You know we'd never include you in our financial difficulties, Merina." Jolie clucked her tongue.
Financial difficulties?
"Bankruptcy was not an option," her mom said. "Plus, selling gave us the best of both worlds. No financial responsibility and we keep our jobs."
"With Reese Crane as your boss!" Her mind spun after she said it aloud. My God. They would be answering to that arrogant, idiotic…"No." Merina shook her head as she strode past her mother. "This is a mistake."
And there had to be a way to undo it.
"Merina!" her mother called after her as Merina bent and collected the discarded doorknob off the ground. She strode through the lobby, dumping the remainder of her latte in the wastebasket by the front desk, and then stomped outside.
As luck would have it, the light drizzle turned into steady rain the second she marched through the crosswalk. Angry as she was, she'd bet that steam rose off her body where the raindrops pelted her.
"That stupid, smarmy jackass!" she said as she pushed through a small crowd of people hustling through the crosswalk. Because seriously, who in their right mind would reconstruct the Van Heusen? Fingerprint entry? This wasn't a James Bond movie! She caught a few sideways glances, but it was hard to tell if they were because she was muttering to herself like a loopy homeless person or because she was carrying a disembodied doorknob around with her.
Could be both.
Her parents had sold the Van Heusen to the biggest, most ostentatious hotel chain in the world. And without telling their own daughter, who also happened to be the hotel's manager! How close to bankruptcy had they been? Couldn't Merina have helped? She'd never know now that they'd sneaked behind her back.
How could they do this to me?
Merina was as much a part of that hotel as they were. Her mother acted as if selling it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
Focus. You're pissed at Crane.
Right. Big Crane may have done her parents a favor buying it, but now that he was about to "peace out," it sounded like Reese had decided to flex his corporate muscle.
"Shit!" She didn't just do that. She did not just drown her Louboutin pumps in a deep puddle by the curb. She didn't splurge on much, but her shoes were an indulgence. She shook the rainwater from one pump as best she could and sloshed up Rush Street to Superior, her sights set squarely on the Crane Hotel.
Seventy floors of mirrored glass and as invasive as a visit to the ob-gyn. Given the choice between this monstrosity and the Van Heusen, with its warm cookies and cozy design, she couldn't believe anyone would set foot in the clinical, whitewashed Crane Hotels let alone sleep there. At the top of that ivory tower, Reese Crane perched like an evil overlord. The oldest Crane son wasn't royalty, but according to the social media and newspaper attention he sure as hell thought he was.
Halfway down Superior, she folded her arms over her shirt, shuddering against the intensifying wind. She really should have grabbed her coat on her way out, but there hadn't been a lot of decision-making going into her process. She'd made it this far, fists balled and steam billowing out of her ears, her ire having kept her warm for the relatively short walk. She should have known better. In Chicago, spring didn't show up until summer.
Finally, she stood face-to-face with the gargantuan, seventy-floor home base. The Crane was not only the premier hotel for the visiting wealthy (and possibly uncultured, given that they stayed here), but it was also where Reese slept, in his very own suite on the top floor, instead of his sprawling Lake Shore Drive mansion. She wouldn't be surprised if he slept right at his desk, snuggling his cell phone in one hand and a wad of money in the other.
Stupid billionaires.
Inside, she sucked in a generous breath and shook off her chill. At least there was no wind, and despite the chilling whitewash of furniture, rugs, and modern lighting, it was warm. But only in temperature. The Crane represented everything she hated about modern hotels. And she should know, because she'd worked diligently alongside her parents to keep the integrity of their boutique hotel since she started running it. Her hotel was a place of rich history, beauty, and passion. This place was a tower of glass, made so that the lower echelon of the city could see in but never touch.
Perfect for the likes of Reese Crane.
She walked through the lobby, filled to overflowing with businesspeople of every color, shape, and size. Flashes of suits—black, gray, white—passed in a monochrome blur, as if the Crane Hotel had a dress code and each and every guest here had received the memo. Merina, in her plum silk shirt and dark gray pencil skirt and nude heels, didn't stand out…except for the fact that she resembled a drowned rat.
A few surly glances and cocked brows were her reward for rushing out into the storm. Well. Whatever.
She spotted the elevator leading to Crane's office, catching the door as an older woman was reaching for the button. The woman with coiffed gray hair widened her eyes in alarm, a tiny dog held snuggly in her arms. Merina skated a hand down her skirt and over her hair, wiping the hollows below her eyes to ensure she didn't go to Reese's office with panda eyes.
"Good morning," she greeted.
The older woman frowned. Here was the other problem with the Crane. Its guests were as snooty as the building.
Attitude reflects leadership.
The doors opened only once, to deliver the woman and her dog to the forty-second floor, and then Merina rode the car to the top floor without interruption. She used the time to straighten herself in the blurry, reflective gold doors. No keys or security codes were needed to reach the top of the building. Reese Crane was probably far too smug to believe anyone would dare come up here without an appointment. She'd heard his secretary was more like a bulldog that guarded his office.
The elevator doors slid aside to reveal a woman wearing all black, her grim expression better suited for a funeral home than a hotel.
"May I help you?" the woman asked, her words measured, curt, and not the least bit friendly.
"You can't," Merina said, pleased the rain hadn't completely drowned out her rage. "I need to speak with Mr. Crane."
"Do you have an appoin—"
"No." She supposed she could have made an appointment, could have called ahead, but no sense in robbing Reese Crane of the full effect of her face-to-face fury.