Chapter Three
London welcomed the slight flutter in her stomach as the elevator descended in an almost silent whoosh. Earlier, when she’d made her way up to unpack and take a nap, the reality of where she was had hit her with a giddy rush of excitement.
Barcelona.
Her first vacation in years. And she’d met a sexy Spaniard, no less.
She could sleep once she was back in the States.
Instead of having to cover the cost of an in-home caregiver, her mother’s best friend, Margo, was visiting for two weeks. A twinge of guilt that it wasn’t her stayed stubbornly perched on the back of London’s neck—the same guilt she suffered every time she traveled. But if she didn’t travel, she didn’t get paid, which would make taking care of her mother completely impossible, instead of just difficult. Knowing the two women would binge-watch their favorite Netflix series every night she was gone had helped ease her worry enough to board the plane.
She’d saved for this vacation for the past year, which had afforded her a week and a half of luxuries. God, she wished Susan, her best friend, were here with her as they’d planned. But a sister with a new baby and a deployed husband meant Susan needed to go help her instead. Understandable.
Alone or not, it was London’s chance for shopping, good food, and better adventures—and maybe a steamy Spanish tumble to take home and dream about when work got hectic and her head felt like a jackhammer.
Time to get started.
She texted Susan.
Waving at the doorman, she stepped out into the heavy summer evening air. The Huntington Place grounds sat on a coveted piece of property right off the Balearic Sea and along the southern edge of Gothic Quarter—shopping. In one direction, blue waters flowed in white-capped waves for as far as the eye could see. A multitude of cityscapes reached to the trees of surrounding hillsides in the other. With the distance, it looked as if the city was horseshoed by a tiny mountain range from water’s edge to water’s edge. The most romantic force field she’d ever seen.
A sexy-as-hell pair of heels was first on her agenda. Something to help Mateu remember her when she was gone.
Gothic Quarter was packed like every other street in Barcelona, three to four people deep on every sidewalk, with the energetic hum of pre-dinner and pre-drink conversations. She passed a bakery and breathed deeply, the goodness so rich, she could almost taste the sweet dough of the pastries. Tourists checked out the sights in T-shirts and tennis shoes while locals skimmed the crowds with an inborn sophistication Americans always aspired to. Both walked the streets in a casual manner, as if the buildings didn’t rise above them like they were built from Maleficent’s very own crown. The wrought-iron-spiked windows were both menacing and sensual at the same time.
London entered the exclusive shoe boutique she’d scouted out prior to setting foot on Spanish soil and breathed in the scent of decadence and luxury. Red-soled Christian Louboutins and the classic silhouette of Manolo Blahniks lined shelves like one-of-a-kind pieces of art in Picasso’s very own gallery.
One particular pair caught her eye. A classic-shaped pump with a tall, delicate heel and a peep-toe. Her mother, Alanna, would adore them. Multiple sclerosis hadn’t diminished her mother’s love for shoes, only made the wearing of them infrequent. But you could bet your ass the woman still had a closet full. London grinned and asked the attendant for a size seven.
Taking care of her mom had never been in question, because she’d always been there for London, but the medical bills didn’t leave a lot of room for anything extra. So this trip was all about indulging. She sighed in pure bliss as she ran her fingers along the rich textures until she came to a pair that seemed to whisper her name.
These beauties would more than do the trick.
A tall sandal with an intricate ankle strap of tiny gold and silver chains wrapped around a narrow strip of nude leather was featured front and center on the CL shelf. One strap crossed the toes with the same dainty chains. The shoe was simple but so sexy, kind of like wearing nothing but a pair of nude panties and a diamond bracelet. She tested the light weight of the ankle strap with her fingers.
“They’re exquisite, no?”
London nodded. “They are.” Hell, she might just wear them around her house in nothing at all, just to make sure she gave them their proper due. “I’d like to see them in an eight and a half, please.”
“Of course.”
Slipping her freshly pedicured toes into the fine leather felt insidiously delicious. Any other day, in any other country, the price tag would have made her cry.
But these babies were the life. “I’ll take them and the black peep-toe as well, por favor.”
On the way over, she’d passed a clothing store that had a fine nude, body-skimming dress with spaghetti straps. It wouldn’t give her hips she didn’t have, but at least it would show off her endless squats in the gym. And it would be perfect with the shoes, almost as perfect as wearing them naked.
Almost.
Making her way toward the store, she couldn’t get over the cleanliness of the city and the gritty creativity found in the graffiti. The two didn’t always go hand in hand, but there they were anyway. She ran her fingers along the bright swirling colors of one addition and marveled at the artistry in the work. It should be in a gallery. But then again, what better way for people to see an artist’s story than on the streets?
With her purchases securely held in front of her, along with her cross-body bag, she made her way back to Huntington Place and up to her room, counting how many soccer T-shirts she’d seen along the way. This city was proud of its soccer—fifty-four shirts and counting.
Her cell buzzed with a message from Susan as soon as she’d set her bags down on the bed.
London read through the text, each word increasing the weight pressing in on her chest.
Mateu wasn’t an orchard farmer.
He was Nicolau Mateu Espasa III, the rising star CEO of the Huntington Place Barcelona, as well as being from a family of entrepreneurs who were decidedly gifted at investing. CliffsNotes’ version, he was not a simple laborer negotiating a supply contract; he was high up the food chain of the Huntington, and he was loaded.
Nicolau Espasa. Now the name sounded familiar.
She hated the entitled attitudes of the wealthy. As if they had the right to do what they wanted, when they wanted, just because they had money.
With her heart pounding loudly in her ears, London read the text over two more times. Why had he lied about his name? Unless he always went by Mateu, not Nicolau? It wasn’t news Huntington Place Barcelona was working to earn back its lost number one status; the blow had come as a shock to most in the industry. Some sort of mismanagement from above.
He couldn’t know what she did for a living, could he? Disappointment made her sink down onto the bed. The identities of hotel investigators, especially at her level, were fiercely protected. But money could get a person just about anything he wanted, and Mateu was only proving her point. If he knew who she was and hoped to get a good review out of her, the joke was on him. She wasn’t even in town to review, just to relax. There was no five-star review to nudge out of her.
Imagining his self-satisfied smile made her blood boil. She dug the nails of one hand into her palm and stared at the text. It felt as though a rubber band had been wrapped around her chest, and she tried to breathe against her acute disappointment.
Manipulate a rating out of her, huh? Oh, she’d like to show him exactly where he could shove his grand plan. And it would surely fit with how big of an asshole he appeared to be. Their whole meeting had clearly been a ploy, and she’d bet her next year’s salary that little girl hadn’t even been a real thief. He’d set it up to rescue her.
Dropping her phone to the comforter with shaking fingers, she slowly blew out a breath. She’d meet the ass for a drink, she’d let him buy her one or maybe even two, and then she’d let him know what a sorry excuse for a man he was. And she’d tell him that if he told anyone else her identity, she was going to slap Huntington Place with a lawsuit. Spreading her packages across her bed, she gave a tight nod. He was going to be very sorry.
Her cell rang. She grabbed it as she sunk into the plush gray chair next to the window. Ocean waves with their white-crested peaks crashed to the shore below, and she wished she could hear their rhythmic ebb and flow. It always soothed her. “Hey there, Mama.”
Sniff. “Hey, baby.”
London pushed to the edge of the chair, worry immediately sitting her upright. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
“No, no. I’m fine. I promise. It’s just—”
“Tell me, please. You’re scaring me.”
A heavy sigh came over the line. “I submitted my mail-to-home order for my medication today. The formulary changed. The brand that works for me is no longer covered, only the generic that sent me to the emergency room last winter.”
London’s stomach tightened. “Well, we’ll handle it. How much?”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Mom.”
“Around thirty-five hundred.”
Rubbing the stinging sensation between her brows, she fell back against the chair. “Is that for the three-month prescription?”
“Just for a month.”
All her plans: the cooking classes, the museums, a hot-air balloon ride over Catalonia…slowly popped, one by one, like iridescent soap bubbles. Skipping the class and the museum would free up a couple hundred, and the private hot-air balloon ride would get her back around four hundred. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t even cover half of the cost of her mother’s medicine, but it would cover a month’s worth of utilities—maybe it was time to drop the cable TV service.
Either way, she couldn’t go through with her once-in-a-lifetime vacation agenda now. And if she hadn’t already prepaid her trip, she’d hop on the next flight home.
She pulled in a breath and blinked back her disappointment. The cost of her mother’s medicine would barely leave enough room to meet their mortgage. How the hell was she going to cover utilities, food, and transportation, not to mention her mother’s additional medical costs? Cancelling her plans might save next month, but after that?
She scrambled for her bag, then raked through the contents for the receipt with four digits’ worth of shoes she’d just bought. They’d be going back, as well.
“Honey?”
London pulled in a breath and pasted on a smile. Her mother would know if she didn’t find the strength to let this latest news roll off her shoulders.
All was not lost. Her mother would not suffer, no matter what it cost, and in the meantime, London was still in Barcelona.
It was still paradise.
“It’s going to be fine, Mom. I don’t want you worrying about this. Do you understand me? The last thing you need is to come down with a cold or something by stressing out.”
Her mother had been doing pretty well. Holding on to remission longer this time than the last, but it was always a tightwire performance. One too many bad days could set her back months. And it didn’t help that she’d had to quit working. She was a scientist at heart, but research lab work couldn’t take the inconsistency of her health problems. Now she struggled with both the MS and feeling like she had no purpose.
Not to mention the harsh winters of Chicago. Someday, she’d get her mother to a warm climate, one much more friendly to the awful disease, but first, she had to figure out how to keep her mother on the medicine that got her out of bed each morning.
Her mother’s voice held a tremor. “You’re the one I’m worried about when it comes to stress. This is the last thing you needed, but I had to call. I’ve already looked into my retirement. I think it’s time.”
“No. No way. That is for later in life. Not now. Not when you have me. Just to be clear, what I need is you healthy. The rest is simply detail. Understand?”
The silence on the phone broke her heart more than anything else. Her mother’s guilt was unnecessary and misplaced, and it made London want to pull her close and promise everything would be okay. “Mom?”
“I’m here. I just hate that this is falling on you. I’m your mother. I need to be taking care of you, not the other way around. I wish you would at least let me help.”
Tears burned London’s eyes, and she wiped at them with jerky movements. How could the universe be so unjust?
“You do, and you have. Always. I never went without, even though you were a single parent. You gave me choices and experiences…all on your own. And you’re wrong. I’m an adult now. It isn’t about you taking care of me, but us taking care of each other. That is never going to change.” She cleared her throat. “Listen. Complete the order. We still have a couple months before it will go through. That gives me some time, and I have an idea. Okay?”
“I love you, my sweet girl.”
“I love you, too, Mama. Tell Auntie Margo I send my love. And next time I come to Barcelona, you’re coming with me.” She could imagine her mom curled up in her favorite spot in the corner of the couch wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea—she was always cold—and London’s heart squeezed with a touch of homesickness and worry. She’d make it all okay.
Checking her watch, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Forty-five minutes before she could tell Mateu where to shove his five stars. “Look, I have to go. I’ll call tomorrow and tell you all about my trip so far, but I have someplace to be.”
Her mother’s tone turned lighter. “A sexy Spanish millionaire?”
London pulled the sex-on-heels out of their velvet bag, then set them next to the dress. Oh yeahhhh. She had to return them, but she was going to get her money’s worth first.
The irony of it all almost choked London. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“London.” Her mother laughed.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.” She disconnected the call, then dropped the phone to the chair.
Her mother had just given her an idea.
It might be the most extreme thing she’d ever done, but what else had she come to Barcelona for if it wasn’t living big and living loud—and maybe just a little risky?
She put in a quick call to her boss. The job offer was still on the table, but she wanted to be paid double—this was, after all, the first real vacation she’d ever had on the books. The relief in his voice was the one light point of her day. The only difference between this assignment and all the others was the use of her own name and bank account instead of her alias, L.M. Cipriano, and her corporate card. Oh, and the fact they already knew who she was—or at least the CEO did.
Well, now it was her job to partake in all the luxuries the hotel had to offer. That was a plus…if only she could do so while relaxing with a good book instead of carefully studying every move they made during the service provided.
And as for her once-in-a-lifetime agenda for Barcelona?
If what she suspected was true, Nicolau Mateu Espasa III was about to get played at his own game. All she had to do was make him think her plan was his idea all along.
She was going to have every damn adventure on her agenda, and she was going to let Huntington Place Barcelona pay for it. If they were so desperate to make sure she had a great time, then she’d let them. She would do her job no matter what. Getting where she was in her company hadn’t happened by chance; she was damn good and a professional.
He wanted a five-star review?
Well, some things in life she didn’t give away easily, and a five-star was one of them. She’d do her job based on Huntington’s performance, without Mateu’s presence contaminating the waters.
She refused to waste a single second worrying about the lying son-of-a-Spaniard—no matter how inviting his lips were.
Time to go meet her “Gift of God” for a little business.
Now that she knew the stakes of the game, she was going to let Huntington Place Barcelona spend what she was worth.