"I explicitly stated that I'm not involved in that line of work." Emma Heart shifted uncomfortably in the rigid leather chair, fixing a stern gaze on the man seated across the mahogany desk. Exhausted from jet lag, disoriented, and draped in nothing more than a hotel robe, Emma couldn't deny that her current appearance was far from her best.
The man remained silent, the rhythmic tap of his pen resonating through the tense silence. Sunlight streamed through the wall of windows, casting his face in shadow and leaving Emma clueless about his reaction.
Terrific, she thought bitterly. After an utterly embarrassing ordeal, now I'm facing an interrogation from a hotel manager with an inflated ego.
Unease coiled in Emma's stomach as she questioned her decision to demand an audience with the hotel manager. It seemed like a reasonable idea when the concierge hinted at involving the police, but now, in the opulent penthouse office, doubts crept in. This manager wasn't behaving like any other she had encountered.
She felt more uneasy than before.
Apparently, hotel managers held a different status in the United States. His office made the Oval Office seem modest, with a sea of luxurious blue carpet leading to floor-to-ceiling windows boasting a stunning view of the Las Vegas Strip. Emma noticed the spacious room accommodated a separate seating area with deluxe leather sofas, and a valuable modern art piece adorned the far wall. Three secretaries stood guard outside, further solidifying his apparent god complex.
"A working girl? You mean a hooker?" His deep voice finally broke the silence, sending an irritating shiver down Emma's spine. "I don't recall implying you were a hooker, sweetheart."
She detected a hint of amusement, prompting her jaw to tense. "Who gave you the right to call me sweetheart?" she retorted, injecting a note of condescension into her voice.
"I don't need permission," he dryly replied, "especially when the lady in question was trying to break down a door in my hotel wearing nothing but a bra and thong."
Emma winced. Okay, fair point.
"It's not a thong. I have proper knickers on," she blurted out, immediately regretting her admission.
His pen continued its metronome taps. "Proper panties or not, you were causing a disturbance."
Embarrassment flooded Emma as she recalled being caught by the bell captain and hastily bundled into a robe. The fact that she had something more substantial than a thong covering her bottom didn't seem as relevant, and the realization that she shared this detail with him mortified her.
His pen taps interrupted her thoughts. "Proper panties or not, you were causing a disturbance."
Heat rushed to Emma's cheeks. What was this guy's issue? She was the one who had been manhandled. So she had raised her voice and kicked the door a bit, but wouldn't anyone react that way when stranded in a hotel corridor nearly naked?
"I was trying to get back into the room."
"Yeah, but it wasn't your room, was it?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and the sunlight finally revealed his features.
Emma's heart quickened. Hooded green eyes scrutinized her from a tan face radiating masculine beauty. Sharp black brows, chiseled cheeks, and short dark hair added to the allure. Even with a carefully neutral expression, he might as well have had a neon sign flashing "irresistible" above his head.
She tightened the robe's tie, determined not to succumb to his charm.
Fortunately, she was currently immune to the alpha male's tactics.
"It was my room, or at least it was supposed to be," she asserted, annoyed by the tremor in her voice. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she keenly felt the air-conditioned breeze on her bare legs.
His gaze swept over her, and Emma couldn't deny the surge of response. Okay, perhaps not entirely immune.
"You're not registered here." His emerald eyes returned to hers. "Mr. Capaldi, the registered guest, has filed a complaint against you. So, why shouldn't I just kick you out in your proper panties?"
Again, the telltale lift in his voice. Emma tensed. Was he mocking her?
Andrew Capaldi had deceived her, practically assaulted her, and now this guy found it amusing.
When had this turned into a day dedicated to stomping all over Emma?
"It's not my fault Mr. Capaldi didn't include my name on the registration card when he checked us in this morning. I thought he booked separate rooms," she retorted, anger resurfacing at Andrew's deceitful seduction attempt. "And besides, I don't owe you any explanations. This is none of your business. You're a hotel manager, not my mother."
Henry O'Brian's eyebrow arched. For someone petite, she sure had a big mouth. He didn't consider himself arrogant, but women usually treated him much more favorably. Encountering this level of hostility was unprecedented.
Normally, he wouldn't be involved in such minor disturbances, let alone deal with them. However, with The Phoenix's manager on vacation and his deputy in a training program, the concierge had escalated the matter to Henry's PA. Intrigued by the commotion in the outer office, he had buzzed the woman in out of curiosity. Truth be told, after clearing his calendar for the week before his trip to California, he found himself with nothing to do for the first time in almost a decade, and boredom had set in.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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