Katie, on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed by Philippe’s interruption. She stood and held out her hand to him. “I’m Katie McKinley, sister of the bride.”
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” He gallantly raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I am Philippe Gagnon. Sous chef, trained at the Sorbonne and apprenticed under John-Pierre Laconte. I have cooked for princes and presidents.”
Katie turned to Emma, her grin growing wide. “Did you hear that, Emma? He’s cooked for princes and presidents.”
“Shoot me now,” Emma muttered as a trickle of sweat made its way between her breasts.
Philippe shook an admonishing finger. “No, no. None of that from the bride. I am here now, and I will take care of everything.”
Emma sat up straight. “Oh, no you-”
“Emma.” Katie shot her eyes a look of warning.
But Emma wasn’t getting dragged into this circus. “I am not-”
“This is a most stressful time for you, mademoiselle.” Philippe fluttered a hand toward the exit. “Those bohemian food hacks in the lobby. I will have them gone. Poof.”
Then he held up his palms. “No, no. No need to thank me. After that, I will talk to the reporters. Give them a tidbit or two, non? Satisfy them for a short while.”
Emma stared into the man’s pale blue eyes, seeing an unexpected shrewdness in their depths. It took her less than a minute to revise her opinion of him. “You can get all those people out of my lobby?”
“But, of course,” he said. “You must stay calm. I must keep you calm.”
If by keeping her calm, Philippe meant protecting her privacy? He was hired.
Mrs. Nash punctuated her presence on the pool deck by clacking a pitcher of orange juice down on the table next to Alex’s lounger.
He glanced up from the executive summary of the McKinley strategic plan.
He didn’t know what he’d done to annoy Mrs. Nash, but it was obvious by the set of her lips that something was up. He tried to gauge her expression, but the sun was bright, and his eyes were grainy from lack of sleep.
He decided to go for the direct approach. “Something wrong?”
“What could be wrong?” Then her lips returned to the prune position. “Though I see you’re getting married.”
“I am,” he confirmed, wondering if that was really the problem. Surely she wasn’t offended because he hadn’t told her personally. Sunday was her day off.
She peered at him over the half glasses that were secured around her neck by a sparkling gold chain.
He was clearly supposed to be catching onto something here. But he really didn’t have time for games. Another ten minutes of cramming for the showdown with old man Murdoch from DreamLodge, and he was diving into the pool to wake himself up. He would barely get in thirty lengths and a shower if he wanted to be at the DreamLodge offices before eight.
And he definitely wanted to be there before the start of business. He wasn’t taking any chances that Murdoch would get to Emma before Alex got to him.
Mrs. Nash finally relented. “To a woman I’ve never met?”
Alex gave his head a brief shake. “You met her last week.”
Mrs. Nash drew in an expressive breath. “No. She was at the estate last week. We were never introduced.”
Okay. That was an oversight. Alex could see that now, and he would definitely introduce them as soon as possible. “I’ll-”
“And I see she’s recently come into some property…”
And what, exactly, did Mrs. Nash mean by that? And what was that funny tilt to her chin?
Her tone dropped to interrogation timbre and the pace of her words slowed. “Hotel property.”
“Yes.” Alex measured his response. He was way too tired to justify his personal life.
At his admission, her voice turned snappy again. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young man.”
Young man? “What happened to Mr. Garrison?”
“Sweeping that innocent girl off her feet.”
Alex sat forward. “Wait a minute-”
“Did you send her the usual hothouse bouquet? Take her to Tradori’s? Book your suite at the Manhattan?”
“Whoa.” How did Mrs. Nash know about his suite at the Manhattan? “I’ve been completely up front with Emma.”
“Ha. The poor woman didn’t have a ghost of a chance. Her father only recently passing.”
Now that just plain wasn’t fair. Alex rose to his feet. “She had every chance.”
Mrs. Nash shook her head. “Alex, I love you dearly. You are like a son to me.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know your weaknesses.”
“I know my weaknesses, too.” And they certainly didn’t include lying to women in order to steal their property.
They might involve misleading a competitor to cinch a business deal, or lying to the world at large in order to merge two hotel chains. But those were completely separate issues. And defensible ones.
Not that he had to explain himself.
Of course he didn’t have to explain himself.
Unfortunately, something in her expression triggered a psychological remnant of his childhood. And he couldn’t seem to bring himself to disappoint her.
He made a split-second decision to bring her into the circle. “Emma knows why I’m marrying her.”
Mrs. Nash’s expression changed. “She knows it’s for her hotels?”
He nodded. “I offered her a financial bailout, and she took it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”
He stripped off his shirt, stepped out of his sandals to head across the deck.
Mrs. Nash followed on his heels. “A marriage of convenience, Mr. Garrison?”
“Yes, Mrs. Nash. A marriage of convenience.” It wasn’t like he was breaking the law.
“Well, we both know where that leads.”
“To profitability and an increase in our capital asset base?”
“To misery and a cold, lonely death.”
A stillness took over Alex’s body. He hooked his toes over the edge and gazed into the still, clear water. “I am not my father.”
“You are more like him than you care to admit.”
“I’m nothing like him.”
She clicked her teeth, and he could feel her shaking her head.
“I know what I’m doing, Mrs. Nash.”
“Due respect, Mr. Garrison. You haven’t a bloody clue.”
Yeah. That was respectful all right. Alex tamped down the urge to engage in the debate. He was out of patience, and he was out of time. He drew a strangled breath, tensed his calf muscles and dove into the pool.
Five
It was three minutes past eight by the time Alex found a parking spot and strode up the wide staircase into the DreamLodge headquarters lobby. The airy, open room was impressive-quiet, understated and classy. But then Clive Murdoch hadn’t built his empire on stupidity and poor taste. He was Alex’s number one competitor for good reason. The man wasn’t to be taken lightly.
Briefcase in hand, power suit freshly pressed, and his hair trimmed right to his collar, Alex scanned the floor directory next to a bank of elevators. The executive suite was on number thirty-eight.
He pressed a button and one of the doors immediately slid open.
The ride up was direct and smooth. And on the top floor, he emerged and introduced himself to the receptionist, hoping name recognition would get him in to see Clive Murdoch without an appointment.
“I’ll see if he’s free, Mr. Garrison.” The young woman smiled behind a discreet headset and punched a number on her phone.
“Alex?” The sound of another woman’s voice sent a ripple of warning up his spine.
He quickly blinked the surprise from his expression and turned to face Emma. Then he took a few steps forward to put some distance between them and the receptionist. “Emma,” he crooned. “Right on time, I see.”