“As you can see, there are two levels,” Neville continues as the bellboy leaves, having taken my suitcase to the second level. “The master bedroom is located upstairs, along with the master bath.”
He walks to the French doors, probably one of the very ones I looked up at when I exited the car earlier.
“There is a lovely view of the Mediterranean Sea, complete with a dining and lounge area here on the balcony.”
I interrupt before he can continue.
“Did they make it clear that I was coming from a standard room at the Papillon? The manager there said that there would be no extra charge and that the first two nights—”
“Not to worry, madame,” Neville says graciously, ignoring how perfectly tacky I’m being.
But really, there is no way this was the suite selected to make up for the very nice, but very basic hotel room that I had to give up at the Papillon.
“The thing is,” I continue, not fully convinced. “This is …it’s too much. Surely you have something less…” I wave my hand around as if Le Grande Suite speaks for itself.
His smile remains firmly in place. “Rest assured, madame, this is the correct suite.”
“Yes, but…” Again, I’m not sure how to finish.
“The room will be fully compensated during your entire stay, madame.”
“Fully compensated?” I repeat. “No, I just wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t be more than what I was paying at the Papillon. And the manager there said only two nights would be compensated.”
“Perhaps…” Neville says, leading the way back in. He picks up an envelope, sitting on the large table in the foyer which I missed as we walked in. “This might clarify?”
Madame Sloane Alexander.
It’s written in elegant calligraphy on the front of the envelope. I stare down at it, my mouth completely agape. I look up at Neville.
“Who is it from?”
He just raises his brow slightly, as though to tell me he has no idea.
I open it, loathe to rip into the thick paper that is as smooth as satin against my fingertips. Inside is a single flat card. I see the same handwritten script. I pull it out, feeling my brow crease.
Magnus Reinhardt requests the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight at…
I look up from the written words to stare at Neville in surprise. “Magnus Reinhardt?”
He just stares back, still with that infernal smile on his lips. Now, I just want to smack it from his face.
I look around at the suite, seeing it with new eyes. Then, I think back to everything that happened at the Papillon.
That’s when it hits me—the name of this hotel.
La Mer.
The Sea.
A shark’s natural habitat.
Chapter Nine Magnus
“What was her reaction?”
“She seemed very surprised.”
Neville Caron, the head concierge at La Mer, was no doubt equally as surprised by the demand I made of him only about two hours ago to put Sloane in that suite. He has the professional tact not to show it.
“And the dinner invitation? What was her reaction?” I study him carefully as he answers. I conduct all such interrogations in person. I know that there is just as much if not more information to be gleaned from one’s body language and facial expression than there is from their words alone.
He shows the first signs of discomfort. “She was…surprised.”
The hesitation. The blink before finishing the answer. The swallow that accompanied it.
He’s lying.
“And now the truth,” I demand.
Again he swallows, but the way his eyes fall to the floor tells me the real answer is forthcoming.
“Angry. Almost as though pieces of a puzzle were falling into place and…she wasn’t pleased with the result.”
A grin comes to my face, imagining the look on Sloane Alexander’s once she realized what was happening. Or at least part of it.
I know better than to show too many of my cards.
The key is to reveal just enough to confuse one’s opponent. It was one of the first things my grandpa, Aloin LaCour, taught me when he first introduced me to the world of poker. Give your opponent something to latch onto, then, just when they think they have you figured out, strike.
I’m not surprised at how quickly Sloane put it together. Frankly, I would have been disappointed if she hadn’t discovered that I was the one behind her being summarily ousted from the Papillon and housed at La Mer.
Right where I want her.
Now, more than ever, my decision to purchase La Mer has paid off. Everything, even a hotel, can be a weapon if you wield it the proper way.
“Thank you, Neville.”
He reads that as the dismissal it is and rises to take his leave.
I stop him with a few parting words before he reaches the door. “Make sure that Sloane is at dinner promptly at eight o’clock. I don’t care if you have to force your way into the suite and drag her down, kicking and screaming.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, his poker face still intact as he quietly exits.
I’m just about to reward myself for this little victory with a cigar when my personal cell phone rings. Only a select few people have access to this number, and it usually only rings when the news is bad. I pull it out and read the ID
Mona.
My Aunt. My mother’s sister who took in Estelle and me when we were left orphaned.
It can only mean one thing.
“Mona,” I answer, trying to hide the irritation in my voice.
The sigh that precedes whatever it is she’s about to tell me gives me more information than what comes next.
“It’s Estelle. She called me, Magnus.”
“Which is no surprise. You are her favorite advocate.”
“Stifling her will only make her more reckless.”
“I didn’t realize that cutting her off from the exorbitant allowance I gave her was so suffocating. If I recall, her constant complaint was that there were too many strings attached. Now, she’s free to do as she wishes—including make her own
