Page 8 of Devil's Deal

Behind Closed Doors ~ Spa Services

Vigor ~ Gym

Sips & Giggles ~ IV Infusions

The Velvet Room ~ Restaurant

Discreet Delights ~ Speakeasy Bar

Teetotaler Café ~ Coffee Shop

The Nostalgia Nook ~ Clothing Boutique

The Big Cheese ~ Meet the Owner

Flipping through, I read that Behind Closed Doors offered things like deep tissue massage, facials, manis and pedis, and eyelash extensions. Sips & Giggles had a whole list of packages with different vitamins and hydration drips. They didn’t mess around here. Of course, if one took enough advantage of Discreet Delights, they might need a boost.

Turning back a page, I found Vigor, which, as previously stated, was the gym. There were pictures of the equipment, and a battle raged between my stomach to be fed and working out to burn off the nerves of meeting up with Omar tomorrow.

Wondering what The Velvet Room had on the menu, my hunger pains won out, seeing that they offered room service. Yawning, I kicked off my shoes and took the menu with me, dropped down on the blue bedspread with gold flowers that matched the wallpaper, and leaned back. After placing an order for some kind of chicken dish, I yawned. Damn, I was worn out.

Not being able to keep my curiosity at bay any longer, I flipped to the last page. A picture of Cory Letterman, owner, stared back at me. He wore a green newsboy cap, which amused me. It seemed he’d stuck with the twenties then. He was a good-looking man, younger than me by five years or so, and he’d aged nicely. I always liked a face with a little character, but it was his eyes that caught my attention. In my business, it paid to be able to read what was going on in the windows to the soul. In Cory Letterman, I saw sadness—grief.

“What’s your story, Mr. Letterman?”

I’d been suspicious when I’d been put in the Gangster’s Paradise Suite, but this man didn’t mean me harm. Hell, he didn’t look like he’d harm a fly. Not using terms like fella, zozzeled, and the big cheese. No, this fella—I snickered—wouldn’t cause me any trouble. I’d stay in tonight, eat, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow would be soon enough to hit the gym and seek out this quirky hotel owner. It took a lot to get my attention—hell, a smart person wouldn’t want it—but between his hotel and those haunted eyes, he had it.

Chapter

Three

CORY

My workout yesterdayevening was exactly what I needed. I’d gone up to my rooms in the penthouse, relaxed yet energized. After a quick dinner, I fell asleep reading, only to wake up a few hours later, worrying about the recent break-ins.

After tossing and turning, I’d gotten out of bed at five AM, deciding the best way to start the day would be a run on the treadmill. It wasn’t like I was really sleeping anyway. What the hell was I gonna do? I’d called the police the first time, but there’d been nothing for them to investigate since there hadn’t been an actual robbery. So what? Was I supposed to just wait around until it escalated?

I’d worked up a good sweat when another person walked in. A lot of our guests were businesspeople traveling for work, so they’d work out early, but I usually had the place to myself until at least six AM. Dressed in gray sweats and a plain black t-shirt, the man headed for the treadmill next to me.

Sighing, I pasted my brightest smile on my face. “Good morning.”

He stopped, stared at my face for a moment, and then smiled. “Cory Letterman?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

“Bosley. Bosley Taylor.”

“Well, Mr. Taylor, I’m assuming you saw my picture in the brochure, huh?” I chuckled ruefully. “I promise, that wasn’t my idea. Harlow, one of my employees, recommended adding that page when we updated six months ago.”

What I wasn’t going to tell this perfect stranger was theAbout the Ownerpage used to be at the front and included a picture of me and my husband standing in the front lobby of the hotel. It made me sad every time a new guest checked and asked me where my husband was. Harlow had gently suggested we redo the black book since it hurt my heart every time I had to say that he’d passed away and was a total mood killer for the guests.

“Harlow.” Bosley Taylor smiled as he set his workout on the machine. “I met him last night. Good kid.”

“Yeah, he really is. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” That was the understatement of the year.

“And this place…it’s pretty fantastic,” he said as he began a warm-up. “I’ve stayed at several boutique hotels, and this is one of the most interesting places I’ve been.”

“Gaudy?” I asked, worried about his answer.

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