Читать книгу Dare to Dream - Donna Hill, Donna Hill - Страница 10

Chapter 4

Carl Hampton entered the office building on Madison Avenue in midtown Manhattan and stepped onto the elevator. Hampton Inc. was located on the twentieth floor of the turn-of-the-century building and boasted an incredible view of the Big Apple, one of the reasons he’d chosen the location nearly fifteen years earlier.

Since he launched his investment company, he’d seen the country’s unstable economy topple one business after another. But one thing he’d learned early on was to diversify. His assets and his sights were set on an array of enterprises and opportunities, and he’d amassed enough money to live the way he wanted. It also allowed him to indulge in his pet passion—art. The white-walled reception area of Hampton Inc. was lined with original artwork from around the world. Each of the dozen offices housed at least one treasured piece.

The elevator door opened and his receptionist, Denise, jumped to attention.

“Good morning, Mr. Hampton.”

He murmured something in his throat and breezed by her.

Jake Foxx, one of his investment brokers, stopped him in the corridor.

“Carl, we really need to talk. The lawyers and the accountants need to know what you want to do about that loft thing. We need to get the papers filed and decide what to do with the property.”

Carl cut his eyes at Jake. “Do you think that perhaps I can get into my office before you bombard me with what you need?” he asked with deadly calm. “I pay the accountants, the lawyers and you to take care of things. So take care of them.” He walked off and into his office, slamming the door behind him.

He knew part of the reason for his ill temper was that he had not been able to talk to or see Desiree. It was eating him alive. He was sure that by now she would have contacted him, asking for his help. But not a word, not a call. How could she not need him?

He slammed his briefcase on top of his desk, sending a flurry of papers to the floor. This was not how things were supposed to be. Desiree should have been his by now. Hadn’t he shown her how much he cared? Hadn’t he provided for her every need? She’d come to her senses and realize what a fool she’d been to turn her back on him. The building, the exhibit, none of it mattered. The only thing that made a difference in his life was Desiree, and he had to find a way to finally make her understand that.

* * *

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re full and probably will be for the next two weeks. You can try us back then.”

“Thanks.” Rachel sighed and hung up the phone. She’d called every bed-and-breakfast on Sag Harbor and received the same response: “Full, please call back.” Short of going out there herself and scouting the places, she didn’t know what else to do.

She leaned back in her chair and massaged her temples. She couldn’t let Desiree down, not after all the huffing and puffing she’d done, swearing that she would take care of everything.

Running out of options, Rachel decided to call the tourist bureau. After about twenty minutes, the very patient and thorough customer service rep was ready to fax over information on a relatively new B and B called The Port.

“Thank you so much. You’ve saved a life today,” Rachel said. “Yes, the fax is coming through right now. Thank you again. Have a great day.”

Rachel hung up and hurried across the room of her home office to the fax machine. Each of the pages highlighted the attributes of this little-known treasure on Sag Harbor. Even though the picture of the resort was a bit grainy, she could tell that it would be perfect for Desi. It offered all the amenities and provided the privacy that she needed while still giving her easy access to the rest of the affluent African-American community.

Before the last page was spewed out, Rachel was on the phone.

“Hello, please tell me that you have rooms available,” she said, a bit breathless.

The deep voice chuckled. “Actually you’re in luck.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I’d like to make reservations—for the rest of the summer if that’s possible.”

“The rest of the summer works for us,” he said. “We’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

“Actually it’s not for me. It’s for a friend. She really needs to get away, rest, and…well, she needs to get away. But I’ll be taking care of all the bills.”

“Not a problem. Let me put the guest clerk on the phone and she will take care of all the particulars.”

“Oh…but can’t you take the information? I’ve been on the phone for hours. I swear if I talk to one more person today I might snap.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he said, keeping his voice light. The last thing he needed was an unhappy customer before she even arrived. As one of the newest establishments on the shore, he was conscious of building a solid reputation for customer service. “Trust me, the clerk will help you. I only own the place. I leave the running of The Port to the staff. It’s important. I’m sure you can understand that. So please hang on and we’ll get you all set up in no time at all.”

Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed as she listened to the recorded music of Nancy Wilson. At least it’s not Musak, she thought.

“Hi. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My name is Terri. Tell me what you need and we’ll make it happen.”

Rachel gave Terri all the information and insisted that Desiree be given as much privacy as possible.

“We always respect all of our guests’ privacy, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Great. Put all the charges on my credit card. She’s not to be bothered with anything.”

“Understood.” Terri took down all the credit information. “All done. We’ll be expecting Ms. Armstrong on Sunday. And don’t worry about check-in times, her room will be ready whenever she arrives.”

Rachel exhaled a long sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem. Have a great day.” Terri hung up the phone and started to file away the reservation card.

“So who is our mystery guest this weekend, Terri?”

Terri turned in the direction of her boss’s voice. “A Desiree Armstrong.” She handed the reservation card to him.

It took a moment for the name and the reality to register, and when it did his breath stopped in his chest.

Lincoln blindly handed the card back to her.

“Are you all right, Mr. Davenport?”

“Uh, yes. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat. “See to it that Ms. Armstrong has whatever she needs.” He turned and walked away.

Lincoln stepped outside and stood on the porch of the main house, gazing out toward the sun that was slowly descending over the still waters. Orange and gold sunbeams streamed out across the slight ripples like pathways leading to eternity. For an instant, Lincoln wished he could simply put one foot in front of the other, step onto the guiding beams of light and walk off into the horizon. It seemed possible, almost preferable to having to confront the unimaginable.

Desiree. Even now, five years later, the mere thought of her made his heart race and desire heat his blood. Was this some cruel joke, some twist of fate that was bringing her here of all places? In three days he would know. But what then? What could they possibly say to each other to make what had gone so wrong right again?