All my best,
Joanna
CHAPTER TWELVE
Washington D.C, afternoon . . .
Nothing had gone as planned for Nate. Not a damn thing. The meeting with his COO in Miami had been quickly derailed when Tom came bearing bad news about the New Zealand hotel manager they’d hired to open the new property in a few months. The guy had flown the coop already, after a competitor in Auckland had wooed him.
Nate and Tom quickly devised a new plan, and jetted to the nation’s capital in the middle of the night. The D.C. property manager was their top guy, but his second-in-command was sharp as nails too, so could step in immediately. Nate and Tom had spent Saturday morning convincing the property manager to move halfway across the world to open up the New Zealand hotel. The man was a D.C. native, had only worked at properties in the nation’s capital, and he loved his hometown. He drove a hard bargain too, and was asking for a hefty raise for the new international post. But by midday, he was leaning towards yes. It was a yes Nate desperately sought, since he needed the New Zealand opening to go smoothly.
Nate planned to take him to dinner and then crash in D.C. for the night. Hell, he needed some shut-eye. He hadn’t slept last night. Add in Joanna’s note to the mix, and it was one of those days where everything was piling on. He had no clue what Joanna could possibly want to talk to him about, and very little interest in knowing either. What sucked the most about this upended Saturday was that he was missing the game tonight. He'd texted Casey earlier that he wouldn’t be able to join her, but he hadn’t heard back from her yet.
When he checked his phone once more for a reply, he cursed. He must have sent her the text when he was in a dead spot in the lobby. It hadn’t gone through. Fucking D.C. hotel had far too many dead zones. This was one more thing he needed to add to the ever–spiraling to-do list. Improve the cell phone service at his hotel that served the nation’s political elite. He shoved his hand roughly through his hair, and blew out a long stream of air as he leaned back in the leather chair in the office he was using at The Luxe.
He started to dial Casey’s number to tell her he had to cancel, when his phone rang.
He was tempted to ignore Ethan, but decided to err on the side of being a good friend. He slipped his Bluetooth over his ear and answered.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Oh, not too much,” Ethan said with a hearty and deliberately drawn-out yawn. “Just tired still from another late night with a pretty bartender.”
Nate smiled. This was the first bit of good news he’d had all day. “Excellent. Now I can say I told you so.”
“I owe you, man. Thanks for giving me the push to talk to her.”
“Couldn’t be happier for you.”
“I’m seeing her again tonight,” he added as a new text message flashed across Nate’s screen. He sat up straight. His pulse raced when he saw the text had a paperclip icon on it. Casey had sent him a photo. He tapped quickly on the paperclip to open it.
“I’m going to have to advertise my matchmaking services soon.”
“Or your kick-a-man-in-the-ass-to-get-him-moving services,” Ethan said as the picture filled Nate’s screen.
“Yeah, that too,” he said, and that quickening pulse went into overdrive when he saw the image. The gorgeous, stunning image of the woman he wanted desperately to see tonight.
But there was one big problem.
One huge problem, as a matter of fact.
The note that came with the picture.
His fists clenched as he read it. His jaw tightened. No way was she wearing that dress for Grant. No way was she wearing that dress for any other man.
Seconds later, her name popped up on the screen—incoming call.
“Hey, Ethan. I gotta go. I have Casey on the other line.”
“Joy Delivered Casey?” Ethan asked.
“Yeah, that’s her,” he said, eager to end the call.
“You doing business with her? I emailed her a few days ago.”
Business. Yes, he had business with her. He absolutely had business with her. “You could say that,” he said, and then hung up.
He clicked over to Casey.
“I don’t like that dress,” he said through gritted teeth. Those were his first words.
“You don’t?” she asked, surprise in her voice.
“No. I don’t like it at all.”
“Oh. I thought it was pretty.” Now she sounded crestfallen. Shit. He hated upsetting her, but not as much as he loathed the idea of her looking that edible with another man. He grabbed a sheet of paper on his desk, crumpled it up and threw it across the room.
“Sorry. But I don’t think it’s a first date dress.”
“Okay,” she said, measured and cautious, like she was distancing herself from him. “Why do you sound so angry?”
“I’m not angry,” he said, but he could hear the lie in the bitterness of his tone.
“But you sound angry,” she said softly. Traffic hummed behind her. She was probably out shopping in the Village, having fun, and he was ruining it for her. But that dress . . . fuck. He couldn’t take it. He dropped his forehead into his hand. “And you didn’t send me a picture last night either,” she added.
He sighed heavily. Everything had gone to hell, and on top of it all, Joanna had reared her head. “I’m sorry. I had a ton of fires to put out. I had to fly to D.C. in the middle of the night,” he said, but he stopped there. He didn’t feel like breathing his ex’s name. “And I tried to send you a text to tell you I can’t make the game tonight. I have to take my property manager out to dinner to make sure he can take over the New Zealand hotel.”