Metsy Hingle - The Wager

“Hello, sunshine.”

Laura smiled at the sound of Nick Baldwin’s voice. The general manager and owner of the Ambassador Grand and her boss for the past year, Nick was smart, charming and one of the nicest men she’d ever known. He was also one of the best-looking—a fact that was not lost on the hotel’s female guests or staff.

“How’s my favorite assistant GM this afternoon?”

Laura chuckled at his remark. “I’m fine. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m your only assistant GM,” she reminded him.

“That’s right! How on earth could I make a mistake like that?”

“Beats me.”

“Maybe it’s because you do enough work around here for two people.”

“And maybe I’m wondering why you’re laying it on so thick,” she teased.

“Just stating the facts.”

A rush of gratitude spilled through her at Nick’s praise. He was a great boss, one who never failed to let her know she was appreciated. He was also a dear friend and had proved so often during the past couple of months. She could think of few people who would have done what he had—handling the arrangements for her mother’s funeral, insisting she take as much time as she needed before coming back to work even though the hotel was extraordinarily busy. And there had been genuine worry in Nick’s eyes last week when he’d expressed concern about how she was holding up. Yet as much as she liked and respected Nick, she hadn’t been able to tell him the truth. She wasn’t sure she ever could tell him or anyone.

“Laura, you still there?”

Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, Laura attempted to recapture the happy mood Nick’s call had sparked. “Right here and worrying because I have a feeling that you’re about to drop some major catastrophe in my lap.”

“You’re a cynic, Ms. Harte.”

“Hardly, Mr. Baldwin,” she said with a laugh. “I distinctly recall the last time you were laying on praise this thick. It was just before you told me that the hotel was overbooked and I had to find fifty rooms pronto.”

“An honest mistake. Besides, I wasn’t the one who failed to block the space in the hotel’s main system.”

“Yes, I remember whose fault that was,” she conceded. She was sure that Nick remembered, too. The fault had rested on the very attractive, man-hunting reservation agent in the hotel’s sales department who had been so busy trying to catch Nick’s eye that she tended to let minor things like her job slide.

“The important thing to remember is that it all worked out okay.”

It had. Thanks to her scrambling like mad and absorbing the cost of those extra rooms at a neighboring hotel. The unexpected expense had played havoc with her budget, but she’d taken the hit to preserve the goodwill of the account.

“You got a few minutes?”

Laura eyed the file folder on her desk. “I was about to go over the meeting room charts for the cardiologists’ convention that’s arriving tomorrow before I sign off on it. After that, I’m free.”

“Great. How about coming by my office when you’ve finished?”

“Sure.” She paused, worried over her last conversation with Nick. She didn’t want to get into another discussion with him about what he perceived as her unhappiness lately. “Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?”

“Actually, there’s someone that I’d like you to meet.”

A prospective client, Laura guessed, and felt a measure of relief. Perhaps it was just what she needed—the challenge of a tough new account to sink her teeth into and get her mind off of her own troubles. “Give me ten minutes to wrap this up and I’ll be there.”

Josh sat across from Nick Baldwin and listened to his old college friend’s side of the conversation with Laura Harte. In many ways, he and Nick were a lot alike, he thought. They both came from families whose fortunes had been made in the small luxury-hotel business. They both had grown up knowing that one day they, too, would be a part of the family business. And they both had been part of a dwindling breed of hoteliers who still retained ownership of the family hotels. Many family-owned chains like the Fairmont had done as its owners the Swigs had done—sold their interests to some Saudi prince or hotel conglomerate. The Logans hadn’t. Nor had the Jardines. And neither had the Baldwins—at least not voluntarily.

From what Nick had told him when they’d been at college, Big Jack Baldwin had managed to gamble all four family hotels away before his son hit eighteen. But from what he knew and the buzz in the industry, Nick had not only reclaimed the hotels lost by his father, he was on his way to buying more. And although Logan Hotels far outranked the Jardine and Baldwin family operations because of the number of hotel properties they held, all three families remained part of the elite group of hoteliers whose name was synonymous with luxury. Given what he’d seen of the Ambassador Grand, Nick was maintaining the tradition.

Josh grinned as he thought back to the first time he’d met Nick—a dozen years ago when the two of them had both been enrolled in the university’s hotel management program and working nights for Logan Hotels. He’d have sworn the two of them had had absolutely nothing in common. He’d pegged Nick as a West Coast prick whose rich family had used their connections to get him a job. In turn, Baldwin had pegged Josh as a dumb-wit Southern boy who didn’t know squat about hotels. They’d both been proved wrong. After several minor clashes, the two of them had been sharing drinks and dreams. The friendship had waned due to time, distance and Nick’s romance with Josh’s sister. But he’d decided to use what remained of the old friendship, anyway, as a means to reach Laura Harte. Instead of approaching Laura with Olivia’s request at her home, he’d opted to do so on neutral turf. He’d also wanted to get a chance to see her in action.

“She’ll be here in a couple of minutes,” Nick said as he hung up the phone.

“Thanks,” Josh said, dragging his thoughts back to the reason he was there—to try to convince Laura Harte to come to New Orleans and meet her family. Too edgy to sit, he stood and began to prowl the spacious office. He stopped in front of the window and admired the view of the bay. “I owe you one.”

“I’ll settle for you telling me what this personal business is you want to discuss with Laura.”

Josh paused. Turning, he studied the wary brown eyes of his old friend. “I can’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that it’s personal and I’m here as a favor to a friend.” Yet even as he said the words, guilt plagued him. He seriously doubted that Olivia could be classified as a friend. At the admission, he once again cursed his decision to take Olivia up on her crazy offer. Why had he allowed himself to be talked into this mess? Just as quickly as the question formed, so did the answer—the Princess. He wanted her. He had from the very first time his grandfather had taken him to the hotel. His chest tightened as he thought of his grandfather, the vow he’d made to one day reclaim the Princess. That vow was the reason he was here, Josh reminded himself. He hadn’t been able to turn away a chance to win her back.

“At least give me a name. Tell me who this friend of yours is?”

“Come on, Nick,” Josh said with a sigh. He walked back across the room to stand before his friend. “Listen, I tell you what. After I talk to Ms. Harte, if she wants to share the context of our conversation with you, she’s free to do so. But it’ll have to be her call. Until then, I’m asking you to back off.”

Nick frowned. His fingers curled around the pen he’d been fidgeting with since hanging up the phone. “All right. I’ll back off—for now. Just remember what I said. Laura’s been through a lot lately. She’s been sort of fragile since her mother was killed.”