Prize of a Lifetime. Donna Hill
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Prize of a Lifetime
Donna Hill
MILLS & BOON
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To all my readers who have ever dreamed of that one-in-a-million opportunity in love and life, this book is for you!
And to my brand-new grandson, Caylib, who is truly a blessing to us.
Enjoy,
Donna
Special thanks to my ever-patient editor, Glenda Howard, and my intrepid agent, Pattie, for always finding a way to work through my drama, LOL. Thanks, ladies.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 1
The letter weighed heavily in Sasha Carrington’s purse. For two weeks she’d carried it around like a talisman, still not believing the words she’d read over and over at least a dozen times. The only person she’d shared her good fortune with was her best friend, April Harris, and only because it was April who’d insisted that she submit her name and qualifications. Sasha had been reluctant to say the least. I’ve never won anything in my life, she’d groused to herself even as she’d sealed the envelope and dropped it in the mailbox more than five months earlier. Now her future was only a plane ride away, that is, if she could ever get off work, tie up some loose ends and pack her bags.
The instant Sasha spotted Brenda sauntering through the door, she signed off her computer with a swipe of her Summit Hotel identification card. She purposely ignored Brenda’s syrupy-sweet greeting which she should have given almost an hour earlier. That was no one’s fault but John Ellis, the manager, Sasha inwardly fumed. Brenda got away with murder and John turned a blind eye. Had it been her coming into work even ten minutes late, he’d be threatening to write her up.
“Anything I need to know about reservations?” Brenda asked while she settled in behind the counter.
Sasha cut her a look sharp enough to slice glass. “Guess what, I really don’t have the time to explain—with you getting here so late and all,” she added just loud enough for Carol, the reservationist at the end of the counter to hear.
Brenda flushed momentarily and tossed her head, flipping her very expensive weave over her shoulder. “Fine.” She dismissed Sasha with an arched brow, put on her commercial-ready smile and moved into greeting mode as a handsome, well-dressed man approached the desk.
Sasha sighed as she watched Brenda work her usual spell around him, the way she did with every man who came within sniffing distance. His soft brown eyes didn’t even register that Sasha was on the same planet. She retrieved her purse from beneath the desk, said goodbye to Carol and pushed through the revolving doors and out into the humid Savannah evening. She adjusted the strap on her purse higher on her shoulder and headed for the parking lot across the street from the four-story hotel.
“Humph, humph, humph,” a man who appeared to be in his early thirties murmured as she passed. “Love a sistah with some meat on her bones.” He licked his lips like the wolf with Little Red Riding Hood on his plate.
Sasha’s stomach flipped when he grinned, baring a row of missing teeth. She shook her head and kept walking, trying not to let the obvious get her down. A fine looking businessman walks into the hotel and doesn’t blink in her direction, yet a toothless, my-job-is-to-stand-on-this-corner man gives her a big shout-out. What is wrong with that picture? she thought as she deactivated the alarm on her car.
She slid behind the wheel, leaving the door open while she turned the ignition of her ten-year-old Honda Accord in the hope of releasing some of the tightly-packed heat trapped inside. She pressed the button for the air conditioning and inhaled a blast of hot air.
“Damn, it’s hot.” She pulled open the glove compartment and took out a wad of napkins that she’d collected from her various pit stops. She flipped down the visor mirror and peered at her reflection before dabbing her face. Hmmm, she needed a touch-up—badly. And when was the last time she’d tweezed her brows? She’d all but chewed off her lipstick. No wonder the only catcall she could get was from a toothless hobo. She flipped the mirror back in place.
When the car had sufficiently cooled she closed the door, buckled up and headed for her second job—the family catering business, Carrington Caterers. Between her real job at the hotel, the evenings at the family business and the classes two weekends per month for her certification in Hospitality Management and Food Preparation, it was no wonder she looked the way she did. She didn’t have a moment to spare for herself, or for anyone else for that matter. Neville, her ex, simply couldn’t understand that she wanted more than to spend the rest of her life at the beck and call of someone else, working at something that would never be her own, which was why their ten-month relationship had ground to a halt. She had a plan for herself and she couldn’t be distracted by anything or anyone that was not part of her plan.
It was bad enough that she was off target by two years. By thirty she’d wanted to have finished her advanced degree and have her business off the ground so that she could tell the folks at the Summit Hotel just what they could kiss. Then she could buy that little house she’d had her eye on for almost five years.
In another six months she’d be finished with school and her business plan was almost completed, she mused, feeling mildly placated as she turned onto Charles Street. She zipped through a yellow light and made a right at the next corner.
She truly loved Savannah. She loved the way the late-afternoon sunlight showcased the scenery outside her window. She loved the antebellum architecture, lush greenery, landmark mansions and quaint shops. She was a Southern girl to the bone. She’d been up North a few times—New York specifically—to visit relatives. It was certainly a fabulous place, with nightlife that never seemed to end. But before her week-long visits were over, she was always ready to come home. The hustle and bustle of the Big Apple shaved a good five years off her life. The madmen behind the wheels of yellow cabs, not to mention the ludicrous policy of