Jo Leigh - Hush

She walked into Erotique, the gorgeous bar, to the accompaniment of cameras, laughter, talking. People having a good time. She pasted on her best smile, and went into the fray. This was her specialty. Getting attention. Making the headlines. No one did it better than her, and dammit, neither Trace or his news was going to spoil things now.

She’d figure a way to get her father to accept Hush. She would. She wasn’t a Devon for nothing.

THE REST of the night went on in a blur of interviews and champagne. Trace was never completely out of her sight. She’d turn, and there he’d be. Sipping the Cristal, talking to some hottie, laughing it up. And when his eyes met hers, he smiled. Smiled like he was on top of the world.

The prick.

What had she ever, ever seen in him? He was duplicitous, underhanded and a whole bunch of other evil things that if she hadn’t had that last glass of champagne, she could think of.

Doing her a favor. Ha. He just wanted a front-row ticket. He couldn’t wait to see her take a fall. “Well, you know what, Mr. High-and-Mighty Winslow? Screw you.”

“What?”

Piper looked front. To the confused gaze of some guy from the Enquirer. “I’m sorry, what was your question?”

The guy, who was swaying just a little more than he should have, gave her a salacious grin. “So you tried out those toys in the cupboard upstairs?”

Piper kept smiling. “Not those, no.”

His face fell but his next sip of champagne seemed to soften the blow.

“Would you excuse me?” She made a quick tour of Erotique; it was so beautiful it made her ache. Most of the press had congregated around the black circular bar, the pink overhead lighting flattering and sexy. She loved the high black bar chairs with the inverted triangle backs. She headed toward the ladies’ room, running her hand over the only empty round-backed leather armchair, admiring the sea foam-green that matched the lobby carpet exactly. It was a killer bar, and it would be packed nightly. No doubt at all.

She nodded, grinned, waved like a damn parade-float princess all the way to the bathroom. She pushed the door open, saw the crowd, and made a hasty retreat. Hurrying as quickly as possible in her heels, she went through the lobby to the first elevator. No one came after her, and the moment she was inside the cab she hit the button for the spa floor and collapsed against the mirror.

She closed her eyes and let out a howl that while loud, was surprisingly unsatisfying. The elevator came to a stop and she went right for the bathroom.

The whole room smelled faintly of lavender. Peace, quiet and beauty surrounded her, a balm to her soul. She sat on one of the stools by the long pink marble sink, wishing she’d brought her bag. She needed to fix her lipstick.

Instead, she faced herself in the mirror. No photo-op smile, no tricks of the light. Just her. She had a problem, a big one. She knew Hush was going to make it, that it could be one of the hottest hotels in Manhattan. But she also wasn’t a fool. She wanted her inheritance. Who wouldn’t? It was one hell of a lot of money, and while it couldn’t buy happiness, it could get her real close. Even though it would be a fine and dramatic gesture to tell her father to go jump in a lake, it would be strategically unsound.

The thing was, she didn’t have enough time. She felt sure her father would eventually get over his problem with Hush. It would take a few years for Hush to be completely in the black, and she’d been counting on his help to get through until the cash flow was steady, but if he was going to be this stubborn… Damn, she only had a week. A week with Trace Winslow on her ass, which not only didn’t help, it made things exponentially worse.

Trace knew exactly how to push every one of her buttons, and had no hesitation in doing so. He was a vile man, a hateful man. And good God, he turned her on like a light switch.

She dropped her head in her hands. This should have been a triumphant night, a glorious victory. She looked up again, met her eyes. It still was a victory. She’d make it work. She’d figure it out. But first, she’d go back to the bar and she wouldn’t even glance at Trace.

HE WATCHED HER work the room, and even he had to admit she was doing one hell of a job. Gliding from one reporter to the next, she never missed a beat or an opportunity to make nice. Quite a change from her usual shenanigans.

How many times had he passed a newsstand to find Piper’s photo plastered on the tabloids in some compromising position? Drunk or disheveled, hanging on some guy, at this party or that. The woman lived for notoriety. And here she was, playing the hostess, acting as if she were a responsible adult, when the whole world knew she was still a wild child. Who did she think she was fooling?

He thought about her latest in a long string of idiot men. Logan Barrister, for God’s sake. His band might be at the top of the charts, but the guy had the brains of a trout. If anything he was more of a press slut than Piper. They’d been kicked out of more Manhattan bars than anyone else he could think of.

The tragedy was, Trace had a strong suspicion that Piper was bright. Really smart. If she hadn’t been so busy trying to shock her father, she could have made something of herself. She knew the business inside and out. Hush had all the potential to be a first-class hotel, but no. She had to go and make it a haven for the kinky. It was a very expensive way to act out, and the consequences were far reaching. But would she listen to him?

He put his empty glass on the bar. He still had to take his luggage upstairs, get settled in his room. It was almost two, and the place had cleared out considerably, but there were still some die-hards left.

Piper looked as fresh as she had when he’d first walked in. How she’d managed that, he couldn’t say. She must have been nervous as hell at this first sneak peek, but it didn’t show.

He wouldn’t bother her. Not tonight. Let her get some rest. She’d need it. So would he. Tomorrow was going to be…interesting.

PIPER WAS as exhausted as a person could be and still be upright. She made her way through the dwindling crowd looking for Janice.

There she was, standing by the leaded glass doors, and oh, Mick, her hunky boyfriend, had finally made an appearance. Seeing them together, Piper smiled. They’d met here, at Hush. Janice had moved in a few weeks ago, when Piper herself had taken up residence. There had been so much to do to get the hotel ready for the opening date. And Mick, he’d been here, too. He was a master carpenter, and he’d worked on several of the penthouse suites. He and Janice had hit it off right away, even though she was eight years his senior. It looked like love to Piper.

At least someone was happy. That was a good thing. Her gaze swept the room but she didn’t see Trace. He must have slipped out while she’d been busy. He was probably upstairs right now, slipping between the sheets.

She could’ve given him one of the penthouses, but she hadn’t. He was in a regular suite, which was still incredibly wonderful, but he didn’t have all the bells and whistles. Petty, but screw it. He didn’t deserve a penthouse.

She, on the other hand, did. She had taken the Gaul-tier suite, and she’d kill to be up there right now. Only half an hour to go until she could shoo everyone out to the taxis on Madison. Till she could collapse. At least until 6:00 a.m. tomorrow.

THE SUITE was huge by Manhattan standards. It wasn’t in the deco style of the hotel, instead it was Asian with shoji screens, a low California King bed with a deep scarlet comforter, Ikebana flower arrangements and Asian prints on the walls. There was an elegance in the materials that made Trace sigh as he put his suitcase on the bed.