Barbara Dunlop - Next To Nothing!

This was way more information than Tyler wanted concerning his father’s friend. And he couldn’t help thinking that Henry’s wife was not going to be happy.

Trying not to cringe, he quickly snapped a shot.

Henry reached out to briefly shake Jenna’s hand. They spoke for a minute, keeping a respectful two feet apart. Henry talked and Jenna nodded. She smiled, but it wasn’t an intimate smile, and neither of them made a beeline for the penthouse elevator.

Tyler tried not to feel too relieved. When he thought about it, if Henry was going to carry on an affair with a younger woman, he’d be pretty stupid to do it in his own hotel lobby in front of the security cameras.

A moment later, Jenna and Henry headed up the mezzanine stairs. Towards Henry’s office. Henry’s very public office. Tyler sighed, relieved that Jenna had legitimate business at the hotel. Even though it meant his instincts were malfunctioning again.

IN HENRY WENCHEL’S OFFICE, Jenna sat very still and concentrated on not hyperventilating. He was taking out a pen. He was flipping to the back of the contract. He was touching the pen to the signature line. The pen was moving. He was signing.

Her heart rate increased, and she could feel her extremities start to tingle.

He was done.

He’d signed.

Henry Wenchel had just signed a contract to pay Canna Interiors an exorbitant sum for the preliminary designs. Preliminary designs which could lead to the interior decorating contract of a lifetime.

“Understanding the ambiance is so important, don’t you think, Jenna?” He passed the contract across the table toward her and held out his gold pen.

“Yes.” She nodded, taking a shaky breath. Her fingers were still tingling as she reached for his pen. She half expected to wake up any second.

“I hope a week away from home won’t be too inconvenient for you.”

Jenna slid the contract until it was directly below her, only half listening to Henry Wenchel. “A week?” she asked automatically.

There it was. A swoopy H, a pointy W, then a squiggle and a swirl and a dot. She suddenly wished she had a signature that looked more artistic than her plain old name. A signature that nobody could really read, because she was important enough that they’d all learned her squiggles.

“We’ll assign you a suite,” said Henry.

She touched the pen to the paper above the line that read proponent. “Suite?” Jenna asked as she wrote her first name.

“You’ll stay here, of course, while you work.”

The pen faltered on the M. Drat! The biggest signature of her life, and she couldn’t even get the M right. She sure hoped that didn’t void the contract.

She carefully finished McBride, then looked up at Henry. “Stay here?” she asked, blinking.

“The only way to get the true ambiance,” Henry smiled. “That’s not a problem is it?”

“No,” Jenna hurriedly shook her head. She’d stay in Timbuktu if it made Henry happy.

“Perfect,” said Henry. He pressed a button on the telephone console.

Jenna tried valiantly to look like she made deals of this magnitude every day of the week. If Henry could tell she was faking, he was certainly being polite about it.

“I’ll put you in one of our executive suites,” he continued. “They have a phone, fax, personal computer, printer, Internet access. If there’s anything else you need, be sure to let Anna know.”

Jenna nodded. She couldn’t think of a single thing she could possibly need in life besides a plum contract and an executive suite at the Quayside.

Henry gestured toward the door. “Great. Let’s go see a registration clerk.”

Feeling like she was drifting through a dream, Jenna followed Henry back down the wide, curved staircase toward the reception desk. While they walked, she gazed at the marble pillars, the dome ceiling, the leaded windows. The carpets, wall coverings and furniture were aging, but the building itself was extraordinary.

“Hello, Tyler.” Henry’s hearty voice pulled her attention away from their surroundings.

A man standing at the reception desk turned abruptly, drawing back as if he was startled by the sight of them.

“What a coincidence.” Henry clapped the man on the shoulder. “Tyler, I’d like you to meet Jenna McBride, our new decorator. Jenna this is Tyler—”

“Carter,” the man inserted, holding out his hand.

Henry’s eyebrows briefly knit together.

“I’m a security guard here at the hotel.” Tyler Carter grasped Jenna’s hand.

His hand was warm, his grip strong and his skin leathery enough to indicate he enjoyed some kind of outdoor sport. His dark glasses were perched on a straight nose, above a strong, square chin. The smile he flashed was friendly enough, but Jenna sensed some kind of tension behind it.

“Yes. Well.” Henry cleared his throat. “We’re just getting Jenna set up with a suite for the next week or so.”

“Don’t let me get in the way.” Tyler gestured toward the receptionist and gallantly moved back.

HENRY WAS close on his heels as Tyler cut across the lobby. Meeting Jenna so soon wasn’t exactly what he’d planned. But Tyler had to congratulate himself on coming up with the security guard cover story. Now he had an excuse to hang around the hotel. Even better, he had an excuse to snoop.

“Odd that I don’t recall hiring another security guard,” said Henry as the distance between them and the reception desk increased.

“I’m undercover,” said Tyler. “On a case.”

“Somebody staying at the hotel?”

“As it turns out.” He glanced back to where Jenna was checking in. A decorating job at the Quayside. Small world, but a convenient one.

“There’s not a criminal in my hotel, is there?”

“Not a criminal.” Still smarting from Derek’s reaction to an adultery surveillance case, Tyler didn’t jump to share the particulars with Henry.

“Are you planning to stay?” asked Henry.

“Stay?”

“For the undercover operation. Do you need a room?”

What a good idea. It would make snooping even easier. Besides, he was on a “money is no object” expense account. And it would sure keep Derek from worrying about where he was living.

“Sure. I’ll take a room,” said Tyler.

“Shall I put it on the Reeves-DuCarter account?”

Tyler grinned. “Bill IPS. I’m getting expenses on this.”

“Good enough. You will let me know if my guests are in any danger?”

“That’s a promise,” said Tyler. Though it seemed unlikely that any of the guests could be decorated to death. He found his attention straying back to Jenna.

“What is Jenna McBride decorating?” he asked.

“She’s giving the entire hotel a facelift.” There was some kind of a twinkle in Henry’s eyes. “She came very highly recommended.”

Tyler squinted at Henry’s expression. It was sort of a wink, wink, nudge, nudge, inside joke expression.

Redecorating the hotel wasn’t a bad idea. But Henry was sure acting strange about it. Maybe the older man did have a crush on Jenna.

If that was the case, Tyler could have told him that Jenna was already taken. He could also remind Henry that Henry was already taken.

Jenna started across the foyer toward them.

“Can you give me a security key?” asked Tyler.

“Not a problem.” Henry nodded.

THE LIGHTHOUSE, the Quayside’s rooftop seafood restaurant, wasn’t light at all. Jenna squinted at the maitre d’ as she took her seat at a small table in a secluded alcove. She supposed the darkness might seem romantic to some, but it was a crying shame to waste the view.

Although the restaurant was located on the fortieth floor, right on the lake front, only about a quarter of the exterior wall space had windows. The rest was covered in a heavy, burgundy wall paper, layered between dark, hewn beams.