1. Ivy
IVY
I can feel his eyes on me.
Usually, they’re everyplace else.
That’s what he’s paid to do, after all. They see everything. They anticipate. They know .
But in this moment, his eyes are on me, and it heats me up.
I can’t let on, of course.
But then, I’m good at not letting on what his dark gaze does to my body.
A second later, Callum looks away, his gaze elsewhere, scanning surroundings, always watching.
That’s his job.
Mine is to promote, to chat, to talk up this place I love, so I focus on leading a private group of VIPs, not on checking out the man who I hired to be near me most of my evenings.
Callum Blackwell is a regular presence in my work life, and he makes that part of it feel less like work and more like . . . possibility .
Like sparks.
Like a pulse beating in overtime.
The red soles of my black heels click against the mosaic floor, and I gesture to the imported marble beneath my shoes.
“As you can see, the Bellagio has nothing on us,” I say, a note of pride in my voice as I escort my board on a personalized tour of the recently revamped hotel my sister and I own and run.
The Extravagant, after years in disarray, is finally living up to its name and its legacy of luxury.
I couldn’t be prouder to show off the hotel’s renovations, turning it into a shining jewel on the Strip.
Jewel being intentional.
That’s how we want it to be seen. Precious, gorgeous, mesmerizing.
The crew of VIPs shuffles behind me, smiling, oohing and aahing, tossing out the occasional question. I answer them all, then stop at the centerpiece of the lobby redo just beyond the opulent front desk.
A giant sculpture.
I gesture to a gorgeous collection of handspun glass crafted to look like a life-size jewelry box, dripping with replicas of diamond necklaces, sapphire earrings, and ruby bracelets.
“This is our theme: beauty in all its forms. Everything in this hotel must be beautiful. That’s the image we want to project here at The Extravagant,” I say, standing beside the lush display.
One of the longtime board members, who knew my parents, offers a kind smile as she tucks her jet-black strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s the Carmichael way,” Marjorie says, and her words, that statement, feel like a warm hug.
I swallow back the temporary lump in my throat. Memories of them always bring a swell of emotions. “Indeed. Sage and I are pleased to carry it on to a new generation of guests,” I say, all chin up, lipstick on, as my mother would have said.
Callum nods, almost imperceptibly. He damn well knows my parents are why I do what I do.
Why I work hard from morning till night.
A reedy man with horn-rimmed glasses clears his throat, chiming in. “And what sort of plans do you have to lure in new guests?” He’s another one of our longtime Carmichael Hotels board members.
“Great question, Jeremy,” I say, and the answer is easy.
Because the answer is the why behind this change my sister and I planned when we reimagined the flagship hotel we inherited a few years ago.
She’s the business powerhouse, eating numbers for breakfast, while I’m the public face, fashioning the image for this twin-owned skyscraper I call both business and home.
“Beauty. We plan to emphasize the beauty, and the cachet of it,” I tell the group.
“And we’ll center our goals around that. Let me tell you the specifics.”
I detail the strategy as I guide them through the glittering casino, past poker tables flush with gamblers and swank restaurants that are already drawing in new crowds, and to the end of the cavernous concourse.
The whole time, the unmistakable presence of Callum, mere feet behind me, beats like a thrumming in my veins.
This awareness of him is almost like breathing now.
It’s every second I’ve felt it since he took over my detail one year ago.
No one spends more time with me than that man with the carved cheekbones, the chiseled jaw, and the intense dark brown eyes that seem to know me, to see inside me.
He’s custom-made for protection, and he looks the part.
His dark tailored suit hugs his big body in all the right places.
Just the perfect amount of tight on his arms, his thighs, and his ass.
Sometimes men that broad, that tall, don’t look great in suits, but with the body of Dwayne Johnson, Callum sure as hell does.
And those lips. They look so damn kissable.
Shake it off, Ivy.
I stop in front of the players’ lounge, its brushed platinum sign designed by a local artist. I field a few final questions.
Marjorie sweeps out a hand behind us to indicate the tour we’ve just finished.
“We’re hoping this early embrace of the new branding and design goes as well as you envision.
I think I speak for the whole board, though, when I say we’d like to see the guest numbers continue to rise over the next several months and beyond.
Do you have any big plans to make a splash and draw in crowds going forward? ”
I smile, my best professional I’ve got this grin. “We do, as a matter of fact. I’m putting together the finishing touches on a series of must-see events right here with worldwide entertainment stars, and I hope to share those very soon with all of you.”
She nods approvingly. “Color me intrigued. Can’t wait.”
“I promise it won’t be long. And I’m so glad you’re all delighted with the new look and feel of the hotel,” I say to the group.
I shake hands, thank them, and say goodbye.
As they weave their way through the casino, I take a moment to enjoy the ambience of The Extravagant, to drink in the lush surroundings.
Portions of this hotel have been shut down for the last few months as we’ve revamped.
But now we’re open again, all nine hundred rooms, twelve restaurants, seven bars, and two clubs.
Open and ready, I hope, for a new wave of business.
This project has consumed me. It’s stolen all my breath and my mind and my heart. Ripping apart and restoring a massive hotel has been nothing short of exhausting and energizing—often both at the same damn time.
But as the last of the board members disappear beyond the tables, I can breathe again.
Relief at last comes over me, the blissful feeling that another high-wire day is ending and night is unfurling ahead of me. Nighttime is my favorite time of day, when I can relax and unwind in my suite with a book or a bath or a massage.
My indulgences are simple and, frankly, all I’ll allow.
I have time for little else.
Maybe tonight I’ll partake of a cocktail and a lavender bath bomb.
Until I head upstairs, though, it’s just Callum and me and this pull I feel toward my bodyguard. A pull I’ve never acted on for so many reasons.
Partly because I rely on him for protection, but also for . . . more .
In the last year, Callum has become my sounding board, my confidante. He’s wise, direct, and pulls no punches.
A co-CEO needs that.
I meet his dark gaze. “So, tell me. What did you think?”
He shrugs a shoulder, scratches his stubbled jaw, and takes a few seconds to answer. “It wasn’t bad.”
I narrow my brow. “Oh, stop.”
He gestures flippantly to the lobby. “If you’re into that kind of thing. Fancy hotel, high rollers, pretty art.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say petulantly, but I’m smiling, since I know he’s teasing.
“Oh, it’s not?” he asks, deadpan.
I shoot him a searing stare. “You know it’s not.”
“I could have sworn it was,” he says, toying with me as he does sometimes. I swear he knows exactly how to rile me up.
I might have been groomed for this job since I was born.
I might have lived in this hotel since before I could walk.
But I’ve only been running it for a couple years now, and I want to do right by my family.
I want my parents, may they rest in peace, to be proud of my sister and me.
“Impressing the board is no easy feat. Did I pull it off? I need to know. I want to know for real. No teasing this time.”
Perhaps sensing the earnestness in my question, he sets a strong hand on my bare arm, sending a spark over my skin. I swallow, trying to tamp down the intensity of my reaction to this simple touch.
I ought to be accustomed to his touch by now. To a hand on my back. On my elbow. To the occasional arm around me.
I ought to be immune.
I am not. Not in the least.
I glance down at his big hand covering my skin. My mind races with images—images I must ignore. That hand on my waist. My breasts. Lower still . . .
Callum nods down the hall, indicating let’s walk .
We are good at that. Walking and talking.
It’s the way we spend our afternoons and evenings here on the property, traversing it, cutting from conference room to suite, from bar to restaurant, checking out everything on the premises, him having my back the whole time.
So, I focus on that rather than on the goose bumps rising on my skin from his touch. I smooth a hand down my black sheath dress as if that’ll rid me of this longing for him.
News flash: it doesn’t.
“You were great, Ivy. Of course they were impressed.”
I look at his profile, the slight curve of his grin. “You think so?” I can’t mask my excitement, or my nerves. “I wanted to show off all these changes. I know they’ve seen the new lobby and so on, but I want them to be wowed by our vision, by how everything has come together.”
“They were absolutely wowed.” His tone is reassuring, certain.
“I hope so. I’d like them to love it like Sage and I do,” I say.
“You’re carrying on the Carmichael legacy beautifully,” he says.
My hands are shaking. I desperately want the legacy of this place to live up to the Carmichael Hotels namesake.
Callum’s eyes swing to my twitching hands. He arches a brow curiously. “What do you need, Ivy? I can tell you’re still tense. Do you want me to ask Violet to send you a masseuse?” he asks, mentioning my personal assistant.
“She’s off for the night. I’m good. I swear I’m good.
” I draw a deep, calming breath, wishing that were true.
The truth is, online yoga isn’t cutting it.
Meditation doesn’t work for me. This revamp has stretched my nerves razor-thin.
I want this hotel to become a gorgeous jewel in the crown of this city, a diamond in a city of glitter.
But I’m not there yet. I have so much to prove—to the board, to this city, and to myself most of all.
That I’m worthy. That I can finish what my parents started.
Callum’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t quite call bullshit on my lie. Instead, he says, “I have an idea. Show me the new bar. We only walked past that one. We didn’t go in.”
I smile. “Ah, because I didn’t want to tempt them. The drinks are delish, and they might have wanted Long-Distance Lovers and Purple Snow Globes,” I say, naming some of the signature cocktails. “I’ll grab one and take it to my room.”
“Good plan. But first, show me instead,” he says in that deep, rumbly voice that slides down my spine, leaving tingles in its wake. “We have a few more minutes. Give me my own private tour of the bar.” He says it deliciously, like all he’s ever wanted is an escort through Speakeasy.
“I thought you’d seen everything already,” I tease as we walk past the cashiers exchanging money for chips, and he looks left and right, behind us too, then at me.
“I like seeing it through your eyes,” he says, and his gaze stops at my mouth.
Lingers, even.
I try not to lick my lips, or nibble on them.
But it’s hard with the way he’s lingering more than usual.
Since Callum took over my detail, the spark’s been undeniable for me.
I’d like to think it’s there for him too, but I haven’t built a business on assuming, so I won’t build a personal life on that either.
His eyes are on me because that’s literally his job. That’s why I hired him. Because the last security firm I used messed up.
Callum doesn’t leave me vulnerable to stalkers.
Callum doesn’t let the wrong people close to me.
Callum makes me feel safe in the ways I need.
And when you spend so much time with someone, they get to know things. Like how much I’ve been holding my breath while waiting for this revamp to come together.
“Then I’ll show you Speakeasy,” I say, agreeing. In my fantasies, I agree to anything he asks. I have for months. “Speakeasy used to be a sports bar. Did you know Frank Sinatra gambled in it? Nowadays you might see a Jonas brother doing the same.”
With a playful lift of his brow, Callum eyes the tables. “Isn’t that Nick over there?”
“Aww, you know the Jonas Brothers. How adorable.”
He growls at me, narrowing his eyes. “I follow music.”
I elbow him. “Boy bands.”
“I know all sorts of music, Ms. Carmichael. In fact, I think that’s Lady Gaga rolling snake eyes a few tables away.”
“You’re saying that because you know I love Gaga.”
“You do? News to me,” he teases as we walk past Rapture, a new nightclub with pulsing low beats and beautiful twenty-somethings swaying and grinding to the beat of techno music.
“Haha. It’s only my dream to nab her for a one-night show. Or someone equally captivating.”
“I had no idea.”
I want to swat him. He’s so sarcastic. But he’s six four and built like a wall. A wall of muscle and man, guts and instinct.
I can’t exactly nudge him.
We reach Speakeasy, and I stop outside, the realization hitting me.
I don’t want to simply show him around this establishment.
I want to sit down. I want to relax and soak in the jazzy, sexy ambience.
And I want to be in here with this man. After a year of renovation and tension, I want to just unwind with someone who understands me—and Callum understands me.
Maybe it doesn’t hurt that simply looking at him sends every atom in my body spiraling either. He’s the perfect distraction.
I stop before the bar, swallowing roughly past a mouthful of nerves. “Grab a drink with me here?”
It’s a question. I want more time with him, and I want it tonight.
Or maybe it’s a need.
One that’s been building for the last year.