Flirting with Felicity (2 page)

Blake returned Felicity’s note without reading it.
He recognized his uncle’s handwriting, but he really didn’t care what the
message said. He had come to Seattle to take over the Bancroft. An impassioned
note from his uncle wouldn’t change anything.

Blake swept a look over the young woman before him. When he’d
learned his uncle Vernon had given away the Bancroft to one of the staff, he’d
figured it was because the old man had had some kind of secret mistress while
he hid from the world in his favorite hotel.

Fighting for what should have been his would have been easy
if Felicity were everything he’d imagined her to be—a gold digger. Someone who
would be easy to manipulate. Yet the woman before him didn’t appear to be any
of those things.

She appeared strong, in control, and determined to challenge
him. Definitely not his uncle’s type—if his uncle had ever had a type.
Felicity’s long platinum-blonde hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail
at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense, but there
was an exotic quality to her almond-shaped eyes that captivated him. Those eyes
narrowed on him now with suspicion. “Shall I direct you to my legal team?”

Blake frowned. The look wasn’t the typical response he
garnered from women. He shifted his gaze from Felicity to the lobby as he
considered what to do.

A woman glanced Blake’s way as she walked toward him in her
high-heeled black leather shoes. Her smile was inviting, as was the generous
amount of cleavage her tight pink dress revealed. He smiled at her and her eyes
widened. She moved past him with a slight brush of her hand against his fingers
as she slipped a piece of paper into his hand. No doubt her room number or
phone number. He was used to this kind of attention.

Years ago when he’d first taken over as acting president of
Bancroft Industries, the fame and notoriety that had come with the position
bothered him. But over the years he’d become used to the unsought intimacy that
people—especially women—pressed upon him. He knew it had nothing to do with him
personally; it was his wealth. People clamored to touch him like he was a
conduit for success.

Blake returned his gaze to Felicity. Her expression was
emotionless, her wide brown eyes blank. No smile lurked at the edges of her
full, unpainted lips. He could feel judgment radiating from her. “Look,
Felicity, I think we both agree that there are things to discuss.”

“My lawyers would be happy to talk to you.”

A twinge of irritation moved through him. “It’s better if we
talk. You and me.”

She looked at him, hard. “Why? What else is there to say?”

He thought for a second of something that might persuade her
to at least give him a chance to explain his position. Losing the flagship
hotel in their hotel chain would be a terrible blow to the corporation. Upon
his uncle’s death, Blake had always planned to use the old building to
establish a new trend in green living. What better way to establish the hotel
chain as a leader in the industry than to turn a broken-down, money-leeching building
into something other hotels would strive to become? If he could revamp the
Bancroft Hotel and remake it as a success, he would attract new investors for
more expansion across the country and around the world.

Then Bancroft Industries would lead the way for its
competitors. The Bancroft name would mean not only quality, but sustainability
worldwide. Seattle was already a leader in the nation with its innovative
recycling programs, but he wanted to do so much more. And that renaissance for
his hotel properties had to start with their first hotel.

Truth be told, she wouldn’t stand a chance against his legal
barracudas. She had the will. He had the Bancroft name and a history with his
uncle and the Bancroft properties that was undeniable. Her relationship with
his uncle was something he intended to explore and exploit. “My uncle left you
this hotel, and I’d like the chance to know why. Can we talk in the restaurant?”

“The restaurant is closed.”

He gave her his most charming smile, the one he used to sway
many a female his way. “Aren’t you in charge around here?”

She stared at him, hard, and he knew she was considering his
offer. “You’re right; I do
own
the restaurant.”

He didn’t miss the jab. “So that’s a yes?”

She leaned toward him, and for a second, just a second, he
thought she was going to touch him. For some reason, the prospect set his
nerves on fire. He was used to people touching him, yet with Felicity it
somehow seemed different. When she pulled back, disappointment fizzled along
his nerves.

She nodded. “Vern asked that I protect the Bancroft, and I
intend to do just that.” She drew a harsh breath. “This place is more than just
a hotel, Mr. Bancroft. It’s where a father can stop his busy life for a short
time to go on vacation with his family, or where a husband can spend the night
with a wife he’s loved for years. It’s not just a building. It’s a special
place—a gift.”

The truth of her words made him feel a little sick. The
Bancroft was special, but with his upgrades, it would not only be special, it
would be a destination hotel for years to come. “Call me Blake, please.” He
waved her toward the entrance to the darkened restaurant.

They entered the Dolce Vita in awkward silence. He was
hyperaware of her as they walked—the way her hips gently swayed, the way she
smelled of herbs and lemon, the way a stray tendril of hair had escaped her
ponytail. He was tempted to smooth it back over her ear to keep it out of her
face. He doubted she would welcome the gesture.

Once they reached the empty dining area, she stopped to flick
on the lights, and then waited for him to choose one of the tables and sit
before she asked, “So why do you want to talk to me?”

A slight wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows as she watched
him. She was worried, even though she wouldn’t admit as much to him. He studied
that furrow in her clear, silky skin with something close to fascination. He
could see the rapid throb of her pulse in her delicate temple. He felt a sudden
urge to reach out and touch that faint thrumming, to run the pad of his finger
over her silky skin. He glanced away hurriedly. Christ, what was the matter
with him? For a fraction of an instant he had felt a hot thickening in his
groin that could only be described as lust. “You’ve been at this restaurant for
three years?”

She fidgeted and sat a little taller. “A little more than
three.”

“How long did you know my uncle?”

She met his eyes. “I arrived at the hotel as sous-chef a few
months before he became a full-time resident here.”

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Her voice
was soft, melodic, and he found himself listening to the soft rhythmic cadence
rather than the words themselves. What color were her eyes? Brown, he’d thought
at first, but now he was sure he’d caught a hint of gold in their depths. “When
did you become head chef?” he said, though it sounded harsher than he’d
intended.

“This doesn’t feel like a discussion. It feels more like an
interrogation. I keep waiting for the bright lights to come on and the good cop
to come out to assist you.”

“Making me the bad cop?”

He was rewarded with a quick grin before her lips thinned. “To
answer your question, I took over as chef two months later when the head chef’s
elderly mother became ill and he had to move back to Italy.” She reached for a bottle
of water and poured them both a glass.

Blake swallowed hard and tried not to stare at the smooth
column of her neck as she took a sip from her glass. She had a small freckle at
the base of her throat, right where her neck met the arch of her collarbone.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, he wondered how she would taste if he pressed his lips
to the spot?

Desire slid down his spine. He studied her eyes; at such
close quarters in the dimly lit room, they gleamed like beaten gold, shadowed
and mysterious, giving nothing away about who she was or what her relationship
with his uncle had been.

She’d had a relationship with his uncle. It was more than
he’d ever had. In their final heated argument before Blake had been sent away,
his uncle had told him the only purpose he had in Vern’s life was as the
continuation of the Bancroft line. He’d never wanted children, and he didn’t
want to raise Blake now that Blake’s own mother and father were dead. The
memory of that fight more than fifteen years ago cooled Blake’s ardor. Slowly,
he brought his eyes back to hers. “What
was
the
relationship between you and my uncle?”

“I hope I was a friend to him during his final days.”

“Indeed.”

She stiffened, steel infusing her. “I cooked for your uncle.
Nothing more. As far as the hotel is concerned, I was as surprised as you that
he left it to me. But he did. And I intend to keep it, if not for myself, then
for every person who is employed here who depends on the Bancroft to support
their families. The Bancroft is their livelihood. I won’t let you take that
away.” Her words rang with outright challenge.

“If you want to keep this matter out of the courts, I’m
willing to make you a decent offer for the hotel and the restaurant. You’ll end
up with enough funds to purchase another restaurant anywhere you choose.”

“That’s not an acceptable solution,” she said, her voice
tight. The feathery curve of her dark lashes came down to hide her eyes.

“It’s just a kitchen and a location, and with your growing
reputation, it shouldn’t be hard to get your customers to follow you.”

Her eyes snapped back to his. “You can’t just create
something new, something different whenever you want to. A location is part of
the magic of a restaurant.” She shook her head. “What about preserving the
historic significance of this place? What about the people who work here? Live
here?”

“It’s admirable that you care about their welfare.” He
smoothed his hand across the surface of the table. “And completely unrealistic.
You can’t save them all, the building included.”

Her eyes went wide. “Why would you say that? Are you planning
to tear down the building?”

He shook his head. “I understand the significance of this
hotel to the Seattle area. I won’t tear it down, but I do intend to do an
aggressive renovation. The exterior will remain mostly the same, with a few
upgrades. The interior will need to be largely gutted. I’ll try to preserve as
much as I can. The goal is to make the Bancroft a LEED-certified building and
an example of what can be done to old buildings.”

“I have no objection to making the Bancroft greener, but I
will not sacrifice my employees’ livelihoods to those efforts. You have no idea
how hard it is to earn a decent salary in this business, one that can keep the
employees above poverty level.”

A flush came to her cheeks as she talked. The woman was
certainly passionate about the people who worked at the Bancroft Hotel. “The
people who work here can reapply for their jobs when the hotel’s renovation is
complete.”

“And how long would that take?”

He shrugged and took a sip of his water. “A year, maybe two.”

Her face became ashen. “No. Absolutely not. Two years is an
impossibly long time to be out of work. I will keep the hotel, and I will fight
you in every way.”

He looked into her eyes and saw not only her distress but her
strength—a combination he didn’t usually see in the women in his world. Most of
those beauties allowed the men in their lives to make all their decisions for
them. Blake firmed his lips. They were the kind of women with whom he usually
fraternized. The thought left him flat. “I expected as much,” he said with
honesty.

“The Bancroft must have some sort of historical protection.
Isn’t that what historical societies do—protect against insensitive men like
you?”

Blake frowned. He’d been called much worse, but her barb
still stung. “My uncle never filed for protection by the National Register of
Historic Places or the local historic preservation program.”

She sat back in her chair, studying him. “Did you love your
uncle?”

Love
him?
“What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one. When was the last time you saw your uncle?
Because I’ve known him for three years and I’ve never seen you.” It was a
question designed to hurt him, and it did. He couldn’t remember the last time
he’d seen his uncle. Four years ago? Maybe more? It was the day Blake had taken
over as acting chair. His uncle vanished from his life that year.

Thinking about it all now made him feel disconnected. He had
lots of people in his life. Lots. Blake gave her a disgusted look. “Now who’s
playing the bad cop?”

She shrugged. “Vern might have benefitted from having his
nephew around.”

“I had a company to run. A company he left to my
administration. He knew what it took to make the hotels a success. Just as he
knew what needed to happen to this hotel to take the company into the future.”
And that didn’t involve pandering to familial relationships.