Enchanted Heart by Felicia Mason Page A

man like Lance. She’d dealt with his kind often over the years. So she knew which buttons to push, which steps to take to get to her ultimate goal. And wasn’t that what whores did? They whispered the promises and lies men wanted to hear. Students of human nature, true courtesans knew how to give as little of themselves as possible, while gaining the most in return. Viv had never given her heart or anything remotely close to sincere affection or consideration. She’d never given herself because no man had ever been worthy—a few didn’t even merit the gift of her temporary favor.
    A pragmatist would say she did nothing different than what men did every day. Wasn’t it all just a power game? Even if she played like one, Viv wasn’t a man.
    Viv wiped at her eyes and jammed the key in the ignition. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. As a matter of fact, she didn’t want to think about anything anymore.
    Dakota would open the store in the morning. That was a good thing since Viv figured images of Lance might linger there for a while, intruding on her work. Tomorrow would arrive soon enough. Right now she needed something to get her mind off how low she’d allowed herself to fall. She knew just the thing, too. The solution had always been there waiting for her to acknowledge it.
    Her thoughts gelled as she drove along the interstate and then took the exit that would lead not to the house she shared with Vicki, but to the waterfront one Julian leased in the Sandbridge section of Virginia Beach. Julian knew how to make her feel better. And she knew just how to apologize for abandoning him at the restaurant.
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    â€œMr. Heart, we have standards here. Our guests expect . . .”
    â€œI know,” Lance said. “And again, I apologize.” He gave his best “these things happen” smile, and wished that the general manager had been female. Things would be going a lot better for him if F. Milhouse had turned out to be a Felicia, a Fran or a Fay.
    Instead, he sat across from a not very amused Floyd Milhouse, the hotel’s general manager. The office, decorated in contemporary corporate, was a pleasant enough place, just large enough to avoid a latent sense of claustrophobia. Based on the floor layout, Lance figured a second door near a tall filing cabinet led to either a conference room or the front desk. A few tidy green plants at the window gave the place a touch of personality, and a photograph, the front of which Lance couldn’t see, faced the man. A brass nameplate announced to any and all who sat before him that F. Milhouse was, indeed, the general manager of the Norfolk Waterside Marriott. In his late-forties, hair thinning in front, F. Milhouse looked as if he took his job very, very seriously. The thick handlebar moustache he sported apparently compensated for the deficiency at the top.
    Lance, again immaculately dressed in the gray three-button Yves Saint Laurent suit he’d checked into the hotel wearing, sat before him with one leg propped on a knee, arms loose, trying his best to look like a harried CEO who had to deal with a little bit of unfortunate business before again turning his attention to corporate mergers and hostile takeovers.
    â€œMrs. Tanner is very upset,” F. Milhouse said. “Encountering a nude man in the hallway is not good for her heart. And she assures me she has a heart condition.”
    â€œI assure you, ” Lance said with a confidence that exuded sincerity, “I was as stunned as she. Nothing like this has ever happened to me.”
    F. Milhouse sent an inscrutable look Lance’s way before consulting a folder on his desk. Then, his gaze slowly lifted and met Lance’s head-on. “I do believe there was an incident in the pool two years ago.”
    Shit. Had that been here?
    Lance smiled, self-effacing. He admitted nothing. Unfolding his legs and leaning forward, he presented his most