Next To Nothing!. Barbara DunlopЧитать онлайн книгу.
Five minutes went by, then ten, then fifteen. Finally, the door opened again. But it was an elderly couple who stopped to talk to the doorman.
Okay, so Jenna and Candice weren’t meeting men for a clandestine lunchtime date. At least not men who were leaving the hotel a discreet few minutes after them.
He supposed they could have met men who were guests at the hotel, who didn’t need to come out to the parking lot after lunch. But that was stretching his initial theory a little too far.
He placed the camera on the seat beside him and reached for the ignition key. He could go inside and talk to Henry Wenchel, the hotel manager. Henry was an old friend of the family and, technically at least, Tyler was still a company shareholder. But the odds of Henry having noticed two women having lunch in one of the restaurants were ridiculously small.
Except that they were unusually attractive. Candice was tall and willowy, with a fresh, wind-blown supermodel look that would turn any head. Jenna was shorter, a bit more understated. But her thick, auburn hair was gorgeous, and there was something about her smile and the glint in her sea-foam eyes that made Tyler think it was a shame she was being wasted on Brandon Rice.
None of his business, he reminded himself. Rich men and gorgeous women had been making marriage deals since time immemorial. His job was to see if she was making side deals with anyone else.
He pulled out of the parking lot. Sea-foam eyes and his personal opinion notwithstanding, he’d stay focused. He’d get some photos, write the report and collect his fee. The sooner he was out of the adultery business the better.
NEXT MORNING, Tyler found himself pulling right back into the Quayside parking lot. This time, Jenna was alone when she strode purposefully into the main foyer.
Looked like his first instinct had been right. Who went to the Quayside two days in a row? Who went there alone at this time of the morning, unless they were meeting somebody inside?
Tyler loved it when his instincts were firing on all cylinders. He pulled his baseball cap down low, donned dark sunglasses, grabbed his camera and followed her.
He pushed through the revolving glass door, glancing around the antique lobby until he spotted her near the concierge desk.
Perhaps somebody had left her a key with the concierge. Perhaps a young, virile somebody who would make her forget her fiancé for a couple of hours.
The concierge didn’t hand her a key, but Jenna did pick up the house phone. Maybe luck was with him. Maybe young and virile would meet her right here in the lobby. Right here in camera range.
Though the light was bad, Tyler took a quick shot of Jenna talking on the phone.
Then he sidled over to a furniture grouping and eased down into a soft armchair. He wished he had another newspaper to hide behind, but he had to settle for the obscuring foliage of a large potted plant. He felt like a tacky Sam Spade, hovering, waiting, watching.
Jenna hung up the phone and moved away from the concierge desk, turning to face in his general direction. Her beauty rocked him back. For a minute, he almost wished he had a bank balance that would put him in the running to date her.
Angling his head, confident she couldn’t tell the direction of his gaze through the tinted glasses, he looked his fill. Her thick, auburn hair bounced around her shoulders, setting off a creamy smooth complexion. Her lips were full, her cheekbones high and her skirted business suit showed off a figure that nipped and tucked in all the right places. He could sit here and watch her all day long.
He sighed. Too bad she was so willing to trade in those stunning looks for Brandon’s money.
Something on the far side of the lobby caught her attention, and her amazing eyes lit up with recognition. Tyler gripped the camera as she smiled a greeting and started to walk toward an unseen person.
His gaze strayed to her silky legs. He’d always had a soft spot for shapely calves, especially those that rose so gracefully from strappy, feminine sandals. He felt a sudden burn in his chest at the thought of watching her greet a strange man with a squeeze and a kiss.
It got worse when he imagined those shapely calves doing…well, doing what shapely calves do when they don’t have their stockings on. He ruthlessly tamped down the unruly image, sitting forward to peek around the edge of the plant.
Henry?
Gorgeous Jenna was here to cheat on rich Brandon with Henry Wenchel? The scenario didn’t bear thinking about.
This was way more information than Tyler wanted concerning his father’s friend. And he couldn’t help thinking that Henry’s wife was not going to be happy.
Trying not to cringe, he quickly snapped a shot.
Henry reached out to briefly shake Jenna’s hand. They spoke for a minute, keeping a respectful two feet apart. Henry talked and Jenna nodded. She smiled, but it wasn’t an intimate smile, and neither of them made a beeline for the penthouse elevator.
Tyler tried not to feel too relieved. When he thought about it, if Henry was going to carry on an affair with a younger woman, he’d be pretty stupid to do it in his own hotel lobby in front of the security cameras.
A moment later, Jenna and Henry headed up the mezzanine stairs. Towards Henry’s office. Henry’s very public office. Tyler sighed, relieved that Jenna had legitimate business at the hotel. Even though it meant his instincts were malfunctioning again.
IN HENRY WENCHEL’S OFFICE, Jenna sat very still and concentrated on not hyperventilating. He was taking out a pen. He was flipping to the back of the contract. He was touching the pen to the signature line. The pen was moving. He was signing.
Her heart rate increased, and she could feel her extremities start to tingle.
He was done.
He’d signed.
Henry Wenchel had just signed a contract to pay Canna Interiors an exorbitant sum for the preliminary designs. Preliminary designs which could lead to the interior decorating contract of a lifetime.
“Understanding the ambiance is so important, don’t you think, Jenna?” He passed the contract across the table toward her and held out his gold pen.
“Yes.” She nodded, taking a shaky breath. Her fingers were still tingling as she reached for his pen. She half expected to wake up any second.
“I hope a week away from home won’t be too inconvenient for you.”
Jenna slid the contract until it was directly below her, only half listening to Henry Wenchel. “A week?” she asked automatically.
There it was. A swoopy H, a pointy W, then a squiggle and a swirl and a dot. She suddenly wished she had a signature that looked more artistic than her plain old name. A signature that nobody could really read, because she was important enough that they’d all learned her squiggles.
“We’ll assign you a suite,” said Henry.
She touched the pen to the paper above the line that read proponent. “Suite?” Jenna asked as she wrote her first name.
“You’ll stay here, of course, while you work.”
The pen faltered on the M. Drat! The biggest signature of her life, and she couldn’t even get the M right. She sure hoped that didn’t void the contract.
She carefully finished McBride, then looked up at Henry. “Stay here?” she asked, blinking.
“The only way to get the true ambiance,” Henry smiled. “That’s not a problem is it?”
“No,” Jenna hurriedly shook her head. She’d stay in Timbuktu if it made Henry happy.
“Perfect,” said Henry. He pressed a button on the telephone console.
Jenna tried valiantly to look like she made deals of this magnitude every day of the week. If Henry could tell she was faking, he was certainly being polite about it.
“I’ll