Billionaire's Ultimate Acquisition. Melanie Milburne
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straightened her shoulders. ‘I don’t consider it a burden.’
Or at least I didn’t until this morning when Spencer Chatsfield strode into town.
‘Are there any special touches you’d like to put in Mr Chatsfield’s suite?’ Enrico asked. ‘He’s with the family in the boardroom so now would be a good time to show him some of the bespoke service The Harrington is famous for.’
Isabelle felt a spurt of devilry galvanise her flagging spirits. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll make up his room myself.’
The housekeeping staff had just finished cleaning the room when Isabelle arrived with a hotel tradesman carrying two large mirrors on a luggage trolley. ‘Thanks, Rosa,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort out the rest for Mr Chatsfield’s stay.’
‘Yes, Miss Harrington,’ Rosa said.
Isabelle directed the tradesman to the bedroom. ‘Hang one mirror on the ceiling and the other on the wall at the foot of the bed.’
The tradesman’s brows lifted. ‘The new CEO specifically asked for these?’
She gave him a cool tight smile. ‘You know what those Chatsfield boys are like. Better make sure the ceiling one is secure. We wouldn’t want it to fall down and flatten him in the middle of a threesome, now would we?’
Isabelle waited until the tradesman had completed the task and left the suite before she opened the large tote bag she’d brought with her. She smiled a cat’s smile as she took out the array of colourfully packaged condoms in every texture and colour she’d bought at a local pharmacy. She propped them packet by packet in a high tower on the bedside table along with a maxi pump pack of lubricant. She put some handmade chocolates on the pillow, which she’d quickly got the chef to pipe Spencer’s initials on. There was a bottle of French champagne—the one she knew Spencer preferred—in an ice bucket and two crystal Harrington glasses, each with an engraved H in silver. She took out two long black satin ribbons a metre each in length and tied them to the bedposts in giant bows. She hung a pair of handcuffs on the top knob of the bedside drawer and laid a velvet blindfold on one of the pillows. She scattered some fresh rose petals all over the bed and then stepped back to admire her handiwork.
‘Very nice,’ a deep male voice said from behind her.
Isabelle whirled around so quickly she felt light-headed. But maybe that was more to do with seeing Spencer standing there with a satirical smile on his face. She quickly schooled her features into her ice-maiden mask. ‘Just checking your room is tailor-made to suit your requirements.’
His blue eyes shone with a spark of amusement…or was it mockery? She could never quite tell. ‘You Harringtons certainly know how to fine-tune the personal touches.’
She kept her gaze trained on his even though she could feel her face glowing with betraying heat. ‘If there’s anything I’ve overlooked, then please let me know.’
He glanced at the mirror on the ceiling and then the bed with its lurid accoutrements. ‘No whip?’ he said, still with that glinting smile.
Isabelle suppressed a traitorous rush of lust as his eyes moved over her body and gave him an arctic look instead. ‘I decided against one in case you start cracking it in places it’s not welcome.’
He sauntered over to the table and lifted the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket. ‘Will you join me?’
She hitched her chin to a sanctimonious height. ‘I never drink on the job.’
‘Surely one small one to celebrate the takeover won’t hurt you?’
Isabelle ground her teeth until she was sure they were down a centimetre. ‘You’re lapping this up, aren’t you? Any chance you get you want to rub my nose in it. Next you’ll be saying we should have a party to celebrate your latest acquisition.’
He gave her an indolent smile. ‘How’d you guess?’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘You’re serious?’ His eyes held hers. ‘Never more so, and I want you to organise it.’
Isabelle swung away with a muttered swear word, holding her arms so tightly around her body her lungs could barely inflate enough to breathe. Was there no end to this humiliating torture? Why was he doing this? It would be excruciating to have to celebrate the takeover in public, to put on a happy face as if all was right with her world. The world he had all but stolen from her. ‘You’re un-freaking-believable.’
‘You’ve held functions here before, have you not?’
She turned and speared him with a fulminating glare. ‘Yes, but none with topless dancing girls jumping out of cakes.’
The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘My cousin Lucca doesn’t have those sorts of parties now he’s married to Lottie.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
He rubbed his chin between his index finger and thumb in a musing fashion, the sound of his stubble catching on his skin making Isabelle’s insides coil tightly with desire. She remembered all too well how sexy his raspy skin felt against her smoother one. How it had left red marks on her face when he’d kissed her. Why, oh, why couldn’t she forget? If only she could wipe her memory of him, of all she had experienced in his arms, then maybe she could get through this with at least some fragment of her pride intact.
‘I was thinking something a little more classy,’ he said.
She gave him a contemptuous look. ‘Somehow that’s not a word I readily associate with you.’
The line of his mouth hardened a fraction but then his phone rang and he dismissed her with a look as he answered it. ‘I released a press statement this morning,’ he said to the person on the phone. ‘I already gave an interview half an hour ago. Yes, that’s right. Miss Harrington is delighted with the outcome and is as we speak organising a ball to celebrate the takeover.’
Isabelle glared at him, mouthing, ‘What the …?’
He held up his hand like a stop sign. ‘Yes, we have an excellent working relationship…Yes, you can quote me.’ He clicked off his phone and slipped it back in his trouser pocket. ‘Journalists. I swear I’ve had fifty calls and it’s not even lunchtime.’
She flattened her mouth. ‘You told them I was happy about this? Are you out of your mind? Who’s going to believe it?’
‘Do you know nothing about marketing?’
Isabelle aligned her shoulders, bristling with impotent rage. ‘You have no right to speak to the press on my behalf. I’ll give my own exclusive interview when I’m good and ready and tell them what a prize jerk you are.’
A muscled tightened near his mouth and his blue eyes hardened to flint. ‘You want people to come to this hotel?’ he said. ‘Then you have to show them this is a place that’s buzzing. Not with gossip and innuendo but with a can-do vibe. Show a little professionalism, Isabelle. You’ve got a good product but you’re not showcasing it to its potential.’
She glared at him all the more furiously, her heart pounding with a surge of adrenalin. ‘So you’re basically telling me I’m crap at my job? Is that what you’re saying?’
He raised his eyes to the ceiling in a God-give-me-patience manner. ‘Look, let’s sit down and discuss this like two adults and …’
She planted her hands on her hips. ‘So now you’re implying I’m childish.’
He drew in a deep breath and released it. ‘You’re giving a very fine impression of a kid having a tantrum because things haven’t gone your way. Quit it with the teddy tossing so we can get on with the job of running this hotel.’
Isabelle stepped right up to him, poking a finger to his sternum. ‘Take that back. Now.’
He stood like