My first job was working in my father’s stationery store.”
My voice quivered so much, I was certain I was indecipherable. “I was there for seven years before I accepted the position as night manager here.”
“You’d never worked in hotel management before?” Romana’s American accent surprised me.
“No. I hadn’t.”
Both the women and the Asian man in the yellow tie scribbled on their notepads.
They continued to fire their questions at me, one after another.
“Tell us what you think of the Hot Horizon Hotel.”
“Do you like working here?”
“Have you had any major issues?”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Give us your opinion of John.”
That request had my heart exploding again. “Mr. Karwatsky . . .?” I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrows.
“Yes. Tell us what you think of him,” Richard said.
“I don’t actually have much to do with him.”
“How so?”
“Well, I work the night shift, so we basically have a five-minute changeover each day, and that’s all I see of him.”
“Is the handover structured?” Brandi’s articulate voice clipped off her tongue like a judge’s sentence.
“Pfft, no.” I said that way too quickly, and the two Asians scribbled something on their notepads.
“What do you know about this Memphis woman?” Romana said.
My heart launched to my throat. I swallowed. Hard. “I, ahhh . . .”
“Jane.” Brandi looked at me in a motherly way, and the change was startling. “You need to be honest with us about her.”
“Memphis?”
“Yes. John told us all about her, and we want your opinion.”
I cleared my throat and stared at my hands. “Memphis is not a prostitute.” The truth was easy; the rest was not going to be, though.
“John disagrees with you. Why is that, do you think?” Richard asked.
I shifted in my seat, stalling for an answer. “Mr. Karwatsky is basing his opinion on Memphis’s appearance. She’s a confident woman who wears provocative clothing and classy shoes and stands up for herself.”
Out the corner of my eye, I think both women nodded.
“John claims you are Memphis,” Brandi said matter-of-factly.
My pounding heart was set to explode as I flitted my gaze from one board member to the next. “I have no idea what to say to that.”
“Why would he think that?” Brandi said.
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“We did.” Mr. Nomataki spoke his first words of the meeting.
Oh, God. The excruciating silence could be cut with a chainsaw as I scrambled over how to respond. But just when I thought I’d pass out, I realized they had actually answered the question for me, and I cleared my throat. “Then you already have Mr. Karwatsky’s response.”
As the seconds dragged on, five sets of eyes tore away my lies and laid bare all my guilty layers. I was exposed.
I, Plain Jane, was a conniving, deceitful fraud who deserved whatever punishment was about to be meted out.
I was guilty—slap my handcuffs on now and toss me in a padded cell.
“He was convinced enough to bring Memphis to our attention,” Brandi said.
Bastard. That was the catalyst I needed. I worked really hard here.
Needledick, by contrast, had no commitment to his job, and it was time these people knew exactly who they’d put in charge of their hotel. “Did Mr. Karwatsky tell you about his confrontation with Memphis and her partner?”
A murmur rippled around the room, which was exactly the response I’d hoped for.
“No, he didn’t,” Richard spoke for them. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“I was returning from a jog along the beach a few weeks ago, and when I entered the lobby, a man and a woman were at reception confronting Mr. Karwatsky about how he’d treated the woman. Her name was Memphis. Apparently, Mr. Karwatsky had actually grabbed her wrist.”
One of the ladies did the tiniest of gasps, and the two of them turned their attention from me to glance at each other. The Asian man with the yellow tie, and Brandi made notes on their pads.
Richard opened his hands. “It seems John omitted to mention that. Why, then, do you think he would implicate you?”
I leaned forward, clasping my hands together. “Several months ago, I confronted Mr. Karwatsky about always being late for his shift.”
Brandi raised her eyebrows. “Always late?”
“Nearly every single day. And not just by a couple of minutes—most days he’s late by half an hour or so. I know he has an ill mother, so I understand why. But . . .” I realized I was rambling and stopped before I said something nasty. “Anyway, I don’t think he liked me standing up to him.”
“Hmmm.” Richard pushed back on his chair and steepled his fingers together. “I think we’ve heard enough.” He stood. “Thank you for your time, Jane; you must be exhausted after your long night.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t believe the meeting was over.
What about the handcuffs and the padded room? What about the public humiliation for the rest of my life?
A cloud of confusion stole my focus as I was given a harried goodbye.
Richard escorted me from the room and shut the door behind me.
As I crossed the fifty or so paces from the boardroom to the lobby, I wondered what the hell had just happened. Needledick sneered at me from behind the counter.
Did I just dodge a silver bullet?
I gave my boss dagger eyes. When he, in turn, gave me a truly triumphant sneer, I realized Needledick thought he’d won some kind of battle.
But with every step I made toward the elevator, I became more convinced that he hadn’t. In fact, whatever he’d planned had just backfired. I replayed the meeting over and over, and each time, I came to the same conclusion—whatever outcome Needledick had intended to achieve by calling the board about Memphis had totally failed.
Until now, I had never appreciated how lucky I was that I’d been hired by the human resources department of this hotel chain all those years ago.
Clearly, it meant Needledick had no authority to fire me.
By the time I entered my apartment, my mind was both exhausted and wired at the same time, and despite my need for a good sleep, resting would be impossible. Instead, I ran the bath and poured in a good slosh of Marjorie’s bubble bath. I left the taps to run and went to the kitchen in search of food.
My phone rang, and as I contemplated if my morning was about to get better or worse, I fished the iPhone from my bag.
My heart sank when I saw the number.
With a big sigh, I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed the green button. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Jane. Now, before you say anything, I have something I want to say.”
Here we go. “Okay then.”
“I want to say I’m sorry. We’re sorry, your father and I.”
Woah. I was not expecting that.I remained silent, hoping she’d elaborate on what exactly she was sorry for.
“Our decision to continue to see Xander after what he did to you was callous. We should never have done that. We especially shouldn’t have put you in a position where you had to confront him in public.”
Wow.“Thank you, Mom. This means so much to me.”
She sniffled, and my chin dimpled as I realized she was crying. “Mom?”
“I feel like it’s my fault you had that fight with Xander. Can you ever forgive me? Us?”
“Oh, Mom, it wasn’t your fault; it was his fault. But you’re right—he shouldn’t have been there. So, thank you. Your apology fixes everything.” A tear trickled down my cheek, and I wiped it away. “I want to say sorry too, Mom; I shouldn’t have caused a scene like that at Dad’s party.”
“Don’t worry about it. It is the talk of the town, though. Well, you are, actually. Everyone knows what you did to Chelsea-Lea and Xander. And they’re all saying how amazing you look. You do look amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
“Awww, thanks, Mom.”
“I mean it. Whatever you’re doing over there on the coast is working wonders on you.”
“I’m looking after myself—that’s all.” I strode to the bathroom to turn the taps off and caught it just before I needed to mop up a disaster.
“What’s that noise?”
“It was just the bath. I was about to have one before I went to sleep.” I returned to the bed and sat again.
“Are you getting enough sleep? You must be so tired all the time.”
“I’m fine. I get plenty of sleep.” She always worried about the simplest things.
There was a long pause, and she cleared her throat. “Okay, well, have a nice bath and a good sleep. I’m so glad we had this chat.”
“Me too, Mom. Thank you for calling. I love you.”
“I love you too. Bye.”
I stared at the phone for a long time after she’d hung up, trying to recall another occasion when I’d heard Mom say she was sorry, but I couldn’t think of one.
In the bathroom, I stripped off and slipped into the hot water. As the warm water worked its magic on my tension-laced muscles, I mentally replayed the conversation with my mother.
Mom’s apology was as much a surprise as it was appeasing. I truly believed that she’d never intended to cause me grief. It was her fear of small-town gossip that made her do what she’d done.
The water was close to cold when I finally climbed out and dried myself. Naked, I walked from the bathroom and stopped still at a note that had been slipped under my door.
Covering my breasts for some stupid reason, I went to the sheet of folded paper and opened it.
I smiled as I read the handwritten note.
‘Hey, gorgeous. Fancy another lesson?
I’ll be in penthouse number 49, any time from five o’clock.
XXXOOO your suave tutor.’
I folded the note back over, held it to my chest, and skipped to my bed, giggling.
Could this day get any better?
Hell, yes, it could—come five o’clock, I was set for another fabulous evening. I tugged my PJs out from under my pillow and put them on.
Turning onto my side, I re-read Henry’s note twice. Smiling, I placed it onto my spare pillow, and with an abundance of images of my suave tutor flicking across my brain, I drifted off to sleep.
My alarm sounded, and yawning, I rolled over and shut off Adele’s song on the radio. I curled off the bed and pulled my blinds aside to see what the weather was doing. It was another beautiful evening in paradise. I opened my glass door, stepped onto the balcony, and inhaled the crisp ocean air.
Hundreds of people were on the beach, taking in the last of the spring sunshine. The lifesaver flags were still out, and at least fifty people were enjoying the tumbling waves. I placed my hands on the railing, closed my eyes, and breathed in nice and deep.
A wonderful sense of calm enveloped me with each breath and the crashing waves were a beautiful melody that enhanced my feeling of peacefulness.
After five or so minutes, I went inside, and as I showered, I turned my attention to Henry and his promise of another lesson. By the time I stood naked at my closet, my insides purred at the prospect of spending more time with my suave tutor.
I tugged my long red dress from the rack. When I’d tried on this dress while shopping with Lolita, all I’d been able to think of was Henry. This dress was for him. It was impossible to wear a bra with it, and so, for something a little cheeky, I decided not to wear panties either. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction to that.
I slipped the dress over my head, and the heavy fabric draped down my body and fell to my feet. The dress had thin spaghetti straps that met with a section of fabric that covered my breasts and remained open all the way down to the encased elastic at the waist. It was backless and the straps over my shoulder were joined to the waistline. A long split came up from my ankle and stopped high on my thigh, ensuring each step was a game of peek-a-boo with my right leg.
For my shoes, I chose my new pair of gold Lesina evening stilettos. They had devilishly high heels and a series of gold straps that curled from beside my big toe and crisscrossed perfectly up my foot. These shoes were the epitome of sexy, and when I’d tried them on, I’d had no idea that one of the sexiest men on the planet would be the first to see them.
He was certainly the man who’d appreciate shoes like these.
Using the gold for inspiration, I added long, dangly gold earrings and a chunky gold bracelet. By the time I inspected my outfit in the mirror, I not only looked sexy, but I felt sexy too. I, Jane Nichols, was at the top of my game, and it was so empowering to finally acknowledge that.
With a genuine smile on my face, I grabbed my bag and headed up to see one of the men in my life who was also at the top of his game. I stepped from the elevator, and my boobs wobbled as I strode along the ninth-floor corridor. Once upon a time, this would have distressed me. Not now, though—it just added to the sexy vibes coursing through my body.
I knocked on Henry’s door and only had to wait a couple of heartbeats before he opened it. His eyes bulged, and his jaw dropped. “Wow. You look amazing.”
“Thank you, Henry.”
He leaned over, and our lips met for the briefest of kisses. But it was a kiss that said so much more—I trust, I want, I need, and maybe, just maybe . . . I love. He smelled divine and every bit the masculine, sexy man he was.
He curled his hand around my back and guided me into the room. “I took the liberty of opening a bottle of champagne.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
He led me to the spiral staircase, and as I lifted the hem of my skirt to walk up it, I wondered if he would grab my bottom like he had last time. Halfway up, he did. “Hey.” I giggled and glanced down at him.
“What?” He acted as if he’d done nothing.
I liked this cheeky ritual we’d started.
At the top of the stairs, we stepped into the glassed-in area, and he crossed the room and opened the door to the rooftop terrace. He’d positioned two deckchairs to take in the view, and nestled between them was a cheese platter and a couple of candles with flames dancing in the slight breeze.
Henry was the master of romantic settings.
I sat in one of the deckchairs and shared my gaze between the magnificent view and the magnificent specimen of a man pouring my drink. Henry wore a black-and-white checkered button-up shirt, and over the top of that, he had on a black vest. He was stylish and debonair, and not for the first time, I thought Henry would be perfectly comfortable sitting right alongside George Clooney.
He had an interesting expression on his face like he was on the verge of smiling but was trying desperately to hold it back. The more I watched him, the more I realized he was withholding something.
Am I finally going to have sex with my suave tutor?