Scandal in the VIP Suite--An enemies to lovers stuck together romance Read online

  Jim punched a code in the keypad and explained that a new code would be sent to her via email. Then he inserted a hefty skeleton key in the lock and turned it until the lock clicked. Sweat beaded at Nina’s temples, and she wondered about the maximum sentence for trespassing. The door swung open to reveal a Greek key tiled floor that seemed to go on forever. Jim ushered her into a sitting room furnished with antiques. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, and French doors opened to a wide balcony. Nina’s anxiety gave way to a rush of excitement.

  Jim stacked her luggage on a loading table in the foyer. “Would you like a tour?”

  “No, thanks. I’m beat.”

  “Very well. The master suite is to your left, and the guest room to your right. Each room has a private bath.”

  Nina tipped Jim handsomely to better send him on his way. She preferred not to get him mixed up in this. As soon as the door shut behind him, she wasted no time storming the master bedroom suite, only to stand frozen at the threshold.

  This was the famous Oasis. The space glowed. Honey oak furniture, gold leaf accents and yellow silk drapes all helped to spread the sunlit luster. A mural of hand-painted flowers crawled up the walls. The bed was a sea of blue silk anchored by four wood posters—and it called out to Nina. She went over, sat at the edge, bounced a bit to test the mattress, then she spilled onto her back. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, staring up at the ceiling. A fresco depicted angels floating on tufted clouds. They looked down at her knowingly.

  She made a mental note for her journal: Elegant, opulent and a little too much! I love it!

  Only one more box to tick: a selfie. For good measure.

  Nina sat up, pulled her phone from her pocket, smoothed her hair, selected a photo filter, tilted her head, pursed her lips, grimaced, attempted a smile and—

  “Does the bed feel just right, Goldilocks?”

  The phone fell from her hand. The masculine voice had a blunt British accent. It punched her in the gut and left her winded. Nina folded forward, squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the angels frolicking on the ceiling would do her a favor and summon the angel of death.

  God, please! I’d rather die than live through this. Amen.

  Two

  The first thing he noticed was a flock of birds flying past the bell tower at the end of the courtyard. Julian Leroy Knight, better known as JL Knight, felt that he could’ve been anywhere in the world—Mexico, Spain or Cuba, where a similar estate stood. He’d done his research. This mansion was an exact replica of a villa in Havana’s elegant suburb of Miramar. The original currently housed an embassy.

  Julian exchanged pleasantries with the property manager, declined a glass of champagne and left his assistant, Kat, to handle the details of his stay. He ventured deeper into the yard. A central fountain stood as tall as him and struggled to mute the street noise. Day or night, Ocean Drive was a party. He should know. At nineteen, he’d left his home in England seeking adventure in the United States. He’d stayed with a family friend in Miami for a week before making his way down to South Beach. For six months, he worked for Sand Castle as a valet attendant, and during that time he never stepped foot past the iconic black gates. Access to the “main house” was denied to low-level staff. Fast-forward to today, and they were throwing him a parade.

  The fuss was a balm to his bruised ego. Julian wasn’t the celebrity that he had been five years ago, when his action films dominated the box office. In Hollywood, the whiff of failure was poison gas, and it followed you everywhere. Add to that a very public breakup and the public outcry over the portrayal of women in his latest release, and Julian was practically persona non grata everywhere. Except here in Miami, which was nice.

  A grand staircase curved up to the second floor. He wandered to it and tested the sturdiness of the oak handrail. He’d worked carpentry for a while and appreciated the craft. A woman was making her way up the stairs. Tall, slim, light on her feet, cocoa-brown skin, body beautifully packaged in a pair of fitted jeans. She wore her coffee-black hair in a long braid that snaked down her back. When she glanced over her shoulder, looking directly at him, her long lashes veiled her eyes. But nothing could shield him from that scorching glare.

  Fair was fair. After all, she’d caught him staring. Ogling women wasn’t a habit of his, and this wasn’t the time to start. He’d been labeled the poster boy for toxic masculinity; he couldn’t afford any slipups. Only nothing about this felt like a slip. It felt pointed and personal. She held his gaze, and Julian couldn’t break away. He watched, fascinated, as her cheeks turned the shade of wine. Who knew how long they’d have stayed like this if a porter hadn’t called out to her?

  With an imperious flip of her braid, she continued her ascent, turned a corner and disappeared. Julian fought back the impulse to give chase. What was the matter with him? He was here on business.

  In the end, it was Kat who saved him from himself. She linked her arm around his and dragged him away. “Come on! I’d like to see the pool before we head upstairs.”

  They made their way to an open veranda overlooking the pool below. The manager explained that a previous owner had purchased the neighboring lot just to make space for it. Julian had to admire the audacity of a man who thought, Screw it! I’ll knock down a house and put a pool in its place. But once he saw it, he was on board.

  The pool was the true oasis, not some stuffy bedroom filled with antiques. It stretched one hundred feet wide and was paved in thousands of tiny gold tiles. Each corner was punctuated by urns set high on pedestals. A fountain spit water down the middle, sending ripples along the crystal surface. Julian yearned to dive in, but for now he’d settle for a photograph. He pulled his Nikon out of a well-worn, well-loved travel bag.

  “Look at it!” Kat exclaimed. “Julian, isn’t it gorgeous?”

  He adjusted the lens of the camera and raised it to his eye. “Gorgeous.”

  “Would you like a closer look?” Grace offered.

  “No, this works.”

  Julian framed the shot in his mind. He pictured a woman in a bikini floating on her back, eyes closed against the sun, hair like a halo around her head. Act one, scene one. He snapped the photo and put away the camera.

  “Our annual Independence Day pool party is the most exclusive on the beach,” Grace said. “It starts tomorrow at four. We’ll end the night with fireworks.”

  Julian relied on his acting skills to fake interest. “Sounds great.”

  Grace nodded, pleased. “Now I’ll show you to your private elevator.”

  As he, Kat and the manager squeezed into a rickety lift that led straight to his floor, Julian wondered if he might run into the woman on the stairs again, if only to apologize.

  The lift opened to a wide, sun-filled walkway leading to a pair of sturdy doors. Grace ushered them inside, all the while entertaining Kat with the highlights of the mansion’s storied past. In her excitement, she missed the luggage stacked neatly in the entrance. The Louis Vuitton weekender bag and matching tote did not belong to him. He was not a fancy-luggage type of guy.

  “Come see the view from the balcony,” Grace said.

  Kat followed Grace. Julian swiveled on his heel and took off in the opposite direction. The master bedroom was behind a pair of thick wood doors. He drifted over, quietly turned the heavy brass knob and peeked through the crack. There she was. Taking a selfie on the bed.

  Shit. This was not the second encounter he’d hoped for. Now instead of apologizing, he’d have to call security.

  He entered the room. “Does the bed feel just right, Goldilocks?”

  At his words, she stiffened and dropped her phone. He took no joy in her reaction. He didn’t like seeing her so defeated where earlier she’d been so defiant. Come on. Where’s that fighting spirit? When she finally stood to confront him, her eyes were wild with panic. Julian tried to muster something stronger than amused annoyance but ca
me up short. If it were up to him, he’d let her escape and pretend this incident never happened. This wouldn’t be the first time a fan tried to sneak into his hotel room. He was blasé enough to shrug it off. But it wasn’t up to him. She didn’t know it, but the countdown had begun. Before too long—

  “Ah!” Kat screamed in Julian’s ear. “What’s going on? How did she get in?”

  The manager stormed the bedroom. “Ms. Taylor!”

  The porter arrived with Julian’s plain black logo-free luggage and offered to call security.

  Julian stepped forward to cover Ms. Taylor from the incoming fire. She may be an intruder, but she was his intruder. But she stepped out of his shadow and addressed the room.

  “Settle down,” she said. “This is just one big misunderstanding.”

  Her voice was calm. Julian liked that.

  “Someone get Jim up here!” Grace yelled.

  “Leave Jim out of it,” she said. “It was a mistake. Probably your mistake. I bet this suite is still under my name.”

  “Ms. Taylor, we have an agreement. This suite is not yours, and you know it.”

  “What agreement?” Julian asked, and Ms. Taylor got him up to speed.

  “The agreement we reached after she kicked me out to accommodate you.”

  Julian turned to Grace. “Is that true?”

  She went pale. He had his answer.

  An assistant arrived, flanked by security guards and trailed by poor Jim. The comedy of errors checked out. The suite was still reserved under Ms. Taylor’s name. Jim was given the wrong key at the front desk. To complicate matters, the hotel had no vacancies.

  The assistant clutched an iPad with a white-knuckled grip. “We’re fully booked for the holiday.”

  “I thought the Garden Room was available,” Grace said, her voice thin.

  “Full, ma’am.” An elderly guest had thrown out his back and couldn’t be moved until his pain medications kicked in. “Our hands are tied.”

  Grace switched to Spanish to vent her frustration. Julian glanced at Kat. She was chewing on her bottom lip the way she did when she was anxious. All this turmoil over a hotel room was ridiculous to Julian. People liked to treat him as if he were a descendant of the royal family, but he’d stayed in hostels and motels that he’d like to forget. He’d slept in his car for a month when he first moved out to Los Angeles. He’d gladly give up the suite, but unfortunately, he needed the buffer the private floor provided.

  “That’s enough,” Julian said. “Ms. Taylor and I will figure this out. We’ll draw straws or something. Please wait outside.”

  “Julian, it’s not your job to figure this out,” Kat said.

  “I agree, Mr. Knight,” Grace said.

  “Even so, I’d prefer you clear the room.”

  After he ushered the delegation out the door, Julian turned to the crafty Ms. Taylor. She stared at him with a vacant expression, and he worried that she might have suffered a stroke. “Hey! Are you okay?”

  She uncurled an index finger and pointed at him. “You’re JL Knight!”

  Here we go.

  Julian cupped the nape of his neck and rubbed out the kinks. He could speak up now or let the madness run its course. He decided to let it run.

  She continued to launch accusations. “And you’re British?”

  “Jamaican and British,” he specified. “Is that bad?”

  “I don’t know! Malcolm Brown was from the South Bronx.”

  For two seasons, Julian had played paramedic Malcolm Brown on Riverside Rescue, a long-running network police procedural. Very few people remembered his early work. “I’ve been in a few projects since then.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I binge-watched Riverside last Christmas, and Malcolm was my favorite.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “And sorry for this mix-up. My assistant handled the travel arrangements. Usually she’ll call, drop my name and—”

  “And people drop everything?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Must be nice,” she said.

  “You know what? It is.”

  “Well, I handle my own business. You should try it sometime.”

  “Want it back?” he offered. “I’ll go elsewhere.”

  Sand Castle was central to his presence in Miami, but he wouldn’t have insisted on staying here had he known the suite was booked. There was no shortage of five-star hotels on the beach. And in retrospect, showing up in Miami on a holiday weekend was a stupid idea.

  “Keep it,” she said firmly. “The manager will poison my food if you walk out. You’re too important.”

  “How about we share it? There’s no reason you can’t stay here until the Garden, Fountain or whatever opens up.”

  “You’re wrong.” She folded her arms over her chest. “There are about one hundred reasons. Top of the list—stranger danger.”

  “Never played that game. Sounds fun.”

  What was he doing flirting with the woman he’d caught taking a selfie on his bed? Talk about stranger danger.

  “It would only be for a night, maybe two,” he said. “This place is huge. We could go for days and not run into each other.”

  “There is a second bedroom with a private bath,” she said, speaking more to herself than to him.

  “Look how much you know,” Julian said.

  “I wrote a piece about this hotel long ago,” she said. “Also, the porter told me.”

  “Good old Jim?”

  She looked uneasy. “I hope I didn’t get him fired.”

  “If it helps, I’ll put in a good word,” Julian said. “So, you’re a writer?”

  She raised her chin. “I am.”

  “What do you write?”

  “Books,” she said. “Well...I wrote one book, but there are several formats.”

  “Okay.”

  He must have hit a sore spot. She was suddenly less sure of herself, stumbling over her words. But she was no less beautiful. The light from the windows washed over her face, warming her bronze skin and adding specks of gold to her brown eyes. Julian itched to reach for his camera.

  There was a double knock on the door. He moved away from it. “They’re getting restless. Time to decide.”

  She let out a sigh. “Well, what about the blonde?”

  Her question left him confused. “Which blonde?”

  “The one you’re traveling with,” she said. “She won’t want me around. Three is a crowd.”

  “Blondes are people with parents and pets and feelings. They’re objectified enough without you piling on, Ms. Taylor.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist as if to control the spread of a full-body laugh. “I apologize, Mr. Knight. Thanks for shining a light on the plight of the blondes.”

  “You’re welcome,” Julian said. “Her name is Katia Wells, and she’s my assistant.”

  “The one who booked your travel?”

  “The same.” Kat was in Florida to attend a family reunion. She’d gladly abandoned her seat on a commercial airline to fly private with him. A car was waiting outside to take her to her grandparents’ house in Boca Raton. “If we were together, do you think she’d be waiting on the other side of the door?”

  “I don’t know anything about you or how you live your life,” she said. “Which brings us back to stranger danger.”

  “Yeah? Of the two of us, only one has demonstrated a disregard for social norms.”

  A triple knock rattled the door. Kat called out to him. “Julian! I can get you a suite at the Fontainebleau.”

  That was timely information. He liked having options.

  “We could both leave,” he suggested to Ms. Taylor. “I’m sure there’s more than one available room at the Fontainebleau.”

  “Or we could both stay.”


  They fell silent and, in that silence, they reached an agreement. Still, there were some wrinkles to iron out. “Are you traveling alone?” he asked. “You booked this entire suite for yourself, or are you expecting a full bachelorette party?”

  “Did anyone question you for wanting a suite to yourself?”

  “It’s mainly for privacy reasons,” he said. “Which brings me to my one caveat.”

  “Just one? I have a few.”

  “You’re a writer,” Julian said.

  “And you’re an actor.”

  “You can’t write about me or anything that happens while you’re here.”

  She eyed him with suspicion. “What do you think will happen?”

  “Not much,” he said with a shrug. “I’m going to dive into bed as soon as everyone clears out. What are your plans?”

  For the first time ever, she relaxed. Her rigid posture loosened, and her arms fell to her side. “Same. I’m exhausted.”

  “All right, then.”

  He went to open the door, but she stopped him. “Wait! Why are you being so nice?”

  “This is not about niceness,” he said. “It’s about fairness. If I hadn’t showed up, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

  “I got a good deal out of it,” she said.

  “Yeah? What’s the deal?”

  “Two free nights.”

  “Not bad.”

  “Right?”

  Another loud, imperious knock, and the manager scolded him from the other side of the door. “Mr. Knight! This is not how we do things at Sand Castle. Let us handle it.”

  This summit had to end. Julian was seriously sleep-deprived and all that knocking was drilling into his skull. He turned to her for confirmation. “Are we doing this?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll stay until my room becomes available. And don’t worry; I have no interest in writing about you. A, I don’t find you that compelling. B, I’m only really qualified to write about myself.”