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“Sure.” He liked that she thought of practical things just like he had. “Do you have an assistant or financial team?”
“I have lawyers and investment teams, but I like to manage my day to day needs myself. I have some … trust issues.”
He nodded. It made sense with what she’d been through, not only witnessing and being framed for a murder but losing her parents. “Do you remember what type of credit cards you had?”
She thought and then nodded. “Amex Centurion, Capital One Venture X, Chase Sapphire Reserve, and MasterCard BlackCard.”
“Okay. I’ll get started looking up numbers for those cards. We also need to contact the police.”
She released her legs and grabbed the telephone off the side table, pressing a button. “Yes. This is Hattie Ballard. The man who was staying in my room stole my money, credit cards, passport, computer, clothing, and toiletries.” She paused. “I’m sorry too. I need to speak with someone from your police department. I also need a manager sent to the penthouse, along with a laptop, some toiletries to get my boyfriend and I through tonight … and some chocolate.” A pause. “Thank you.”
Steffan smiled, despite none of this being humorous. “Swiss chocolate?”
She’d called him her boyfriend again. He liked that. A little too much. She’d also assumed he was going to stay with her and help her out. He didn’t mind that. Not at all.
“Chocolate can cure what ails you,” she said firmly.
“I’m sure.”
He opened his internet app and started searching. Hattie spoke to the police, who promised to send out an alert nationwide and to the European Union, as who knew where Franz was at this point. She was on the phone with the second credit card company when a rap came at the door. Steffan hurried to answer it.
A young man waited with a roller cart of goods. “Sir. We deeply apologize for Miss Ballard’s discomfort. The manager will be here shortly but wanted me to bring up some supplies.”
“Thank you.”
Steffan helped him unload a large snack basket, drinks, toiletries, pajamas, robes, slippers, a MacBook Pro, and more chocolate than ten people could eat.
“A breakfast spread will be here whenever you request it, sir, ma’am.” He nodded to both of them, then turned to go.
“How much do I owe you?” Steffan pulled out his wallet.
Hattie hung up the hotel phone and stared at Steffan as if he’d grown two heads. “They’ll bill it to my room,” Hattie said, as if there was no other option.
“I’m going to pay for it,” Steffan explained. “The hotel might have their charge rejected as you’re canceling your credit cards.”
She stood and strode over to them, looking uncertain and upset. “The hotel knows I’m good for it. They can run up a tab until I have my new credit cards.”
“Hattie, it’s fine.” Steffan had never had someone blatantly refuse to let him pay for something. “I’m happy to pay. It’s no concern.”
She growled at him, actually growled. “It’s huge concern,” she shot at him, jutting out her chin. “You’re already doing too much for me.”
“I’m happy to help,” he insisted.
“Sir … ma’am … forgive the interruption,” the young man said. “Everything is on the hotel. The manager is insistent on that. Please accept our sincere apologies.”
“Oh.” Steffan wasn’t sure what to say. The man had settled the discussion, but it bothered him that Hattie didn’t want him to pay. Yes, he was doing a lot for her. He could be risking a whole lot if the Rindlesbachers ever discovered the connection, but he wanted to do it. He was a gentleman and a prince.
He handed the guy forty euros. “For a tip,” he said when the guy looked ready to refuse it.
“Thank you.” The young man nodded to him.
“Wait,” Hattie said. “No. Let me tip him.”
“I’ve got it.” Why was she fighting with him about paying for things? What was she planning to tip the young man with? “Is seven all right for breakfast so we can get to Bern for your appointment with your embassy?”
“Yes, thank you,” Hattie murmured. She studied him as if seeing him in a new light.
Was she too independent to accept him paying for things? Was he being too decisive? As the CMO of a busy hospital, he had to make decisions all the time. The last woman he’d dated, an accomplished violinist for the Austrian Symphony, hadn’t liked that at all. She had told him he was ‘a male chauvinist parading as a gentleman prince’ a few times before they parted ways. He’d hated that and hadn’t known had to defend himself without digging himself deeper.
