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The girls raced down the long hallway toward the private rooms. British knew from past experience when she and her family had come here on the weekends about the some of the rooms connecting. Hopefully in all the renovations Ramon had sealed off the joint bathrooms. The idea of being next door to Donovan caused her heart to skip a beat with anticipation.
“No running,” British called out to the girls, who responded with a fit of giggles. The last thing she wanted to do was to disturb Donovan. She wasn’t ready to face him again. A flock of butterflies fluttered around in the pit of her stomach. British bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath.
Besides knowing what Donovan did for a living, British had deduced something personal about the man. He’d been in an accident at some point in his life. A serious one. And while the girls were usually polite, they were still children and the X-shaped scar said a lot about the trauma Donovan had faced in his past. British didn’t want him to feel bad or to be reminded. Maybe that’s why he hid himself away in a hotel in Southwood.
For British, the scar along Donovan’s face also told her he’d survived something. In Christian’s car accident, his face had hit the steering wheel and the stitches the doctors had tried to put in were in the shape of an X, as well. In the little bit of time Christian had left on earth, he had worried about being seen as a monster and frightening children. It was a ridiculous thought and British had told him so. She would give anything to argue with him over the mark again.
“Ms. B?” Kathleen tapped British’s arm.
Snapping out of her daze, British plastered on a smile. “Sorry.”
“You were doing that daydreaming my grandma gets,” informed Kathleen.
British pouted. “Are you calling me old?”
“Well, compared to us—ouch,” Stephanie whined and pulled her microbraids to the front of her shirt. “No, ma’am.”
“Good,” said British as she grabbed for her bag and hunched over. “Now let a little old lady get into her room so she can take her afternoon prune juice and nap.”
“Tasty,” commented a deep voice from the corner of the hallway.
The familiar baritone boomed, making British’s heart lurch into her rib cage. She had to clear her throat to release its lodged state. “Donovan.”
“So you’re my neighbor?” The shadows of the hallway hid all but his kilowatt smile.
A hard shiver crept down her spine, causing British to jump.
“Sorry,” said Donovan, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped out from the shadows.
The girls made a collective sigh. Lacey dropped the bag in her hand. Donovan grabbed it before it hit the ground and the other girls’ feet.
“I thought I heard a lot of movement going on inside this morning. Here—” he reached for the card key in British’s hand “—allow me.”
“You’re Donovan Ravens,” Stephanie finally said.
Donovan glanced over his shoulder, his thick black eyebrows raised. “I am.”
“You know who he is?” Lacey asked.
“You don’t?” Stephanie countered. “He’s only the Chief Financial Officer at Ravens Cosmetics. If you wore a little bit of makeup ever, you might notice.”
Donovan opened the hotel room door and allowed the girls in first. British lingered behind and tried to hide her amused smile behind her hand at Donovan’s surprise. “That’s Stephanie,” British explained. “Your future employee in your cosmetic chemistry department.”
* * *
Donovan had been around his younger cousins’ friends enough to know when they were enamored with one of his brothers. Oddly, these tweens giggled the same way with him. Maybe it was a nervous giggle due to the scar. Each girl avoided making eye contact when British introduced them.
“Thanks for your help, ladies,” British said, clearing her throat once they were inside her room.
Taking their cue, the four girls excused themselves but not before eyeballing him up and down. Nothing like a group of teenage girls to make a grown man feel self-conscious. At least his future employee edged her friends out of the room. Or so he thought. Alone, he realized it left just him and British. Given her hand on her hip, the dismissive smirk and raised eyebrow, she was giving him a cue to leave.
“And thanks for bringing my bag in,” she said.
Donovan gripped the leather handles and set the weekender on the gold-and-white-striped bench at the end of the mahogany sleigh bed. “What do you have in here, bricks? Oh wait, shoes.”
“You’re so smart,” British said, her eyes crinkling, at the edges. For a moment he thought she might poke her tongue out at him.
The pit of his stomach flopped with the idea of her doing so. Why? Married, widowed or whatever—if she was going to be the face of RC, she was Grade A hands off.
