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I laughed. Then sent another message.
Please, I’m stressing out over which Christmas trees to buy for the lobby. Everything about this launch is crucial—and, yes, nerve-wracking!
A few moments passed; then another e-mail came in from him.
I don’t officially start until tom
orrow, but I’m off to get a jump start with some images and design work. See you in the morning?
It would cost me succumbing to Dane’s will again—not exactly torture—but I suggested to Kyle that we meet for lunch in the main dining room. Kyle agreed, and then we both went back to our work.
Dane spent most of the afternoon in his office. He’d offered me space in there, but I opted for the kitchen island again. I wouldn’t get anything done with him in such close proximity. If I wasn’t staring at him I’d be touching him, and that wouldn’t be productive for either of us. And too much was at stake to lose my focus.
We did, however, knock off for dinner. Afterward, we got cozy on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the great room. Dane had just started Hawthorne’s 1851 The House of the Seven Gables, and since I hadn’t delved into it in the past, he went back to page one and read aloud.
I missed half of what he said, too caught up in the rich, intimate tone of his voice for all the words to register. Plus, nineteenth-century literature was sometimes lost on me. I enjoyed the evening nonetheless. Especially when he swept me into his arms again and carried me off to his bed.
The place I loved the most.
* * *
A week of uneventful happenings at the Lux was a huge relief. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. I suspected Dane felt the same, tenfold. Whatever tactics he, Ethan, Qadir, and Nikolai agreed to employ against the others seemed to be working.
All of the security systems were green-lighted. More cameras had been installed and worked properly. The IT issues had all been resolved. No more deactivations of badges occurred. Everything was progressing nicely.
A multitude of samples arrived for me and my office dripped wreaths and garland, with decorations hanging from the walls for me to evaluate. Dane was probably right. I might be sick of Christmas before December even rolled around.
I had lunch with Kyle in the courtyard just about every day, since Dane had meetings and was sometimes off-property. On Friday, Kyle showed me a draft of the invitation to the private party Dane wanted to host prior to the opening of the Lux. He had used the same multitextured, gray-on-gray feel as on the hotel’s business cards and incorporated a few of the professionally taken photos of the property.
“This is stunning. I love the font—very elegant.” The silver-embossed script was gorgeous and stood out against the darker, layered background.
“The printer did a great job with my first few mock-ups. I liked this one the best.”
“Good call,” I said. “Dane will agree.”
He eyed me curiously. “Because you do?”
I tried to bite back a smile, but it tickled the corners of my mouth. “Yes. But also because it’s awesome. Sophisticated and glamorous, with that avant-garde look and feel he prefers. How do you plan to top this with the grand opening invites?”
With a half snort, he said, “I have no fucking clue.”
I laughed. “You’ll think of something.”
I dug into a Mediterranean salad—my new favorite—and Kyle took a few healthy bites of his overly decadent foie gras burger.
He nodded his approval as his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. After wiping his mouth with the linen napkin, he said, “I didn’t think this would work for me, but damn it’s good. Melts in your mouth. I never thought I’d like foie gras.”
“Are you planning to eat your way through the menu?”
“Yeah. And I’m in luck, since Chef D’Angelo keeps changing it up. I don’t think I’ll ever have to eat the same thing twice. Though … I could probably live off this burger. Want to try it? Or the garlic-Parmesan fries?”
“Thanks, no. I just about OD’d this morning on the petit fours our French pastry chef whipped up for the PR meeting. She wants them at the launch and I told her she’d better make a gazillion batches, because they’re going to be devoured. I ate a half dozen myself.”
“Pig.”
I laughed again. “Totally. Every meeting I go to has food and wine. If I don’t stick to these salads, I’m not going to fit in the elevator.”
Since I’d been banned from using the stairwell …
