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Most of the time she focused on how frustrating he was. She was terrified of being bamboozled by his dimples and rakish grin. If he had any idea how easily he could knock her socks off, he’d probably go after a few other items of clothing, as well.
Harper shook her head at the thought. She was not going to sleep with Ashton Croft.
It would be different if they’d met in some exotic locale; she could see herself being one of his random hook ups. The next morning, she would chalk up the evening as an adventure worth having. Hadn’t she spent tedious hours on the treadmill imagining all sorts of spicy scenarios where she bumped into Ashton at a vineyard in Tuscany or on a walk around Dubrovnik’s ancient city walls? There they would share a sunset and he’d persuade her to join him for dinner. On a private terrace overlooking the Adriatic Sea and surrounded by candles, he’d take her into his arms and...
The faint smell of cigarette smoke ripped Harper from her daydream.
Parking Ashton’s go bag just inside the door of her office, Harper surveyed her formerly pristine sanctuary. Her mother’s ostrich leather Burberry holdall sat on the sky-blue sofa, half the contents scattered around it. An empty pack of cigarettes lay crushed on the coffee table beside a crystal tumbler with a pale pink lipstick stain. The elegant lines of a cream trench coat were draped over Harper’s executive chair. Her mother had definitely moved in.
Penelope Fontaine stood by the window overlooking the Las Vegas strip, her right hand resting at her throat, as if protecting the string of large black pearls she wore. A thin tendril of smoke rose from the cigarette pinched between the fingers of her other hand. In a black-and-white Chanel dress, with her long blond hair pulled away from her face in a classic chignon, she looked elegant and untouchable.
The sight stirred up memories of the day her parents had sat her down and explained that they were splitting up. Her mother needed to move to Florida for her health. Harper would remain in New York City with her father. Which basically meant she’d be alone with the staff because Ross Fontaine had spent most of his time avoiding the company’s New York headquarters and his father’s expectations. With Fontaine Hotels and Resorts’ extensive holdings in the U.S. and abroad, Harper’s father could be as irresponsible as he wanted without Henry Fontaine being the wiser.
“Mother, I would appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in my office.” Harper advanced toward Penelope, ready to pluck the cigarette from her mother if she didn’t comply.
“I’m sorry, Harper.” Crossing to the coffee table, she dropped the cigarette into the empty glass. “You know how I revert when I’m upset.”
The lingering smell of smoke made Harper’s nose tingle unpleasantly. “What’s bothering you?” She fetched a can of air freshener from one of the cabinets that lined the east wall and sprayed the room with ocean breezes.
“I need your help.” Penelope’s voice warbled as she spoke the last word.
Unsure whether her mother was being theatrical or if she was truly in trouble, Harper took a quick inventory. Penelope’s eyes looked like a forest after a downpour, the green enhanced by the redness that rimmed them.
“You’ve been crying.” This was no bid for her daughter’s attention. “What’s wrong?”
“Something terrible has happened.” Harper heard the weight of the world in Penelope’s voice. “Why else do you think I came to this godforsaken city? It’s not as if you’d come visit me in Florida.”
“The hotel is taking all my energy right now.” Harper knew better than to book passage on her mother’s guilt trip, but her encounter with Ashton had stirred up her emotions. “Why didn’t you go to Grandfather?”
Penelope fiddled with the ten-carat diamond she wore on her left hand despite her husband’s death five years earlier. Why would she take if off now when she’d worn the ring through eighteen years of being separated from Ross Fontaine?
“Henry can’t help me with this.”
“But I can?” Harper struggled to get her head around this shift in her world’s axis.
Never once had her mother reached out like this. Penelope was of the mindset that only men could solve the world’s problems. Women were supposed to adorn their husbands’ arms, looking beautiful and displaying graceful manners. They weren’t supposed to run billion-dollar corporations at the expense of attracting lovers, much less suitable husbands.
“You’re the only one who can.”
All her life Harper had been waiting for her mother to acknowledge her as powerful and capable. That Penelope had turned to her daughter for help was as thrilling a victory as Harper had ever known. “What do you need?”
“Money.”
Her mother received a sizeable allowance each month from the Fontaine family trust. What could she possibly need to buy that she couldn’t turn to Harper’s grandfather? “Why?”
“I’m being blackmailed.”
Blackmailed? This was the last thing Harper expected to hear.
“Have you spoken to the police?” To Harper’s mind, paying a blackmailer was never a good idea.
Penelope stared at Harper as if she’d suggested her mother get a job. “This is private business.”
“Blackmail is illegal.”
“I will not have my personal affairs become public knowledge.”
Until her mother had retreated to Florida, Harper had been conditioned daily to believe that image was everything. And even though she’d subsequently found her true strength lay in being resourceful and focused, that earlier rhetoric wasn’t easily ignored.
