them a month ago. He could wash his hands of the whole damn thing.
He didn’t need this kind of aggravation in life. In a few years, this kind
of stress could kill him, for gods’ sake.
Yes. That was what needed to be done. Be done with the Hotel. Shana.
The whole thing.
Shana. She would go away, of course. Probably to some exotic foreign
country and work her witchcraft on both the next ailing hotel and some
devastatingly handsome aristocrat who would fall victim to her kisses just
as Justin had.
His mind skidded to a halt. Had he fallen victim to her kiss? Wasn’t it
the other way around? All he had intended to do was get her into bed, have
sex, find it strangely disappointing somehow like he always did, though he
could never define exactly why that always happened and then he would
move on to the next woman in line. That was his life. That was how he’d
made it work all these years.
Shana.
Hearing her name echo in his head stabbed his core like an erotic javelin.
His breath hitched. Like a match being struck to the fuse on a keg of
dynamite, he looked back at Leon and said, “I have to get married.”
“Only if you want to keep the hotel chain.”
That was the rub of it. Justin wanted the hotels more than he wanted
anything in his life. They were his goal. They were his Mecca. He would do
anything to keep them for himself. The Will said he had to get married. It
didn’t say he had to stay married. He could do this for a year, which should
be long enough to make certain the stipulations of the Will were met.
He looked at Leon. “I do.”
Leon smiled. “Those are the words to remember, but say them to a
woman.”
Justin frowned.
Leon leaned forward in his chair, gazing intensely at Justin. “You do
have a woman you can use. Yes?”
“I…I’m not sure.”
“Oh. That’s not so good.”
Shana stifled an urge to applaud as she watched the crew of burly
workmen remove the tacky and very boring gray and gold patterned carpet
that had covered the one hundred year old white and gold veined Italian
marble floor of the hotel mezzanine. “Who would ever cover this magnificent
floor? Design Nazis?”
Shana’s Blackberry vibrated and rang softly alerting her to a text message.
“Justin.” She smiled happily to herself not realizing her own reaction.
She read the message.
“I want to discuss a series of cost reductions for the renovations. Meet
me at L’Absinthe on 83 rd at one for lunch. J.”
Shana sent a quick reply affirming the lunch. For a long moment she
held the Blackberry in her hand and realized she was feeling disappointment.
But why? Justin was her boss. He had requested a business lunch.
She had wanted their relationship to be strictly business. She got what she
wanted. Didn’t she?
She gazed over the expansive changes that were occurring due to her
vision co-mingled with Justin’s mandate. Everything was in upheaval. The
old smoky mirror tiles had been removed from the staircase walls. All the
old wallpapers had been removed and the walls were now being plastered
and scored and would be painted by skilled faux painters. Gone were the faded print fabrics on the lobby furniture and the scared and chipped wood
tables and occasional chairs had been sold to second hand shops.
Shana loved her work. She only had to look at a room, a lobby, and a
guest quarter to see its real potential. It was as if this old hotel and all the
people who had lived in it and come to it in the past were cheering her on.
When the New York Lux Hotel had been built prior to World War I, it had
rivaled the best hotels in the country and even some in Europe. But the
owners had allowed her to grow old.
And no grand dame wants to age, Shana thought.
The Blackberry vibrated again. Justin sent a reply requesting her to
bring the latest figures to their lunch.
Shana answered his text message.
Then he sent another message. “Is the steam room operational?”
Shana gaped at
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