Do Not Disturb (15 page)

“I need to see Anton…Mr. Tisch,” he panted. “It’s urgent.” His old enemy the receptionist smiled maliciously. “Tough luck,” she said. “He’s not here.”

Lucas frowned. “Well where is he?”

At first the girl said nothing. But Lucas shot her a look so threatening, she eventually capitulated.

“He’s on his way to City Airport,” she pouted. “He’s flying to Geneva this morning. You won’t catch him,” she yelled after Lucas’s disappearing back as he raced outside. But the electric doors were already closing, and he didn’t hear her.

When he arrived at City it took all his powers of persuasion to get security to allow him onto the airfield where Tisch’s private jet was parked. But finally, after flashing his Cadogan ID, his passport, and his best, most winning smile to the girl on the desk, he was ushered through.

Anton, apparently, was already on board while the technicians made some final checks to the plane.

“Where d’you think you’re going?”

The burly bodyguard at the foot of the stairs leading up into the cabin barred Lucas’s way.

“My name is Lucas Ruiz. I need to talk to Mr. Tisch before he leaves. It’s urgent.”

“I daresay it is,” said the heavy. “But I don’t care if your name’s Jesus fucking Christ. You’re not going aboard and that’s that.”

“If you’d just let him know I’m here,” said Lucas, nodding toward the walkie-talkie on the man’s belt, “I’m sure he’ll agree to see me.”

“Read my lips,” said the guard. “Piss. Off.”

It wasn’t perhaps the wisest of moves, but desperate times called for desperate measures and, catching him by surprise, Lucas landed a swift uppercut right under the man’s jaw. Like most hired muscle, he was so unused to being challenged he seemed completely unprepared for it, staggering backward uselessly and giving Lucas a crucial few seconds in which to land two more punches followed by a sharp knee to the groin. Leaving the unfortunate guard writhing on the tarmac, Lucas straightened his tie, smoothed down his collar, and darted up the steps and into the cabin.

Inside, Anton was sitting on a couch in his reading glasses with a sea of papers spread out in front of him. He looked first surprised and then annoyed to see Lucas.

“What the hell?” he spluttered. “Who let you on board?”

“Your security was kind enough to let me pass,” said Lucas, his voice drowning out the groans from outside. “I apologize for disturbing you, Mr. Tisch. I know you must be busy.”

“I am,” said Anton coolly. “Very.”

Just then the pilot opened the door to the cabin. Ignoring Lucas, he addressed himself directly to his boss.

“We’re ready to go, sir. Shall I close the doors?”

“Yes.” Anton turned to Lucas. “If you want to talk, Mr. Ruiz, I suggest you strap yourself in.”

Taking a seat, Lucas did as he was told. Looking out the window as they taxied toward the runway, he could see the security guard on his feet now, still bent double with pain, talking frantically into his walkie-talkie.
Too late now, asshole.

Moments later they were airborne. The plane gave a series of little shudders as they climbed through the cloud cover before settling into a steady purr as they achieved altitude.

“So.” Anton was the first to speak. “What’s all this about? It had better be good, Lucas. I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”

Lucas felt his stomach churning with nerves. All the
Mission: Impossible
stuff had kept his adrenaline pumping. But now that he was actually here, face-to-face with Anton, he had no idea how to begin. Julia’s words about him looking like a spoiled child were ringing in his ears. But it was too late to turn back now.

“It’s about last night,” he began. And he proceeded to explain not only the battles he’d had with Julia over the Christmas party but the whole history of hostility and resentment between them, and their opposing views about the right direction for the Cadogan.

“I understand that she’s the manager. And that she has more experience than I do. But I know I’m right about this,” he said, winding up his long, impassioned speech. “We have to keep evolving to stay ahead of the competition. That’s what last night was all about. And that was my vision. Not hers.”

Anton, who’d kept his arms crossed and his head down while Lucas was talking, now looked up at him. He wasn’t remotely interested in the micropolitical struggles at the Cadogan. But he was interested in Lucas. It hadn’t escaped his notice what a name the boy had made for himself since coming to London, not easy for a broke outsider with no contacts, no title, and nothing but his good looks and confidence to recommend him. Anton himself
had been trying for years to gain acceptance to the British establishment, but Lucas seemed to pick up friends in high places with the same ease and inevitability that other newly arrived foreigners picked up a cold. He clearly had a natural genius for PR, which was a very valuable asset in the hotel business and was being wasted at the Cadogan. Despite his poker face, Anton had in fact been delighted by the buzz generated by last night’s party. Something about Lucas’s direct, fiery gaze convinced him that the kid was telling the truth, that it really had been his idea all along.

That Julia had been less than honest earlier didn’t surprise him. To be fair, he’d have done the same thing had he been in her shoes. She was sick to death of the battles with her undermanager, and Anton didn’t blame her. Though Lucas didn’t know it, she’d already been on the phone to him this morning, complaining that Lucas’s insubordination had now gone beyond all appropriate professional boundaries and that she had evidence of this on tape. She wanted him fired.

If it had been anyone else, Anton wouldn’t have hesitated. But Lucas’s talent for self-promotion was too good to be jettisoned over some petty squabble. And no one could deny the boy had balls.

“Have you ever heard of a hotel called Palmers?” he asked him. Lucas looked bemused. This was a bit of a non sequitur.

“Palmers, in the Hamptons? Of course,” he said. “It’s a legend. Probably the most prestigious family-owned hotel in the world.”

“Used to be,” said Anton. He handed Lucas a spreadsheet from the pile in front of him. “These are last year’s numbers. Take a look.”

Lucas’s eyes scanned down the page, his almost photographic memory taking in the relevant points on the P and L at once.

“Yeah, well. That’s not good. How did you get ahold of these?” He handed the paper back.

“Never mind that,” said Anton brusquely. “The point is that Palmers is on its last legs. I’ve decided to build my next Tischen in East Hampton, just a couple of streets away. It’s going to be called the Herrick.”

“Great,” said Lucas, unsure what any of this had to do with him. “But listen, about the Cadogan—”

Anton held up his hand for silence.

“For Christ’s sake, boy, stop whining about all that before I change my mind. Clearly that hotel isn’t big enough for the two of you, and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’m letting Julia Brett-Sadler go. You can consider yourself fired from the Cadogan, Lucas.”

“But Mr. Tisch—”

“As of right now,” said Anton firmly.

Gulping, Lucas ran a hand through his thick mop of curls, trying desperately not to show how crushed he was. He was far too proud to beg for his job—it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway—but what the fuck was he going to tell his bank manager now?

Noticing the gesture, Anton added: “Oh yes, your hair. That’ll have to go. From now on I want you clean-shaven and preppier than a Gap model at a loafer-wearers convention. Got it?”

“Not really,” said Lucas. “I thought you just said I was fired.”

“From the Cadogan, you are.” Anton smiled. “In a few short months you’ve shown yourself to be completely incapable of compromise, taking direction, or working within a team. I’m not surprised Julia’s sick to death of you.”

Lucas’s face fell.

“But you’ve also shown yourself to be an innovator and a risk taker,” Anton went on, “with a quite masterful grasp of the media. Those are skills I can use.”

Blindsided by relief, and not having the first idea what to say to this, Lucas wisely said nothing.

“What I need at the Herrick is youth, energy, and above all some real momentum in the press,” said Anton. “Palmers may not be the giant it once was. But old names like that don’t die out overnight, especially not in a closed, elitist society like the Hamptons. I’ve been reduced to blackmailing the planning committee just to get the damn project off the ground,” he said bitterly. “None of the locals will rest until they’ve run us out of town, and we haven’t even begun construction yet. I need someone out there who doesn’t shy away from confrontation, but who can also be charming in the right quarters. You’ll be project manager-cum-foreman for the first year at least, then take over as manager once she’s up and running. What do you think? Are you up to it?”

Slowly, grindingly slowly, the full import of what Anton was saying began to sink into Lucas’s brain.

“D’you mean…you want to hire me as the manager?” he stammered.

“Ah. You don’t think you’re ready.” Sensing his hesitation like a shark smelling blood, Anton snapped shut the folder of documents with a sigh. “Well, perhaps you’re right. You are less than a year out of school, after all. It’s a big step.”

“No, no.” Lucas shot to his feet like he’d just been shocked with a cattle prod. “I’m ready. Of course I’m ready. When do you want me to start?”

“Soon,” said Anton. “As you’re here now, you can spend the next month in Geneva learning the ropes of the project. Then it’ll take a few weeks to sort out your visa, et cetera…but I’ll want you on the ground by February, latest.”

Lucas grinned. Anton Tisch might be a bastard to the rest of the world, but he was rapidly turning into Lucas’s own personal guardian angel.

“Palmers has been in a lot of trouble for years,” he went on. “But their real weak spot right now is Honor Palmer, old man Trey’s daughter. She’s taken over as manager with no prior
experience in the hotel trade, and the locals all hate her for pulling a fast one on her father, seizing control of his assets against his wishes.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Lucas. “Grasping bitch.”

“What I want you to do,” said Anton, “is to get that message out there nationally, and even internationally. Once people stop seeing Honor and Palmers as the underdog, they’ll be a lot more accepting of us. I’ve done this many times now, and I can tell you, building a world-class hotel is only half the battle. You have to win over the local hearts and minds too. We don’t want to be the Big Bad Corporate Wolf.”

Lucas’s heart was pumping nineteen to the dozen. He wasn’t worried about turning the PR tide against Honor. That should be a piece of cake. But to be responsible for building and managing a Tischen hotel in such a prestigious location? A rival to the great Palmers, no less? That was more than a dream. It was a wildest, most ridiculous fantasy. And it was about to come true.

Sensing his excitement, Anton smiled and dropped the heavy bundle of paperwork in Lucas’s lap.

“Merry Christmas,” he said drily. “Oh, and Lucas? I’m serious about the haircut. I’m not having my hotel run by Steven bloody Tyler.”

H
ONOR GLANCED UP
at the ominous, bruise-gray storm clouds gathering over the ocean and stepped up her pace a notch. It was a typical drab, windy January morning, and apart from her devoted boxer, Caleb, jumping excitedly at her heels, the beach was deserted. That suited Honor just fine. She preferred to be alone when she ran. It helped her to think.

Right now she had a lot to think about. Ignoring the ache in her thighs as the lactic acid streamed through her veins, she made a sharp left and began pounding her way over the bumpy dunes, trying to sort her various problems into some sort of order.

First, as always, there was Palmers. The first whisper she’d heard about a new Tischen hotel being built right on her doorstep had come via Devon, back in October. She’d been worried, of course, but had somehow convinced herself that this was a problem to be faced in the distant future, long after she’d restored Palmers to its former glory. She never imagined that things would move as fast as they had. Less than twelve weeks later and the old houses on the proposed Herrick site had already been demolished, with a forbidding chain-link fence erected around the resultant vast plot of muddy earth. Even if they only built on half that space, it would be twice the size of Palmers.

At first Honor was pissed at Devon for failing to do anything to stop the development.

“You’re on the damn planning committee, aren’t you?” she’d yelled at him in bed, after a particularly unsatisfactory bout of lovemaking. They saw each other so rarely these days—one snatched weekend in three, if they were lucky—that the pressure for everything to be perfect when they did meet hung over them like a death sentence. Her desire for him was as strong as ever, but the wave of sexual confidence that had swept her away in the early months was already subsiding, and all her natural insecurities were creeping back. “Can’t you do something?”

“Like what?” Devon, equally frustrated by the sex, sounded exasperated. “I told you, Tisch clearly has some dirt on Mort Sullivan. The guy did a total U-turn overnight, and he’s got enough influence on the other members to swing the thing his way, whatever I say or do.”