Strange Bedfellow (17 page)

The closing of the bathroom door left Dina shaken. She changed out of her robe into her nightgown without being aware of her actions. She heard the shower running in the bathroom and tried not to visualize Blake standing beneath its spray, all sun-browned flesh, naked and hard, as paganly virile as a jungle god.
 

Shaking away the heady image, she walked to the bed and folded down the satin coverlet. Dina was between the silk sheets when Blake came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. He didn't glance her way as he switched off the light and walked around to the opposite side of the bed, unerringly finding his way in the dark. The mattress didn't give beneath his weight, but she was aware of him. The sheets seemed to transmit the heat from his nude body.
 

A tidal way of longing threatened to swamp her. Dina closed her eyes tightly. Blake was fully aware of what he was doing to her. He had a motive for everything he did. She didn't believe that he was denying himself the possession of her out of respect, any more than she believed he had assigned Chet to help on the new project purely because she needed competent help. He wanted to undermine her trust in Chet. She vowed he wouldn't succeed.
 

But the aspersions Blake had made against Chet's character haunted her over the next two weeks. Again and again she cursed in silent protest at the seeds of doubt Blake had planted in her mind. The cold war between herself and Blake neither accelerated in those two weeks, nor was there even a hint of a thaw.
 

A knock at the opened door brought her out of her gloomy reverie. She had been staring out the dusty pane of the solitary window in her small office. She turned, slipping her reading glasses to a perch on top of her head.
 

“Hello, Chet.” She stiffened at the sight of him and tried to relax, but she had become too self-conscious lately in his company, not feeling the same freedom and trust she had once found with him.
 

“I've finally got all the interior and exterior photographs of the hotels that you wanted.” He indicated the stack of folders he was carrying with both hands. “I thought we should go over them together. Are you too busy to do it now?”
 

“No, bring them in.” Dina began moving the papers from her desk. “Just give me a second to make some room.”
 

Before the actual advertising campaign could begin, there was a lot of groundwork to be done. The most time-consuming part was improving the physical appearance of the hotels.
 

“I've already looked through them,” Chet told her.
 

“Good,” Dina nodded, and began to scan them herself.
 

The line of her mouth kept growing grimmer and grimmer. By the time she reached the bottom of the stack of photographs, she realized she had underestimated the amount of time and money it would take to superficially redo the hotels.
 

“It's worse than I thought,” she sighed.
 

“Yes, I know,” Chet agreed, matching her expression.
 

“Let's take the hotels one by one and make notes.” She sighed. “The one thing we want to keep in mind is that each hotel should be different, its decor indigenous to its location. We don't want a vacationer to think that if he's been in one Chandler Hotel, he's been in them all.”
 

“That's right.”
 

“Okay, let's start out with the one in Florida.” Dina gazed at the photographs. “I think it has to be the most challenging. I didn't realize it looked so sterile.”
 

She flipped her glasses into place on her nose and reached for her note pad. ‘Here we'll take advantage of the tropical environment. Heavy on wicker furniture, light and airy colors, no carpeting, cool tile floors, and lots of potted plants and greenery. Something like the decor in our Hawaiian hotel would be good, but without the Polynesian accent.”
 

“What about the exterior?”
 

Dina thought of the budget and winced. “I hope we can get by with some landscaping. I don't want to do a major face lift unless there's no other way.”
 

Down the list of hotels and their photographs they went. The one in Maine would be done with a nautical flavor. The one in Mexico would have a lazy siesta look, complete with mock overhead fans turning leisurely from the ceiling. The founding hotel in Newport already had an elegant yachting atmosphere, which would now be stressed. The themes varied with each hotel, depending on its location.
 

When the last photograph had been examined and set aside, Dina looked at her copious collection of notes and sighed at the dollar signs they meant. She remembered her spiteful comment to Blake about the interior decorating to be done, remarking that it was woman's work. Well, there was a mountain of it here, one that she doubted Blake would have the patience to tackle.
 

“Now what?” Chet questioned.
 

“Now—” Dina took a deep breath “—now we need to have these notes transferred into sketches.”
 

“Do you want me to start contacting some decorating firms?”
 

“I suppose so. With the scope of the work that needs to be done, I'm just wondering how we should handle it.” She nibbled thoughtfully at her lower lip. “Something, either major or minor, has to be done at each of the hotels.”
 

“In the past we've always used firms within the area of the hotels, in the same city when we could,” Chet reminded her.
 

“Yes, I know.” Dina slid the pencil through the platinum gold hair above her ear. “I checked the records last week to get an idea of the possible costs and noticed that in the past we'd always used local firms. Before, it had proved to be both economical and good business to trade with a company in the same area as one of our hotels.”
 

“But, since virtually all the hotels are involved, it might not be practical because of all the traveling that would have to be done,” he observed. “That cost could eat into whatever savings we might realize by using a local decorator.”
 

“I'm afraid you're right,” she agreed with a rueful nod. “We might be better off with a major firm capable of doing all the work. In the long run it might prove to be the more economical choice.”
 

“I tell you what—” Chet leaned forward, his blue gray eyes bright with suggestion “—first let's get these notes typed up. Then why don't I contact two major companies to give us estimates on the work? To get a comparison, I can pick a half dozen hotels that are fairly close to here and obtain bids from local firms. I can use the hotel in Maine, the one here in Newport, naturally, the one in the Poconos—I can check the list.”
 

“That might work,” she agreed, turning the idea over in her mind and liking it. It had been a half-formed thought in her own mind, but when Chet had spoken it aloud, it had solidified. “Excellent suggestion, Chet.”
 

“I'll get started on it right away.” He began gathering up the notes and the photographs from her desk. “We don't want to waste time.”
 

“Before you go, there's something else I've been thinking about that I wanted to talk over with you to get your opinion,” Dina said to detain him.
 

“What's that?” Chet sat back down.
 

“To keep this continuity of every hotel being individual, I think we should carry it into the restaurants,” she explained.
 

“But we're doing that.” He frowned. “There are going to be decor changes in the restaurants and lounges, too. We just went over them.”
 

“No, I was thinking of extending the idea to the food.”
 

“Do you mean changing the menus?”
 

“Not completely. We would have to keep the standard items like steaks, et cetera, but add some regional specialties, as well. We do it already along the coast with the seafood.”
 

“I see what you're saying.” Chet nodded. “In the Poconos, for instance, we could add some Pennsylvania Dutch foods. We could even carry it down to little touches, like serving genuine johnnycake made out of white cornmeal with the dinner rolls here in Newport.”
 

“Exactly,” Dina nodded.
 

“I'll contact the restaurant managers of all the hotels. Those that aren't already doing this can send us a list of three or four specialty dishes they can add to their menus,” he suggested.
 

“Yes, do that. We can initiate this change right away by simply adding a flyer to the menus until new ones can be printed.”
 

“Consider it done, Dina.” He started to rise, then paused. “Is that all?”
 

“For now, anyway,” she laughed.
 

“I'll be talking to you. And I'll have my secretary send you a copy of these notes,” he promised, and gathered the stack of notes and photographs into his arms.
 

As Chet walked out of the office, the smile left Dina's face and was replaced by a wary frown. She stared at the open doorway, feeling those uneasy suspicions rearing their ugly heads. Then with a firm shake of her head she dismissed them and turned back to the papers she had been working on.
 

Chapter Eight

BENT OVER HER DESK, Dina was concentrating on the proposals from the selected advertising agencies. Absently she stroked the eraser tip of her pencil through her hair. Intent on the papers, she didn't hear the footsteps in the hallway or notice the tall figure darkening her open doorway.
 

“Are you planning to work late?”
 

The sound of Blake's voice jerked her head up. He stood there, so lithely powerful, so magnetically attractive. The darkness of his tan seemed to have faded little, its bronze hue accentuated by the white turtleneck sweater. Through half-closed lids he looked at her, creating the impression of lazy and friendly interest, yet his expression seemed masked.
 

As always when he caught her unaware, her pulse accelerated. An odd tightness gripped her throat, leaving her with a breathless sensation. For an instant the room seemed to spin crazily.
 

It was at moments like these that Dina wanted to let the powerful attraction she felt simply carry her away. But that was too easy and too dangerous. It wouldn't solve any of the differences that had grown in the years they were apart.
 

His question finally registered. She managed to tear her gaze away from his ever watchful eyes to glance at her wristwatch, surprised to see it was a few minutes before six o'clock.
 

Then she noticed the silence in the rest of the building. There were no muffled voices coming in from the hallway, no clackety-clack of typewriters. Nearly everyone had left for the day, except herself and Blake.
 

“I hadn't realized it was so late,” she offered in answer to his question. “I just have to clear these things away and I'll be ready to leave.”
 

As she stacked the proposals one on top of the other, preparatory to slipping them into their folder, Blake wandered into the room. He suddenly seemed to fill every square inch of it. Within herself, Dina was conscious of the sensuous disturbance his presence caused.
 

“How is the campaign progressing?” he inquired, his gaze flicking to the papers in her hand.
 

Dina had to search for the chilling antagonism that would keep him at a distance. “Hasn't Chet been keeping you informed?”
 

“No. Was he supposed to?” There was a baiting quality to the blandness of his voice.
 

“I presumed he would,” she retorted, opening a desk drawer to put the folder away.
 

“If you didn't tell him to keep me up to date, Chet won't,” said Blake, hooking a leg over the desk corner to sit on its edge. “He only does what he's told.”
 

The desk drawer was slammed shut. “Will you stop that!” Dina glared at him.
 

“Stop what?” Blake returned with seeming ignorance.
 

“Stop making remarks like that about Chet!” The antagonism was there; she no longer had to search for it.
 

Blake made an indifferent shrug. “Whatever you say.”
 

Impatiently she swept the remaining papers and pens into the middle drawer of her desk, leaving the top neat and orderly. Setting her bag on top, she pushed her chair up to the desk. Her sweater was lying on the back of the chair near where Blake stood.
 

“Hand me my sweater, please.” Frigid politeness crept into her voice.
 

Glancing around, Blake slipped it off the chair back and held it out to her as she walked around the desk to the front. “How are you and Chet getting along?”
 

“The same as always—very well.” Dina gave him a cool look and started to reach for the sweater. “Did you expect it to be different?” It was spoken as a challenge, faintly haughty. A light flashed in her mind and she forgot about the sweater. “You did expect it to change, didn't you?” she accused.