With No Reservations, page 8
Stop it, Lacey warned herself. You can’t afford to be thinking about Damon Kendrick just now.
There was no doubt that she had the full attention of every banker in the room. She paused for a breath, and then said, “What my father and I are offering you is a chance to be a part of the rebirth of an important, historical part of Kansas City. I’ll be honest; the easy way would be for us to sell the Clinton to a chain which would depreciate it, let it run down, and then abandon it. Instead, with your help, we are willing to make the personal and financial investment necessary to bring it back to the grandeur it possessed on opening day. It can be — it will be — grand again.”
There was a brief silence. It didn’t bother Lacey, exactly; she knew that it would take a while for them to consider everything she had said. And yet, she hoped that someone would say something soon.
She sipped from the glass of water at her elbow and watched. The young man at the corner of the table had almost been applauding, she thought. Now, if only the rest of them felt that way, she could call up Damon Kendrick as soon as she got back to the Clinton and tell him to jump off the top of that brand new tower he said he was going to build...
“All of that is very affecting,” the senior vice-president said. His voice was a dry rasp. “You’re a dynamic speaker, Miss Clinton, but I’m afraid some of these numbers you’ve given us aren’t quite as convincing.” He tapped an index finger on the papers in front of him. “The amount you’ve budgeted for renovation costs, for example.”
“It isn’t a precise figure, of course. We’re only asking for preliminary approval today,” Lacey pointed out. “But that is an architect’s estimate of what it would cost to completely rehabilitate the building.” And the trouble I had, she thought, in getting those numbers in such a short time...
He shook his head in dissatisfaction. “Even assuming that it’s accurate, it seems to me that you’re overlooking some things.”
There was a murmur around the table, and Lacey felt a cold trickle of doubt travel the length of her spine.
The questions came in a barrage. Were they being realistic in projecting the huge increase in occupancy rates that it would take to repay the loan? What about the rumors that the Hoteliers Corporation was going to put up an addition to the Kendrick Kansas City — wouldn’t that create a glut of downtown hotel rooms and make them all less valuable?
Lacey’s father looked at her sharply, but he kept silent.
Wouldn’t it be important to somehow increase the amount of parking space for guests? What would happen if the work couldn’t be entirely completed in the year she was planning on?
Now, she thought, I know what it feels like to face a firing squad.
With two years yet to run on the employees’ contract, was their union going to be a problem? And what about her own inexperience in hotel management? Wasn’t she taking on a project that even an experienced manager might well turn down?
No, it’s not a firing squad, she thought in desperation. It’s a school of piranhas, nibbling at my flesh.
It seemed hours before the senior vice-president said, “We’ll take this under consideration, of course, and study the figures you’ve given us in more depth. But you wanted an indication of our answer today.”
“Yes,” Lacey said.
He sighed. “I’m afraid as things stand now I would have to recommend against the issuing of this loan. The risk is just too large. Of course, if you could give us some sort of additional security, or if another bank would agree to share the loan, so First Federal would not have to assume all the risk...”
Lacey managed to smile and thank him for his time, and she didn’t explode until they were safely out of the bank. Then she slammed both fists against the steering wheel of her car and stormed, “Now I know why they call Missouri the Show-Me State! I can’t believe they asked for additional security when we’re already putting up the Clinton itself as collateral. The risk is just too large — what about the risk we’re taking?”
“I’d say they think that’s the problem,” her father said dryly. “Well, it wasn’t a final rejection, but—”
“Of course it wasn’t. They didn’t turn us down flat because they knew we’d get the message. If we go back with more security, they’ll find another reason. They aren’t about to give us that money, Dad, and you know it.”
He sighed. “Are you satisfied, now that you’ve tried, Lacey? Now are you going to be reasonable about selling the Clinton to Damon?”
She fought off the cold terror that was seeping into her heart and scoffed, “Because a few pin-striped fuddy-duddies don’t have the sense to recognize a good thing when they see it?”
It had a vaguely familiar ring. What was it Damon had said? Something about it being a challenge to find a banker with vision enough to see the possibilities. But he’d had no doubt that it could be done, or at least that he could do it.
“I’m not giving up, Dad,” she said stubbornly. “Maybe there’s a venture capital company that would be interested.”
“What’s this about a tower Damon’s going to build?”
“How should I know?” Lacey said crossly. She heard the faint sound of a siren, and rolled her window down. It was so hard, in the cavernous streets of a city, to tell what direction an emergency vehicle was going. Besides, it made a good excuse for not listening to her father, and she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Lacey.” Her father’s voice was no longer the indulgent tone of a parent but the hard-edged sternness of an employer. “Have you been telling me less than the truth? Is Damon backing out?”
She stole a glance at him. He looked a little pale, she thought, and worn out. And who could blame him?
A fire engine screeched down the cross street in front of them. Lacey hit the brakes just in time to avoid entering the path of a second fire engine as it, too, careened through the intersection against the traffic light. From the distance, she could hear the wavering scream of more sirens approaching. She turned the corner cautiously and halted as a policeman waved her over. “You can’t get through,” the officer said.
“I’m just going to the Clinton Hotel. It’s right there.” Then reality struck deep into her heart. The trucks had stopped, and firemen were swarming around them and under the dark green canopy over the hotel’s front door. It was the Clinton that was on fire.
She shot a look at her father’s face, stricken and gray. “I’ve got to get there,” she said desperately. “I’m Lacey Clinton, and my father owns the hotel.”
“Lady, I don’t care if the Pope’s your mother, you can’t take this car any further. Turn it around.”
“It’s a one-way street,” she protested, barely realizing what she was saying.
Her father flung the car door open and darted off down the street at a run. Lacey shot a glance around, then backed the car over the curb with a bounce and into the Kendrick’s parking lot — the future site of a brand-new hotel tower.
After today, she thought, Damon might be able to buy a quarter-block across the street pretty cheaply, too. He might even turn it into a parking lot to replace the one he was building on...
Her eyes began to sting, and she furiously blinked the tears away. There was going to be no time for that sort of weakness today.
One of the Kendrick’s parking attendants called, “Hey, you can’t just— Oh, it’s you, Miss Clinton.”
She flung her car keys at him without a word and ran towards the hotel. The sirens had died in mid-scream, or else they were simply being drowned out by the hotel’s own fire alarm, shrieking a steady, eardrum-piercing note.
Her heart was pounding and she was laboring for breath as she pushed through the crowd of curious bystanders, and there was a horrible brassy taste in her mouth as she reached the shelter of the front canopy.
A harsh, acrid smell hung in the air, but there was no visible smoke. A fire hose snaked across the pavement and into the lobby, spitting water where it was attached to the hydrant. At the front door, two policemen were holding back a television cameraman who obviously wanted to go inside.
Lacey went up to them. “I’m the public relations director. Have all the guests been evacuated?”
One of the policemen nodded and gestured across the street to a group of hotel guests, huddled on the pavement. “Public relations, hmm? Looks like you’ve got a job ahead of you.”
Lacey shuddered. “How bad is it?”
“The fire’s out. It was just a small blaze in the coffee shop kitchen. I guess the sprinkler got most of it before the trucks even got here. Only minor damage.”
She took one quick look into the lobby, and gulped. This is what they call minor? she thought. “May I go in?”
“Do you have identification?” She fumbled for her hotel badge, and he nodded. She stepped carefully over the fire hose and walked through the deserted main lobby.
She found her father in the small coffee shop off the corner of the lobby, talking to a fire official. Water was still dripping from the sprinkler heads in the ceiling on to tables that had been neatly set, waiting for the lunch crowd. She looked down at what had once been a picture-perfect cheeseburger and french fries on a table near the kitchen door and shuddered.
“It could have been a lot worse, you know.” The voice beside her was even, unemotional.
Lacey nearly jumped out of her skin. She wheeled around and stared up with shock-wide eyes. “Well, I might have known you’d turn up! Did you come to press your advantage, Damon?”
“It hadn’t occurred to me.” His dark brown eyes were cool.
“I’d like to know how you got in,” she said pettishly. “Or didn’t they ask the great Mr. Kendrick for identification at the door?”
He looked down at her for a long moment. “Actually, I came to see what sort of help you’re going to need. Unless you have half a dozen people on standby to deal with a situation like this, you can’t afford to be rude to volunteers, Lacey.”
Her father turned away from the fire official and came quickly across the room with his hand outstretched. His voice was choked with tears. “Damon, you’re a man in a million.”
Lacey bit her lip, and then said huskily, “You’re right, Damon. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“A little ungracious for an apology,” he mused, “but better than nothing. I think, to start with, we could use an extra desk clerk and a couple of bellboys.” He went off to call the Kendrick Kansas City for reinforcements.
For the rest of the afternoon she worked almost side by side with him at a table set up at the dry end of the lobby. She felt like a broken record as over and over again she explained the circumstances, pacified the concerns of guests, and arranged other accommodation for those whose rooms had been smoke-damaged or who were simply panicky about staying in the Clinton.
There were astonishingly few of the latter, Lacey thought, until she realized the effect Damon’s soothing words were having. After that, she passed along the troublesome ones to him. Her own nerves were screaming, and if he was so good at it, she thought wearily, let him do it.
Some time about mid-afternoon — it felt to Lacey as if it should be well into the night by then — her father finished with the first round of fire inspectors and stopped beside the table where they were working. “It was electrical, of course. I suppose the whole hotel is emptying out.”
“No, I think we’ve got it under control,” Damon said. “Ben, you look exhausted. Why don’t you go home?”
Lacey took a good look at her father. He looked a good deal worse than exhausted. There were streaks of dirt and smoke and water all over what had been a very elegant silver-gray suit. Worse, he was pale, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his hands were trembling like those of a very old man. When he realized that she had spotted the shaking, he jammed his fingers in his pockets and tried to smile.
He had looked worn even before the fire, she remembered guiltily, after that session with the bankers.
“No,” he said. “I’d better...”
“Lacey and I can manage the rest, and you’ll be needed even more tomorrow or whenever the clean-up can start. We’ll find someone to drive you home.” Damon glanced around the lobby and then went in search of a bellboy.
Her father grinned shakily. “That young man doesn’t take no for an answer, does he?”
“He’s making sure of his investment, I suppose.”
He pulled a chair around and sat down beside her. “Lacey,” he said very quietly, “that’s unworthy of you.”
She bit her tongue, a little ashamed of herself. Having the extra help had made all the difference today, she knew that. If it hadn’t been for Damon, they wouldn’t have a single guest left.
Her father looked around at the almost deserted lobby, its lovely carpets still dark with water stains, and murmured, “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”
She looked at the worn face. There were lines deeply engraved into his cheeks and brow. She thought, with a sort of frozen horror, He looks tired enough to just lie down and die.
“Lacey, you will be sensible, won’t you? No more nonsense about bankers.”
Sensible, she thought. But if the cost for her father’s peace of mind was her own sacrifice...?
Common sense told her that she couldn’t tell him now about the price Damon had demanded; coming on top of everything else, it might well be the final blow. It was up to her.
Once, she had actually been eager to share Damon Kendrick’s bed. For her father’s sake, could she bear to pay the price?
“All right, Dad,” she whispered. “I won’t fight it anymore.”
Damon’s shadow fell across the table. “Lacey’s car is out front,” he said. “The parking attendant brought it back after things quieted down. But I can’t seem to find anyone who’s free to drive you.”
“I’m all right now,” Ben said. He patted Lacey’s hand and stood up. “I’ll come back after you later, dear. Just call when you’re finished here.”
“I’ll see that she gets home,” Damon said quietly.
She felt as if the jaws of a trap had quietly closed around her. He hasn’t said when he’s planning to take me home, she thought, half hysterically. In a week or two? A month? Whenever the enchantment wears off?
She watched her father cross the lobby and disappear. “You win, Damon. The Clinton...” She swallowed hard. “And everything else, too.”
Damon glanced around and shrugged his shoulders, as if it didn’t look much like a victory to him just now.
Fear began to trickle down her spine. What if, after all, he threw the deal in her face now? How could she go back to her father and tell him...
Her hand closed on his sleeve in desperation. “I know it looks horrible,” she said. “But it really is minor, and if you’re going to tear the place apart anyway, it won’t matter.”
He looked down at her with a glint of humor in his dark eyes. “You sound as if you’re trying to convince me,” he said softly. “Lacey, darling...”
“Believe me, Damon—” she began hotly.
He cut firmly across her words. “You’ll join me for dinner tonight, won’t you, my dear? I believe we’ve got some things to talk over.”
CHAPTER SIX
What had seemed an endless afternoon drew to a close with frightening swiftness after that. The last inspectors left. The security people locked doors and set up barricades to protect the careless and the curious who might wander into the fire scene. The last guest was eventually soothed and resettled, and then there was no excuse left for Lacey to remain in the Clinton’s lobby any longer.
But when she rose from the table it was with reluctance. “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps I should stay here tonight. There could be problems, and the night manager—”
“The night manager has been on the job for eighteen years, Lacey.” Damon’s tone was dry. “And I’ve briefed him about what to do if there is trouble. I think you can feel secure about leaving.”
She frowned unhappily. “You’ll take me home to change clothes, won’t you? I’m all smoky, and if we’re going out...”
“We’re only going to my apartment. Humphrey won’t be offended.”
To his apartment. Well, what had she expected? “Can I at least change clothes? I’ve still got my overnight bag here from last night.”
“Bring it along. I’ve got a shower.”
She was almost in tears. “Damn it, Damon, I don’t want to walk through the lobby of the Kendrick with you, carrying a suitcase!”
He shrugged. “Who’d pay attention? It’s a hotel.”
“Everybody would see! Will you at least let me keep my pride?”
“Is it your pride that’s bothering you, or the fear that I might want to share your shower?” There was a teasing tone to his voice.
She sniffed and refused to look at him.
He pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear with a proprietary hand. It seemed to Lacey that the careless gesture marked her as his property even more blatantly than an embrace would have. “Run along,” he said. “I’ll wait here.”
With all the confusion of the day, the room she had used the night before still hadn’t been made up. She scrubbed herself till she thought she’d removed a full layer of skin before she was sure she’d banished all the smoke, and then stood toweling her hair dry with one hand while she dialed the telephone with the other one.
Ginny answered on the second ring. “Shall I come and get you after all, dear?”
I wish you could, Lacey thought. “I may be late, Mother. I’m having dinner with Damon.”
“Oh, it’s nice of him to take your mind off the fire. Perhaps we can have a cup of tea together when you get home and you can tell me about it. Your father hasn’t had much to say.”
“Umm... Mother, I meant that I may be very late.” She bit her lip. No etiquette book she had ever seen touched on the rules for handling this sort of subject with one’s mother. By the time this is over, she thought, I could probably write one.
“Well, I’m sure you and Damon will have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave the porch light on for you if I go to bed before you’re home.”
