Enchanted Heart by Felicia Mason Page B

winning comrade-in-arms let’s-just-keep-this-between-us-boys expression. If he’d carried cigars, he’d have offered one to Milhouse. “What can I do to rectify this situation?”
    If nothing else, Lance had learned that money had a way of smoothing out a lot of life’s speed bumps and other snags. He wondered how much he’d have to pony up to make this situation disappear.
    F. Milhouse stared at him, remaining silent for so long that Lance thought he’d made a tactical error with the subtle attempt at a bribe. How had that pool thing been resolved? He couldn’t remember. But he did recollect Ginger, a phenomenal woman with big hips and an incredible mouth. Or had that been Jennifer? No, definitely Ginger, he decided. She’d been through many husbands but . . .
    A ghost of a smile appeared at Lance’s mouth as he recalled that earlier enchantment. Maybe he’d look her up if things didn’t work out with Viv. Then he remembered his current predicament. He cleared his throat.
    After another long moment, the manager sighed. “Customer satisfaction is my only concern, Mr. Heart.”
    Lance wasn’t a satisfied customer. Vivienne la Fontaine had darted from his room in tears. But he didn’t think F. Milhouse had that sort of customer satisfaction in mind.
    â€œTell you what,” Lance said. “I’ll pay for Mrs. Tanner’s stay and send her some flowers and a note that you can deliver.”
    The hotel manager stroked his moustache, considering the offer.
    Absently, Lance wondered if his grandmother would end up hearing about this latest disgrace. She lived in Hampton, on the other side of Hampton Roads, a tunnel and a bridge away, and was probably closer to seventy than sixty, yet she still seemed to have her finger on the pulse of everything Heart related, his infractions in particular. It had taken F. Milhouse all of about twenty seconds to make the connection with Lance’s name. He’d checked in as Lance Smith, but the American Express card he’d used had his full name, a name that didn’t go unnoticed in certain circles.
    And there was that file on the desk.
    F. Milhouse had called him Mr. Heart, indicating quite succinctly that he knew exactly who Lance was. Lance was used to it though. Few people who knew his family called him by his true last name, Smith. Even his secretary at Heart Federated had called him Mr. Heart.
    â€œI think a personal apology would be in order,” the manager said before ringing for an assistant. “Maybe we can all make the most of this.”
    A few minutes later, a still shaken Mrs. Tanner was escorted into the general manager’s office.
    Her hair, done in tight pin curls at the temples, matched the blue-and-gray polyester pantsuit she wore. With a white patent leather purse clutched on one arm she looked like Queen Elizabeth’s body double headed to Atlantic City for a weekend at the nickel slots.
    She spied Lance standing against the file cabinet, clutched her throat and muttered an indignant, “Well, I never.”
    Milhouse offered her a seat and a cup of coffee. She refused both, never taking her eyes off Lance.
    â€œMy sister, Thelma, told me the city was full of perverts and crazy people. I didn’t believe her. Now I see for myself.”
    Lance bit back a groan and turned on the charm.
    Fifteen minutes later, she was patting his arm, offering grandmotherly advice. “Now, don’t you worry, son. I’m sure you’ll be able to patch things up with your lady friend.”
    â€œThank you, ma’am. I sure hope so.”
    She wagged a liver-spotted finger at him. “Just don’t forget your pants next time.”
    â€œI won’t,” Lance told her with an easy smile. “I promise.”
    He reached for her hand and bestowed a courtly kiss on it. Mrs. Tanner giggled like a woman forty years younger.
    â€œBye now,” she said with a