What The Millionaire Wants.... Brenda Jackson

the many that had plagued the hotel in recent years. As beautiful as the Contessa was and the potential profit she would generate for Hawke Industries, age had taken its toll on the structure. The hotel would continue to deteriorate unless it underwent the necessary maintenance and upgrades it so sorely needed. He intended to see that the hotel was returned to its former glory and became profitable—with or without Laura Spencer’s cooperation.

      She stood. “As you heard, I’m late for a meeting, Mr. Hawke. So this discussion is over.”

      It wasn’t often that he found himself so clearly dismissed and certainly not by someone who was in no position to call the shots. A part of him was annoyed. While another part of him couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Standing, Jack adjusted his gray suit coat. “I suggest you call your attorneys, Ms. Spencer, and have them review the documents I gave you.”

      “I intend to.”

      “Once you’ve confirmed that Hawke Industries is now the majority stockholder of the Contessa Hotel, I want to meet with you to discuss the hotel’s operations. Preferably, tomorrow morning.”

      “I won’t be available tomorrow morning,” she informed him.

      “Then the afternoon. Two o’clock okay with you?”

      “I’ll be tied up then, too.”

      Jack stared at her. Once again, he was surprised by her defiance. His name alone had struck fear in the hearts of many a hardened CEO. Apparently, that wasn’t the case with Laura Spencer. He liked the fact that she wasn’t afraid of him. And he wasn’t averse to the rest of the package, either, he admitted. Under different circumstances he might have entertained the idea of something more personal with her. While he didn’t consider himself to have a specific type, he enjoyed the company of intelligent, attractive women. He knew from her education and work history that Laura Spencer was smart. With her big eyes, soft skin and hair that was some shade between red and brown, she certainly was attractive. The perfect package really—except for her connection to the hotel deal. It was that connection that was the problem. Regardless of how attractive he found her on a personal level, he had no intention of letting it get in the way of business. Reminding himself of the business at hand, he said, “Tomorrow evening then. We can discuss my plans for the hotel over dinner.”

      “I already have plans,” she told him.

      The intercom buzzed. “Laura, they really need you for that meeting.”

      “I’m on my way,” she said. “I have to go.”

      “I don’t suppose there’s any point in suggesting another day or time because you’ll be tied up then, too,” he stated, knowing full well what she was doing. If she agreed to a meeting with him, then she would, in effect, be admitting that everything he had told her was true. Her family no longer owned the Contessa Hotel.

      “How perceptive of you, Mr. Hawke. As a matter of fact, my entire week is full and I won’t have a moment to spare.”

      “Then I suggest you make time, Ms. Spencer. Because like it or not, you are going to have to deal with me.” And without waiting for her to respond, Jack turned and exited the office.

      As she left the hotel’s kitchen, Laura pressed her fingers to her temple. The splitting headache that had started with the arrival of Jackson Hawke earlier was quickly working its way toward a migraine. Nodding to various hotel employees, she made her way across the lobby to the elevators. At least her temperamental chef’s latest emergency—table salt being substituted for kosher salt—had been fixed relatively easily. She’d simply borrowed some kosher salt from a neighboring restaurant so Chef André could finish his masterpiece. Then she had dispatched one of the busboys to the supply house to swap the incorrectly delivered salt. While the celebrity chef she had hired away from a major restaurant caused her a few hassles, the income he generated by keeping the hotel’s dining room filled far outweighed the headaches, she reminded herself. Besides, at the moment dealing with a temperamental chef was the least of her worries. Her real worry was Jackson Hawke. Just the thought of him made the pounding in her head increase.

      Laura stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the executive floor. If only the real emergency that Jackson Hawke had dropped in her lap could be solved as easily. Of course, she could always hope that the man was wrong—that her mother hadn’t pledged her hotel stock and that Hawke hadn’t actually bought her note. Laura called up an image of him in her mind’s eye. She thought about the way he’d trained those blue eyes on her, the confidence in his expression, the hard line of his jaw. She sighed. Sure, she could hope he was wrong, Laura told herself. But Jackson Hawke hadn’t struck her as a man who was often wrong about anything.

      Stepping out of the elevator, she headed down the corridor toward the block of offices. When she entered the reception area and discovered her assistant on the phone, she retrieved her messages and began to flip through them.

      Penny placed her hand over the receiver and mouthed, “Everything okay?”

      Laura nodded and motioned for Penny to join her when she was finished with the call. Once inside her own office, Laura snagged a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and walked over to her desk. She opened the side drawer and reached for the bottle of aspirin. After shaking out two tablets, she washed them down with water and then sat in her chair. But five minutes later, Laura could feel the aura starting around the edges of her eyes and she knew the aspirin wasn’t going to cut it this time. She was going to need the pills her doctor had prescribed for the migraines. She hated taking the meds, she admitted. While they knocked out her migraine, they also zapped her energy and made her feel fuzzy for the rest of the day. And today of all days, she needed a clear head and all the energy she could muster.

      Shifting her gaze to the credenza, Laura glanced at the framed photo of her with her various half siblings and step-siblings at her mother’s most recent wedding. She looked at the smiling green-eyed blonde beside her—her half sister, Chloe. At twenty-two, Chloe was four years her junior and the product of her mother’s fourth marriage to soap opera star Jeffrey Baxter. An actress living on the West Coast, her sister was into healthy eating and treating the body’s ailments with alternatives other than drugs.

      Deciding it was worth a shot to try one of Chloe’s methods before resorting to the pills, Laura began the deep-breathing techniques that her sister had shown her. And because she couldn’t bring herself to chant the mantra aloud without feeling like an idiot, she repeated the words silently.

      I can feel my heartbeat slowing. I can feel the blood flowing down my arms, to my fingertips. My fingers are growing warmer. I can feel the tension leaving my body. I am relaxed. I am calm.

      Continuing the silent chant, she closed her eyes. But the minute she did so, an image of Jackson Hawke filled her mind. She remembered in vivid detail the cut of the charcoal-gray suit he wore, how the blue in his tie was the exact shade of his eyes. Even seated, he had looked tall and forbidding as he’d told her that he now owned the Contessa. And just thinking of Hawke made her head pound even harder.

      “So much for natural healing,” she muttered and opened her eyes. Still reluctant to take anything stronger than aspirin, Laura lowered her gaze to the bottom drawer of her desk.

      Don’t do it.

      Ignoring the voice in her head, Laura pulled open the drawer and stared at her stash of candy. She had banished the forbidden sweets from her sight two weeks ago in her effort to cut her sugar intake and take off the five pounds she’d been carrying on her hips since Halloween. Biting her lower lip, she recalled the promise she had made to herself only three days ago. No more junk food. That meant no cookies. No candy. No ice cream. No milk-chocolate bars with the gooey caramel inside.

      Don’t do it, Laura.

      Torn, Laura stared at the tempting treats. Her mouth watered. Still she hesitated. She’d promised herself, no sweets unless it was an emergency. Didn’t Jackson Hawke and a monster headache constitute an emergency? Of course they did, she reasoned. Snatching up the bite-sized chocolate-and-caramel bar, she ripped off