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Anthony shook his head. “You think I’m some big Mafia don, is that it?” he asked and exchanged looks with his son.
“I don’t know you at all,” Adria pointed out. “In fact, I wasn’t sure I should come here.”
“And why is that?”
Leaning closer to him, she said, “Because, Mr. Polidori—I thought you might have wanted to talk to me to get information on the Danvers family for your own purposes.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“There’s a reason you asked me to dinner and I don’t think it’s because you think that I’ve had a lack of Italian cuisine while growing up in Montana.”
One graying brow lifted. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“It is rumored that if London Danvers does a
ppear, she’ll inherit a good portion of Danvers International.”
Here it comes.
“Many of our business interests are in direct competition with the Danvers Corporation and I was hoping, should you come to inherit part of the fortune, that you might be willing to sell off some of the smaller industries.” Resting his elbows on the table, he propped up his chin. “I’m specifically interested in the Hotel Danvers.”
Her heart dropped to the floor. The hotel? She thought of the ballroom with its glorious chandeliers, the old elevator, the time and money put into renovating the old building to its original state.
“You brought me here to…what? Bribe me?” She shook her head and laughed at the pomposity of this man, who, though he was loath to admit it, was very much like several members of the Danvers clan. “I’m afraid you’ll have to take a number and stand in line. A few people in the Danvers family are already in a bidding war. They seem to think that I can be bought off.”
“Can you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Ahh…an honorable woman. With noble intentions.” His eyes flickered dangerously.
“I just want to find out the truth.”
16
Zach smelled trouble. It sizzled in the air, like electricity before a lightning storm, and drew him back to Portland.
Jason’s panicked phone calls hadn’t caused him to climb into his Jeep and head west over the mountains. Pressing business worries weren’t the reason. Nor had his concern that he’d lose the ranch if Adria proved to be London been his impetus. No, the reason he’d driven like a madman across the mountains had been something more basic, more primal, an urge deep in his guts that he couldn’t suppress and didn’t want to name.
“Idiot,” he ground out as he glowered through the raindrops drizzling down the windshield. The lights of Portland shone like tiny beacons, leading him closer.
To what?
Adria.
He ground his teeth together and his fingers clenched the steering wheel, gripping hard. He didn’t even know where she was staying.
It was after ten by the time she returned to her hotel room. She kicked off her shoes. Rubbing one foot, she sat on the bed and glanced at the mini refrigerator. Didn’t want to go there. She picked up the receiver with her free hand. As she dialed the number Nelson had left with someone at the front desk, she cradled the receiver between her shoulder and ear. The phone rang five times and she was about to hang up when he answered.
“Nelson Danvers.”
“This is Adria,” she said. “You called?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Yes, I, uh, thought we should meet. You know, to talk, to get to know each other. I was hoping maybe tonight if you can make it. I’d be willing to come downtown and meet you in the bar of your hotel.”
She glanced at the clock. Why not? It was early and she wasn’t the least bit tired. In fact, the dead rat and then her dinner with the Polidoris had set her nerves on edge and she needed to calm down. She told him she’d meet him in twenty minutes and hung up before she noticed the note—a single piece of paper folded, with her name scratched on the back—lying on the bureau. Oh, God! No one had slipped this piece of paper under the door.
