“Save your breath, bro. I can recite this lecture by heart. We both know you’re not going to let disaster strike. You value Hightower Aviation Management Corporation over everything—including your identical twin’s happiness.”
“Don’t try to twist this and make me the bad guy.”
“Luanne and I aren’t changing our plans. She’s determined to renew our vows in front of Elvis before the baby arrives, and we don’t want to upset the delicate mommy-to-be or ruin my second honeymoon. By the way, I’ll want you to be best man again.”
“Why? So I can object this time like I should have the first time? You were too damned young to get married.”
“But I did. Can I count on you?”
“Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about your screwup and the potential disastrous consequences.”
“Were we? I thought we were discussing me renewing my vows.”
Trent clamped his jaw shut on the string of vicious curses battling for freedom. The pregnancy was probably the only reason his bitch of a sister-in-law had dropped her threat of an extremely expensive and very public divorce. Discovering her husband had screwed an attractive, brown-eyed blonde with a sweet Southern drawl would drive Luanne right back to her overpriced attorney’s office, and that would stir the tabloids into another Hightower feeding frenzy. The last two had barely died down.
“Trent, you could always leave and skip the conference.”
The suggestion didn’t surprise him. Brent lived by the “why fix what you can avoid” motto—the opposite of Trent’s “why avoid what you can fix” strategy. They might look identical, but their philosophies on most things were polar opposites.
“I’m the speaker for three of the seminars. I won’t leave the organizers in the lurch.”
“Guess you’re stuck then.”
“Who is this woman?”
“Just some chick I picked up in a bar. She probably snags a new man every conference. Get rid of her. Please. I’m finally going to be a daddy, Trent. I don’t want to blow that.”
Trent scraped a hand across his knotting neck muscles. Brent knew exactly how and when to pull the ace from his sleeve.
“You should have thought about that before unzipping your pants.”
“Then think of the board meeting you’ve called for the week you get back. This news won’t help your cause.”
Damn it. Brent was right. Trent’s plans for Hightower Aviation would never get off the ground if his family didn’t quit making asinine decisions and drawing negative publicity. Every time one of the Hightowers made the gossip columns Trent’s credibility as CEO went down a notch. If he couldn’t control his family, then the board would not believe he could control a multibillion-dollar company or endorse the financing for his proposed expansion plans.
His grandfather had wisely instigated a convoluted board approval process for large cash expenditures as a safeguard back when Trent’s father had been blowing big bucks on gambling. The policy had not yet been overturned because his mother, as president of the board, had dug in her designer heels. She might not work for the company anymore, but she liked to flex her muscles and maintain as much control as possible.
Trent paced his suite, irritation, frustration and fury warring inside him. He had to strike now while HAMC’s smaller competitors were struggling. In this down economy he could buy them for a song and gain territory and assets. But to get board approval he had to avert this latest potential catastrophe.
Brent had him over a barrel and knew it. “I’ll see what I can do. But Brent, this is the last time I’m hauling your ass out of the fire.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s what you always say. But I know I can count on you, big brother. Hey, gotta go. Luanne’s coming.” Brent disconnected.
Trent crammed his phone back into his pocket. They both knew he would do anything to save the family business—a fact he’d demonstrated repeatedly, first by forfeiting his dream of becoming an air force pilot to join HAMC after college and clean up the mess his father had created and then most recently by not correcting Paige downstairs.
Priority one: Get rid of the woman.
Two: Formulate a damage control plan.
But to do either of those he required more information.
Who was this Paige person? Was her presence at the convention again this year a coincidence? Or was she part of the aircraft industry? Did she work for a vendor or the competition?
An affair within the aircraft community would be harder to keep hidden—especially if she worked in the executive offices of a competitor. Private aviation was by necessity a cutthroat business. Corporate espionage wasn’t unheard of.
He hit Redial on his phone to grill Brent, but the line immediately dumped him to voice mail. His idiot brother had likely turned the thing off to avoid future calls. Again, typical.
Trent pocketed his phone. Finding a pretty blonde whose last name he didn’t know in a hotel of this size wouldn’t be easy, but once he did he’d make damn sure Paige whoever-shewas would be long gone before the parents-to-be arrived—even if he had to encourage her departure by sending her on an all-expenses-paid vacation elsewhere.
What good was having a fleet of jets at your command if you couldn’t use them?
After running into Trent earlier today and having her audio-visual tech call in sick the first day of a major conference, Paige decided her day had to get better. It couldn’t get worse.
Great. Jinx yourself, why don’tcha?
Grimacing, she grabbed the work request slip and headed for the banquet hall to tackle the first problem on her roster for the conference. Her title might be Assistant Event Coordinator, but she’d learned that at the Lagoon Hotel and Casino that translated into chief troubleshooter and jill-of-all-trades. Luckily, because of her summer jobs at the hardware store during school she was qualified.
She entered the room and spotted an annoyed-looking Trent Hightower beside the podium. Her shoes stuck to the carpet for the second time that day. He was the speaker having microphone troubles? Just her luck. She wasn’t ready to face him again so soon. But what choice did she have?
Just because you’ve seen him nearly nak*d doesn’t make him special. Treat him like any other guest.
She took a bracing breath and approached the stage. His head jerked up. His eyes tracked her steps, making her stomach swoop as if she’d taken a plunge on the Goliath roller coaster at her favorite Atlanta amusement park.
It’s only nerves.
But then his gaze dropped to her chest. Her n**ples tightened and her stomach quivered. Funny, she didn’t recall that happening when he’d looked at her last December. Then they’d been more relaxed and fun…like her relationship with David—her ex.
“You weren’t wearing a name tag earlier.”
He was looking at her name tag? Not her br**sts? That was a bit…humbling, especially considering her intense reaction. “You might remember I like to walk through the hotel before I clock in.”
“Of course.” That he didn’t remember was clear on his handsome face and in the hesitation before his reply.
“What’s the problem?” Goody, her voice sounded normal.
“Too much feedback.”
She wasn’t a sound technician, but she’d picked up some experience. She tried to go around him. He simultaneously moved in the same direction and then the opposite. The awkward little dance resembled the clumsiness they’d shared in his suite. Only this time it felt…different, as if static electricity arced between them.
Weird. Had a short in the sound system wiring leaked current into the metal-framed stage platform?
Trent caught her shoulders, stopping her, then he moved aside and gestured for her to go ahead. Her heart skipped and her shoulders tingled with residual pressure from his big, warm hands. Wow. His touch hadn’t affected her that way before, either.
Tucking that thought aside to hash over later when he wasn’t scowling at her, she forced her unsteady feet into motion and spoke into the microphone. Her words echoed off the walls of the large room. She winced, hating the sound of her voice. The other hotel employees teased her unmercifully about the low country drawl she hadn’t been able to completely erase despite a year of trying.
She left the stage and adjusted a few knobs on the base unit tucked in the corner, aware of Trent’s gaze boring through the back of her head the entire time. When she straightened she realized the platform’s height put her eyes right at his crotch level. Had he talked to a doctor about his problem?
Or had the problem been her and only her?
She averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “Try it now.”
Trent confidently resumed his position behind the podium, as if he were accustomed to addressing large crowds and didn’t mind hearing his magnified voice. “Testing. One. Two. That sounds better. Thank you, Paige.”
His deep tone reverberated loud and clear, vibrating down her spine like calloused fingertips. She shivered in a way that she definitely had not when he had touched her in his suite. How odd. Was she coming down with something?
“You’re welcome.”
“You don’t wear a hotel uniform,” he said as she rejoined him on the stage.
“Never have. You know why.” Or at least he should. She’d explained the night they’d first met in the bar that the hotel management expected her to dress to blend in with their high-end clients.
He’s probably forgotten that the way he’s forgotten everything else about you.
Doesn’t that make you feel special?
Hardly.
She suppressed another wince. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Trent?”
His eyes cooled, the color going from warm blue-green Caribbean to silvery arctic ice, startling her back a step. “Paige, what happened between us at the last convention won’t be repeated during this one.”
She flinched. Ouch. That stung.
But she wasn’t known as the family peacemaker and mediator for nothing. She’d never cowered simply because a situation turned ugly or uncomfortable.
Except for running to Vegas, her conscience jeered.
Digging deep for the fortitude to get through the next couple of minutes, she held his gaze and forced a sympathetic smile.
“Trent, I don’t blame you for being…embarrassed about our previous encounter. We were both disappointed in…well…um, the episode. But that doesn’t mean you have to be rude. There were two of us in that suite. I was incredibly nervous. You were my first one-night stand.”
He jerked as if the microphone had shorted and shocked him. “You were a virgin?”
Mortification broiled her skin. “No. But…I didn’t—I don’t make a habit of going upstairs with hotel guests.”
“You don’t?”
Wow. That said a lot about his opinion of her. She ignored her burning cheeks and forged on. “No. As I was saying, I accept half the blame for our…less than wonderful time, but the other half is yours. I can understand that you wouldn’t want to repeat the experience. Trust me, I’m not crazy about the idea, either. But it would be nice if we could put the past behind us and be civil since I expect we’ll run into each other quite often during the conference. Have a good day.”