Читать книгу: «Her Las Vegas Wedding»

CHAPTER ONE

“HERE COMES THE BRIDE.” Daniel Girard stood to greet his daughter as she entered his office. Audrey Girard plopped her flight bag down on a chair and gave her dad a peck on the cheek. As both the heiress to the Hotel Girard chain of fine boutique hotels and its director of public relations, she had a slew of things to take care of before their grand opening in Las Vegas. Not the least of which was to organize her wedding.

“When does Reg get in? You probably have more information about my fiancé’s schedule than I do,” she said. After all, her dad and Reg’s father, Connor Murphy, had been planning this marriage between their offspring for the past couple of years. Connor owned the Lolly’s chain of casual breakfast eateries that operated in several of the Girard hotels, and the families had been in business together for a decade.

“His flight comes in from LA later this afternoon.”

Audrey’s intended, Reginald Murphy, was the business half of Murphy Brothers Restaurants. His younger brother, Shane, was the long-haired, mercurial chef. Expanding the Murphy family’s interests in the restaurant business, the two brothers had started their own venture. Together, they had crafted the upscale Shane’s Table restaurants. After creating a destination dinner spot that was a hit from the moment it opened in New York, they duplicated the success with a second location in Los Angeles. Now they were collaborating with the Girards on this Las Vegas property and hoping Lady Luck would shine upon them here.

“Explain to me again why we’re rushing the wedding?” Audrey asked her dad.

“We had never set a date.”

“So why now?”

“You’ve seen the financial statements. We need a big opening for this hotel. A high-profile wedding will really showcase our special-events capabilities.”

“So I’ve got one month to plan the whole thing?”

“We’ll make the engagement announcement in two weeks to start generating a buzz.”

“When I talked to Reg on the phone a couple of days ago, he didn’t sound certain that he was on board with doing the wedding now.”

“Connor has concerns about their financial position, as well. The Murphys need this hotel launch as much as we do.”

“Gee, I’m glad my future has been reduced to profit and loss statements.”

“You know that’s not the only reason. Come on now, you’re twenty-eight. Reg is, what, thirty-six?”

“You’re right, Dad, I’m virtually an old maid.”

“You can’t blame a couple of fathers for pushing to get their kids to settle down. We want to see you two create a life together. You both work too hard. You should enjoy yourselves. Bring us grandchildren. Not to mention the next generation of hoteliers and restaurateurs.”

“Dad, we’ve talked about that. Children are not in the picture.” Not after what Audrey had been through. That was nonnegotiable.

“Never say never.”

They moved to the spacious office’s reception area, where each sat down on one of armchairs that faced the floor-to-ceiling windows. Audrey took in the view of a couple of the huge hotels and casinos on the Las Vegas Strip, and the majestic red mountains behind them in the distance.

The Hotel Girard Las Vegas sat on a small piece of real estate in between two of the giant monoliths on the Strip. It was originally built in the early 1960s as the Royal Neva Hotel, a sort of bargain casino with one-penny slot machines for visitors who weren’t high rollers staying at the big palaces. The lone restaurant had offered two-dollar breakfast specials and the four floors of guest rooms were dirt cheap. The hotel never had the Rat Pack panache of Vegas’s heyday, but the architecture was in the midcentury style that defined that era. When it went on sale after closing due to lack of upkeep, the Girards decided to make their first foray in Las Vegas.

With two hundred hotel rooms, as opposed to the three and four thousand of its neighbors, the Girards set out to refurbish the property to appeal to the trend toward boutique hotels, which were their specialty. There’d be no noisy casino. Instead, luxurious suites and amenities, a splendid rooftop pool, unique special-event spaces and exclusive cocktail lounges would provide a chic den for hip guests. The crème de la crème would be Shane’s Table, a world-class dining establishment to attract travelers and Vegas locals alike.

Unfortunately, they’d encountered one problem after the next with the project. The original structure was in far worse condition than was initially thought. There had been mold and rot within the walls that required a costly teardown in sections of the hotel. Partial renovations during the years before the Girards bought the property hadn’t included solar power or technical upgrades, and energy costs were double what they should have been.

There had been other setbacks to the business, as well, beginning three years ago when Audrey’s mother was dying and Daniel was distracted from his duties as CEO.

“I think weddings are going to do it for us at this hotel,” Daniel said enthusiastically.

Audrey’s business mind agreed. “Special-occasion bookings will bring us a lot of revenue. We have so many great event spaces with this hotel. Showing off the property with a lavish wedding should be publicity gold.”

“The marriage of hotel and restaurant royalty will brand the hotel with glamour that will stick in people’s minds.”

“I had some ideas on the flight here. We can shoot the engagement tea in the garden and a guys’ night out at the cigar lounge this week. We’ll calendar the press releases and photo spreads to hit after the engagement announcement. No one will know we shot the events ahead of time.”

“You and Reg will be an imperial couple. It’ll be the romance Las Vegas has always been known for.”

Except for the actual romance part, Audrey thought. That was not in her plans. Love was a gamble she wasn’t going to bet on. Love involved trust. She’d never fall for that hoax again.

Which is why she had become so contented with the agreement that she and Reg would wed. Yes, the arranged matrimony felt a bit like something involving territorial feudal kingdoms and armies. Yet, in a different light, having their future spouses decided by their fathers was a smart outsourcing of labor that neither she nor Reg had the time for.

The two were friendly toward each other. They had dinner if they were in the same city, spoke on the phone and had discussed the challenges that their lifestyles would bring to the marriage. With seven Girard hotels throughout the world and a soon-to-be third Shane’s Table, they both traveled to and from their businesses almost all of the time and didn’t foresee that changing. Reg was a workaholic just like Audrey.

Any comradery they could share would be healthy for her. Currently, she spent what little free time she had by herself. After a childhood where she’d so often been alone, pairing with someone would be a blessing.

She and Reg had concurred that while romantic love was right for some people, it wasn’t for them. That compatibility was crucial. What a relief it would be to answer the social pressures to couple off, to find a significant other. There would be no more questions about her dating life from the well-meaning staff at the hotels. She’d always have a companion for events. There might even be shared hobbies and simple dinner-and-movie dates. The list went on.

Most importantly, it was utterly perfect that Reg had zero sex appeal. What Audrey surely didn’t need was a man like Reg’s brother, chef Shane. A hot-blooded beast who dripped raw power and primitive demands. Reg would never make her pulse flutter like Shane had since the moment she met him. Never cause her to shiver in anticipation of his every move. Never keep her up at night imagining secret pleasures.

“Is Shane on track with his cookbook?” Audrey asked her dad.

“I hear that’s not going as smoothly as it should.”

She wrinkled her nose, although the information didn’t surprise her. With Shane Murphy’s bad-boy chef reputation, not to mention his wife’s sudden death two years ago, being behind on a deadline would come as no shock.

A peculiar warmth flushed down her neck when she thought of the photo of Shane she’d seen recently on a magazine cover, his almost-black eyes piercing whoever looked at the image. Her reaction to even a photograph of him was involuntary but a little embarrassing, especially as he was to become her brother-in-law. Anything to do with Shane seemed to affect her on a chemical level that she had no control over.

“I’ll check into it. Not having the cookbook on schedule could turn into a major problem.” Shane Murphy’s first cookbook was another essential component of the publicity schedule for the Vegas opening.

“Shane is cooking dinner for you and Reg tonight at the restaurant. You can talk about it then.”

Daniel filled his daughter in on the outcome of a meeting he’d had with the human-resources director earlier that day while she’d been on the flight. And about a resolution with a furniture distributor for their hotel in St. Thomas.

Mention of the island brought a wry half smile to Audrey’s face with the memory of that weird moment with Shane a decade ago. To this day, the recollection still replayed often in her mind.

It was at the Hotel Girard St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands that she’d first met the Murphy brothers. When she’d first encountered the volcanic force of nature known as chef Shane Murphy.

Audrey had been a short eighteen-year-old, hiding in baggy shirts because her body hadn’t yet settled into its shape. Shane Murphy was the enfant terrible of the culinary world at just twenty-four. Reg, the staid older brother at twenty-six. Connor was opening the Lolly’s café at the hotel and Shane was there to do a tasting menu in the hotel’s formal dining room. The first Shane’s Table had already become the hottest dinner reservation in New York, making Shane an instant star.

The two brothers couldn’t be more different. Though both were tall, Reg was thin and tidy, save for a perpetually sweaty upper lip. He kept his hair closely cropped and always donned a tailored suit. In contrast Shane’s dark curly hair brushed the shoulders of the rock band T-shirts he wore with his jeans. Reg, the immaculate professional, and Shane, the soulful artist. Black and white. Night and day. Shane had made an impression on her that she still carried to this day.

She hadn’t seen Shane in person in many months other than through teleconferences, which he would often leave before they were halfway done. Audrey wondered how much his impatience or inattention had to do with the death of his wife two years ago. She knew firsthand how a loss like that could color everything that came after it.

Helping herself to a glass of icy cucumber water from the clear pitcher on the office bureau, she took a much-needed sip. As always seemed to be the case, mere mention of Shane Murphy made Audrey thirsty.

She paced in front of the windows of Daniel’s third-floor office. Prior to the renovation, there had only been a couple of picture windows on that exterior wall. With the new sweeping vista she could look out to the hotels and casinos, or peer down to see street-level activity on the always-crowded Strip.

Audrey’s eyes fixed on a couple. The young woman, blonde, short and curvaceous like she was, wore a white minidress and a clip-on bridal veil that looked like it hadn’t cost much money. Her groom had on black suit pants and a white shirt with his tie loosened. The two laughed and passed an open bottle of champagne between them to sip from. The bride held her left hand up to the sunlight to admire the ring on her finger. They stopped walking and threw their arms around each other for a passionate kiss.

Las Vegas.

Land of hope. Of gambles. Of chances. Of love.

What would it be like to arrive in Vegas to wed the person you were in love with? Audrey wondered. To embark on a life together, sharing ideas and dreams and romance?

Audrey had no time for thoughts like that. She had her own, practical marriage to plan.

* * *

Having made her way from her father’s office to the central courtyard of the hotel, Audrey stepped outside into the dry Nevada breeze. The main structure of the building formed a square with a public space in the center with walk-throughs to the Strip and parking so that patrons could enter the restaurants, bars and shops from both inside and outside the building. She was eager to settle into one of the freestanding suites at the back of the property they called the bungalows, where she’d make her home for the time being.

For the past couple of months, she’d been utterly buried by work in her small office at the hotel chain’s Philadelphia headquarters. There were splashy incentives to organize and newsworthy stories to cull in order to promote all of the seven hotels for the summer season. Winter had thawed into spring without her really taking note of it.

Along her walk, she said hellos to construction workers and to staff members who were onsite to begin readying the hotel for the opening. This week she’d check in with every department to see what was new and noteworthy that she could use for publicity.

For now, though, she wanted to drop her luggage and check her emails and messages and texts. And see Reg, who had sounded so tentative when she last spoke with him.

As she crossed diagonally through the outdoor public area, she froze on her heels. The Shane’s Table restaurant, not yet open for business, appeared to be fully finished, at least on the outside. In front of its door stood a life-size cardboard cutout photo of chef Shane Murphy.

What the heck?

Audrey was director of public relations and any kind of promotion that went on at Girard hotels came across her desk. It was she who authorized press releases if one of the hotels even so much as bought new towels. If a landscape designer decided on an unusual type of plant for the grounds. When one of the hotels offered a Valentine’s Day package that included breakfast in bed.

Yet she’d heard nothing about this horribly tacky six-foot-two-inch shrine to the male ego. What a monstrosity! Not at all befitting the elegance and restraint Girard hotels represented. Nor worthy of the Shane’s Table reputation for integrity and excellence.

She didn’t know who approved this amateur-hour attempt at marketing for the restaurant. But she was going to find out.

Bustling over, Audrey stopped dead in front of the display. Barely clocking in at five-foot-two herself, she had to crane her neck back to fully study Shane’s likeness. The discomfort she always felt in his presence was just as palpable here in this massive photograph.

A wild toss of dark hair seemed to grow from his scalp in every direction as though it belonged on a mythological Medusa. A folded blue bandanna was tied across his forehead and under his hairline. Those black-as-night eyes were framed with long eyelashes and crowned by heavy brows. A straight nose led to full lips, parted slightly, surrounded by beard stubble above his mouth and across his lower cheek and square jaw.

The look on his face was a dare. To say this man was smoldering and dangerous was the understatement of the century. He was almost too much to take in, even in cardboard form. Thank goodness she was marrying safe Reg.

Audrey bit her lip to stay grounded and continue her survey of Shane.

His chef’s coat fit well from one broad shoulder to the other. The coat’s sleeves were cuffed twice to reveal hefty forearms with a dusting of dark hair. The arms crossed at his chest showcased black leather cording that formed bracelets wrapped around each wrist. One huge hand held a chef’s knife.

An embroidered insignia on the chest of the chef’s coat depicted his restaurant logo of a four-legged table with the name Shane scripted above it. The coat’s hem hit Shane at mid hip, shorter than a typical chef preference. Fitted jeans encased the lower half of his body, with its straight hips and muscular legs. The jeans gave way to black motorcycle boots. One foot crossed over the other in a defiant stance.

Audrey’s eyes did a ride up from the boots to the powerfully built chest to the heart-stopping lips. She followed individual locks of jet hair as each made a different wavy descent down around his face.

All she could say to herself was “Whoa!” as that flush swept across her neck again.

Audrey hated cardboard cutout displays that presented a person as some sort of whacked-out Greek statue or national monument. To her, they were a crass and crude form of advertising. But there was no question that Shane Murphy was a drop-dead sexy man. She was painfully aware of it every time she was around him. While it didn’t directly have anything to do with his cooking, she wouldn’t doubt that his fiery good looks contributed to his restaurants’ success.

Nonetheless, Audrey was not about to have that eyesore muddy the sophistication of a Girard hotel. So she lifted cardboard Shane Murphy at his waist, tucked him under her arm and proceeded to her bungalow. As soon as she swiped her key card and let herself in, she propped Shane in a corner of the room facing the bed.

Dropping her bags, she made a three-hundred-sixty degree turn as she took in the finished renovation of the bungalow. The photo and video tours she’d seen didn’t do it justice. An interior archway divided the suite into two distinct areas. In the sleeping portion, teal and brown bedding appointed the king bed, a palette that evoked the original sixties style. But a flat-screen smart TV mounted on the wall and tech stations on the two lightwood nightstands brought the room straight into the needs of today’s guests. An armchair upholstered in stripes echoed the teal and added in green and cream colors. A reading lamp perched on an end table beside it.

Through the archway, a lightwood desk and chair provided a place to work or eat. Bright abstract paintings adorned the walls. A sitting area with a sleek gray sofa and low coffee table gave way to the sliding-glass door. Each bungalow had a private patio with two forest green lounge chairs shaded by a partial veranda to give protection against the desert sun.

Audrey delighted at the perfection of the remodel. This was what put the Hotel Girard brand on the map. Everything carefully crafted from fine materials and designs perfectly executed.

Except for that stupid cutout of Shane Murphy, of course.

* * *

“There he is.” Daniel nudged Audrey as they sat in a finished section of one of the hotel’s cocktail lounges.

They both stood as Reg Murphy approached. Audrey’s future husband was a slim man who stood ramrod straight. He wore a three-piece pinstriped suit. Audrey couldn’t remember the last time she saw a man wear a vested suit.

She hadn’t had a chance to unpack but had pulled an outfit from her garment bag for the evening. A conservative gray sheath dress and black sandals.

“Nice to see you, Reg.”

“I guess this is finally it,” he said as he extended his right hand as if to shake hers. Then he seemed to change his mind midstream and instead lifted her hand and turned it over to kiss the back of it. His supple palm pressed her fingers against his open lips. The whole maneuver was awkward and a bit moist.

“How was your flight?” Daniel asked as Reg vigorously shook his hand up and down.

“Fine, sir.”

Audrey remembered Reg as being a bit more poised. Perhaps it was wedding jitters that made him appear so nervous. He stared at Daniel slack-jawed like he wanted to say something, but instead pulled a white handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and dabbed his upper lip.

“Are you in Vegas now until the opening?” Audrey asked.

“I may have to fly back to New York. You?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’ve got our wedding to coordinate.”

“Right.” Reg nodded as if it were just sinking in. He glanced at his phone and read something on the screen that brought a huge smile to his lips. “Please pardon me a moment while I return this message.”

He tapped onto the screen, grinning the entire time.

“Well,” Daniel said using his right hand to pat Audrey’s back and his left to tap Reg’s, “I’ll leave you two to your evening.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

After Daniel walked away, Reg and Audrey each perched on a stool beside the table. One of the four bars on the property, this space was located inside the main lobby and had stylish fun in mind. The decor was done with white barstools upholstered in deep purple velvet set around chrome pedestal tables. Behind the chrome cocktail bar was a giant glass tank filled with undulating purple goo similar to the lava lamps of the 1960s.

Once again, Girard’s interior designers had worked through an idea to perfection. And then capable crews were able to bring the vision to fruition. Audrey could imagine the lounge with chic music playing in the background and filled with trendy patrons choosing drinks from a cocktail menu that offered libations with names like Flip-Out Frappe and Yin-Yang-Yum.

“After all of the talk about us marrying, this has come about rather suddenly, hasn’t it?” Reg asked.

“Is there a problem with that?”

He seemed to be a million miles away. “Not at all.”

“I think the extra push makes sense. Do everything at once. Open the hotel and Shane’s Table. Shane’s cookbook. Our marriage. It’s a cascade of publicity on several levels.”

Audrey knew that the Girard hotels had never really recovered from the events of three years ago. When her mother was dying and her father was unable to concentrate on the business. Audrey had tried as best she could to fill in for him. It was a gift to have the work to focus on since her mother hadn’t wanted her at her bedside.

All of her life, it had been assumed that she’d grow up into the family business. As a teenager, she developed a knack for coming up with advertising ideas and events. The marketing side of the brand was a perfect fit for her after college.

Hotel Girard Incorporated was Audrey’s entire world. Running around the properties as a kid, she had known every secret passageway. Every painting that hung in every guest room. Every item sold in the gift shops. Any happiness she could recollect took place within the borders of the hotels. The staff were loyal to Audrey and she was loyal to them. She’d do anything needed for their good. Even get married.

Besides, she thought Reg was a good match and she had become quite amenable to the marriage idea. He was smart. Nice-looking, too. Maybe a little too much hair product. Those short curls might look better if they weren’t so stiff. He was poised and polite and she didn’t know what the medical condition was that made a person have a sweaty upper lip but, hey, she thought she could overlook that.

And he was, safely, nothing like his brother. That split second ten years ago on St. Thomas flickered in her mind again. A freeze-frame in time that she still secretly compared everything else to.

“Should we go to dinner?” she asked. Reg seemed so uneasy tonight, perhaps a change of atmosphere would help. Devotion to the hotels was one thing but she wasn’t going to go as far as to beg him to wed her if he didn’t want to.

“Shane is cooking for us in the restaurant.” Reg took Audrey by the bony part of her elbow and lead her out of the bar. “We are essentially the first guests at Shane’s Table Las Vegas.”

Along the way, Reg stopped to read and respond to another message on his phone. The same amusement that had come across his face earlier returned while he typed.

But he hesitated when they reached the restaurant’s entrance. “Where is the display that’s supposed to be here?”

“You mean that awful stand-up photo of Shane?”

“Name recognition is what Shane’s Table is all about.”

“I’m well aware of that. But that cardboard cutout was absurd. Brash advertising like that is not how Girard maintains its reputation for taste and understatement.”

Not that a life-size photo of hottie Shane Murphy was hard on the eyes, but it was, nonetheless, inconsistent with the Girard style.

“You personally removed my advertising?”

She’d stood it up in her bungalow for the time being and now didn’t seem the right time to confess that. “Reg, I’m head of public relations. I work alongside a marketing team and together we decide when and how best to...”

“I built Shane’s Table into what it is today.”

Wow, Audrey wasn’t expecting this. She assumed Reg would respect her authority on this topic. He should have at least proposed the display prior to just having it planted it in front of the restaurant’s doors, which was technically Girard property.

Audrey attempted to smooth ruffled feathers. “You know, Reg, perhaps I’m not a hundred percent clear on what our contracts state about my role concerning the PR specifically for the restaurant.”

“I’ll have my lawyers call yours in the morning.”

She stroked his thin arm once up and once down in a gesture of calming affection. “That’s a great idea. Can we just put the issue aside for now and enjoy our dinner? I can’t wait to see the completed dining room.”

The pacifying technique worked because Reg pulled from his pocket a deadbolt key and an access fob to open the front door of the newly finished construction. He reached to flick on a temporary lamp that stood just inside the entrance.

Rock ’n’ roll blared from the far end of the restaurant. Reg gestured for Audrey to follow him across the dark dining room and through the double doors leading into the kitchen.

The lone man in the cavernous space stood with his back facing them, but Audrey easily recognized that long curly hair and the broad shoulders that filled out his chef’s coat. The music was turned up so loud that he hadn’t noticed anyone had entered. His head bobbed and his hips ground to the beat as he sautéed something smoking hot on the stove in front of him. Reaching for a spoon, he tasted from the pan.