COURTNEY WAS EXHAUSTED. Not from a lack of sleep. She’d gotten over that in a couple of days. No, her bigger problems were terror and faking it. Both had a way of draining a person.
It had been three days since her glorious night with Quinn. Three days of catching sight of him around the hotel and sharing a secret smile. Three days of sexy texts and a delivery of chocolate chip cookies, which was way better than flowers. Three days of thinking it wasn’t that the intimacy had been so great, it was that she really liked him. A given for some people, but her past choices for lovers had been on a scale of bad to worse. Which was why she’d decided to give up on the whole boy-girl thing for a while. She didn’t need the distraction.
But Quinn was different. If she was going to get weird about it all, she would say he was a positive force in her life. He wasn’t the kind of guy who had to put a woman down to feel like a man. He was actually sweet and sexy, and the things he’d done to her body...
Don’t think about that, she told herself firmly. Because her problem wasn’t with Quinn—it was with his grandmother. Courtney was terrified everyone around her could see that she’d had amazing sex with Quinn and that so wasn’t anything she wanted to discuss with Joyce.
For the most part, she’d been able to avoid her boss, but this afternoon was the first of many planning parties with Maggie about the wedding. It was being held in Joyce’s spacious office, and there was no way Courtney couldn’t attend. So she put on her best why no, I didn’t have sex with your grandson face and tried very, very hard to pay attention to the wedding planning details.
They’d already settled on the location—the lawn by the grand pavilion. There would be tents, similar to those used for the engagement party. The wedding would be at the north end of the property, the reception at the south end.
The chairs would have a nice drapey cover on them. Courtney was to check into color availability. The menu was still up for discussion, as was the cake. Although a discussion on the latter was going to be about what kind and flavor, not where to get it.
“I checked with Gracie,” Courtney said, consulting the notes on her tablet. “We’re not giving her nearly enough notice, what with how popular she is. But there was a cancellation, so she can fit you in. I’ve made an appointment for a design and tasting meeting.” She smiled at her mother. “I can come with you, if you want. Neil should be there, as well. And Gracie wants to know if you would like a groom’s cake.”
Maggie clapped her hands together. “I can’t believe I’m going to have a wedding cake made by Gracie Whitefield. She’s been in People magazine.”
“I remember,” Joyce said with a sigh. “No one loves cake like Gracie does.”
Courtney offered a silent apology to Gracie. She was sure the other woman was perfectly nice and deserved to be left alone to live her life in peace. But that wasn’t ever going to happen—not in Los Lobos.
Although Gracie was a few years older than Courtney, and the two knew each other only enough to say hello, the legend of Gracie lived on, even some twenty years after the fact.
When Gracie had been fourteen, she’d fallen deeply and totally in love with Riley Whitefield. He’d been a few years older and not the least bit interested. When Gracie had discovered he was seeing someone else, she’d done everything from putting a skunk in his car to nailing his doors and windows shut so he couldn’t go on a date. When Riley’s girlfriend had turned up pregnant and Riley had offered to do the right thing, Gracie had lain down on the road, in front of his car, and begged him to run her over. Because without him, life wasn’t worth living.
Gracie had been sent away for the wedding and hadn’t returned to town for nearly fourteen years. Courtney remembered some rumor about the girlfriend not being as pregnant as she thought, and the marriage had ended as quickly as it had begun. When Gracie had come back, Riley had been in town, as well. Somehow they’d gotten together. Courtney wasn’t sure of all the details, but in the end, Gracie and Riley had married and she’d moved her wedding cake business to Los Lobos.
“Did you tell her the cake needs to be pink?” Maggie asked.
“I did.” Courtney checked her notes. “She’s going to show us a range of colors and styles and says she has some really fun ideas for you.”
“Excellent.” Maggie turned to Joyce. “What do you think of adult Otter Pops?”
Courtney pressed her lips together. Seriously? Was this a frat party?
“What are Otter Pops?” Joyce sounded confused.
Courtney described the frozen treat. “They come in a lot of different flavors. Mom’s suggesting we add alcohol.”
“Vodka,” Maggie said cheerfully. “You inject them with a syringe, then freeze them. It’s fun.”
Courtney wasn’t sure which part would be fun. And where exactly were they going to get syringes?
“I’ll make a note of the idea,” she said, entering the information on her tablet. “We’re confirmed to have Judge Jill Strathern-Kendrick perform the ceremony.”
“Oh, good.” Maggie smiled. “I just love Jill. She and I serve on several community boards together. She’s really pregnant, though. Is that going to be a problem?”
Courtney checked her notes. “She’s not due until three weeks after the wedding and she was late with her last baby. Do you want me to arrange for a backup? It’s probably a good idea. Just in case.”
“No. I want Jill. I’m sure everything will be fine. Now, about the flowers...”
Courtney listened as the other two women discussed various choices. She offered suggestions as well, thinking the color scheme made it easy to have a range of options. Now, if her mother’s colors had been shades of blue, they would have had to be more creative.
She had visions of the hotel overflowing with vases filled with water colored with food-based dyes and roses in a range of sky blue to violet. That would be interesting.
“I’m going to be away for a few days,” Joyce was telling Maggie. “Just so you know. Courtney will be handling everything while I’m gone.”
“With the wedding?” Maggie asked, her tone doubtful.
“Yes. She fills in where we need her and she’s been handling a lot of events for us. She planned your engagement party and that turned out very well.”
“That was a onetime thing.” Maggie turned to her daughter. “I thought you were just a maid.”
“Most days,” Courtney said, reminding herself it was her choice not to say anything to her family. “I’ve also been known to serve tables, bartend and coordinate weddings. I go where I’m needed.”
“She does an excellent job,” Joyce added, looking pointedly at Courtney. “You should ask her about it.”
Maggie nodded, still looking doubtful. “Yes, I would imagine after all this time you would be able to do a lot of things around the hotel. But you’re still primarily a maid.”
For a second Courtney thought her mother was going to say more. Suggest yet another course at a trade school. Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would be done with college and be able to tell everyone what she’d been doing.
She thought about what Quinn had said about external validation versus internal. Maybe she should—
No! She’d waited this long. She wanted to be able to slap her diploma down for everyone to see. She wanted it to be real and tangible. Until then, she was keeping her secret.
They finished up with their appointment, and Maggie left to go back to her office. Joyce walked out to the lobby with Courtney.
“You should tell her,” the older woman said. “She worries about you.”
“I will.”
“You’ve accomplished so much. She’ll be proud of you. Why make her wait any longer?”
“I’m not done.”
“You’re hurting them and I worry you’re hurting yourself.”
Shades of what Quinn had said about her punishing herself as well as her family. Was insightfulness genetic?
“I appreciate your concern,” she said instead, “but this is how I want to do it.”
Her boss smiled at her. “A very polite way of telling me to mind my own business. All right. I will. You have to decide for yourself.”
“I know and I have. This is the right thing for me to do.”
But even as she spoke, Courtney couldn’t help wondering why she was the only one who could see that. And if everyone else thought differently, wasn’t there the tiniest chance that maybe she was wrong?
* * *
The door to the bungalow swept open and a tall, handsome African American man walked in. He spread his arms out wide and announced, “I want to be the next Prince!”
Quinn pulled off his headphones. He stood and crossed to his client and friend.
“Tadeo,” he said and held out his arms.
The two men hugged. Tadeo slapped him on the back.
“What are you doing here, bro? This town, it’s not you.”
“It grows on you.”
“So does fungus. It’s so small. There’s no shopping or restaurants. What do you do for fun?”
Quinn flashed to Courtney. There was plenty of fun to be had with her, and a good portion of it didn’t include sex. How often could a man say that about a woman?
“I get by.”
Tadeo put down his guitar case. “I meant what I said about Prince.”
“No, you didn’t. What are you doing here? Are you and Leigh fighting again?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“What happened this time?”
Leigh and Tadeo’s fights were legendary. They loved hard and loud. Marriage and three kids hadn’t changed that. Anyone hoping that time would mellow the passionate couple had been disappointed. Although Quinn had to admit they were never boring. But their relationship was a little too high-energy for him.
“She’s trying to cramp my style,” Tadeo complained as he sank into one of the club chairs. “If I write music all night, I can’t get up and take the kids to school. She’s got to be reasonable. I’m an artist, man.”
“You’re also a father.”
“That’s what she said.” Tadeo glared at him. “Did she call you?”
“She didn’t have to.”
Tadeo shook his head. “I’m not going back. This time it’s for good. I’m outta there. She keeps me on too tight a leash.”
“You’d be lost without your leash.” Quinn glanced at his watch. It was nearly one in the afternoon. “I’m going to order some lunch. You want something?”
“Sure.”
Tadeo looked over the room service menu, then Quinn called in the order, including food for Wayne and Zealand, who were due back shortly.
“Zealand texted me about the new studio,” Tadeo said. “I’m down with that. Show me the plans and I’ll give you my ideas.”
“What makes you think I want your ideas?”
Tadeo sat back in the chair. “I’m the artist here, bro. I get to have the attitude.”
“I sign the checks.”
“Oh. Yeah. I forgot that part.”
Quinn chuckled, then got out the floor plan of the building. He explained the modifications they were going to make.
“There’ll be rooms where we can write?” Tadeo asked. “I need to be writing and I can’t do that at home.”
“You’re living in LA,” Quinn pointed out. “Do you plan to commute up here?”
“I can stay in the hotel. It’s nice. Leigh needs to remember I’m a man.”
“She needs to kick your ass, which I’m going to guess will be happening soon enough. If she calls me, I’m not lying about where you are.”
“You don’t know where I am.” Tadeo sounded smug.
“You’re in my living room.”
“I meant you don’t know where I’m staying.”
Quinn would guess the singer would get a room at the hotel, but he didn’t bother stating the obvious. Nor did he continue the discussion. One thing he knew for sure—the more talented the artist, the bigger pain said artist was in his ass. Tadeo was one of the best. Marriage to Leigh had mellowed him, but not enough for the singer to ever be considered just like everyone else.
Quinn supposed he was a little strange himself, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Before he could decide, someone knocked on the front door.
“Room service,” a familiar voice called.
He opened the door to find Courtney pushing a large cart.
“Either you have company or you’re seriously hungry,” she told him.
He took a second to study her. The chef-style jacket suited her. He’d liked the bangs from day one and was pleased she’d kept them. The ponytail was practical and sexy—his kind of combination.
“You look good,” he told her. “I miss you.”
She blinked. “Wow. Right to the heart of things. You look good, too, and I—” She glanced over his shoulder. “You do have company.”
“Tadeo, this is Courtney,” Quinn said without turning around. “She works for my grandmother. Courtney, Tadeo. He sings.”
“Nice to meet you,” Tadeo said, then cuffed Quinn in the arm. “I’m more than a singer. I’m a songwriter. An artist. I’m the next Prince.”
“So you claim. I’m less sure.”
Courtney laughed. “I can see you’re really busy. Let me get this set up and I’ll leave you to it.”
“You don’t have to rush away,” Quinn told her as he helped her maneuver the cart into the bungalow.
“We had someone call in sick today, which is why I’m delivering food. I need to get back to that.”
She went over the order, then held out the bill for him to sign.
“Tadeo is one of your clients?” she asked.
“I found him singing at some dive club in Riverside. He owes me everything.”
Quinn was joking about that last part, but Tadeo looked up and nodded. “I do. The man even married me.”
Courtney raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know you played for both teams.”
Tadeo sniggered. “No. I mean he married me to my wife. She thinks you’re gay, bro. That’s a good one.”
“Isn’t it just?”
Courtney looked between them. “You’re allowed to perform marriages?”
“Only in California. I took the online class and I have my license. You could tell Sienna.”
She laughed. “I’ll be sure to mention it.”
Tadeo sighed. “Leigh and I were married on the beach at sunset.”
“Here we go,” Quinn murmured. “Next he’ll start crying and then he’ll go call her.”
Tadeo glared at him. “It was a beautiful day.”
“It was,” Quinn agreed.
“Leigh was stunning.” Tadeo sniffed. “I’m going to call her and see how she’s doing.”
“Probably for the best. Tell her you’re sorry.”
Tadeo held up his left hand, middle finger extended, but what Quinn heard before Tadeo closed the bedroom door behind him was “I’m sorry, baby. You still mad at me?”
“Have they always been like that?” Courtney asked.
“They have a passionate relationship that defies description.” He took a step toward her. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“I know. It’s been crazy. But soon?”
He took another step and was about to pull her close when he heard Wayne and Zealand approaching outside the door.
“Soon,” he told her. “Make that very soon.”
* * *
Courtney worked the room service shift for two days. The pace was different than she was used to. There would be periods of inactivity when she would help out in the kitchen, then a flurry of orders would come in and she would be running all over.
The hotel was already ramping up for the busy summer season. July Fourth was less than a month away, which meant lots of vacationers coming to Los Lobos. The extra staff had been hired. Courtney was scheduled to train the temporary maids the following week. Servers would be added in the restaurant and bar. Her friend Kelly had been promoted to lead server.
Courtney dropped off a bottle of Drama Queen pinot grigio to room 312, then went downstairs and out into the cool evening. It was barely eight, so the sun was a few minutes from setting. She admired the reds and oranges staining the western horizon. The air smelled of ocean and barbecue. A seagull flew overhead. She let the calm wash over her.
These were the parts of her day she always enjoyed, those few minutes of peace between bouts of crazy. Although it was late enough that she would probably have only another half dozen room service deliveries for the night.
She found herself heading toward Quinn’s bungalow. Not that she was going to knock or anything, but if the man happened to see her and invite her in...well, it would be rude to say no. She was still smiling at her slightly twisted logic when she rounded the corner of the hotel and saw him sitting in one of the patio chairs. He pulled the side table up close. As she watched, he played a couple of chords on the guitar he held, then made some notes.
He wore jeans and a ratty T-shirt. He was barefoot, slightly mussed and totally hot.
As she got closer, he looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “The guitar really works for you. But you already knew that.”
“I’ve been told.” He motioned to the chair next to his. “You can keep me company until your next delivery, if you want.”
She sat down. “Thanks. It was a busy dinner service tonight.” She touched the guitar. “What are you working on?”
“A couple of songs Tadeo brought me. He has good ideas but can’t finish a song to save his life. I clean them up and flesh them out.”
They’d talked about this before. How he did more than simply discover talent and push buttons in a recording studio. But she still had a hard time grasping the extent of his involvement with his artists.
“I didn’t realize you played guitar.”
“Piano, too. You can thank Joyce for that. She insisted. Music lessons started when I was about five. At first I hated them, but then I got good enough to do more than practice scales. When things were difficult with my mom, the lessons and practice gave me a place to escape.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “Joyce put a piano in one of the small rooms on the ground floor. I would go practice there every day. I’m sure the guests in the nearby rooms loved that.”
“It could be worse,” she said with a laugh. “You could have been a drummer.”
He chuckled. “I never had that great a sense of rhythm.”
“I don’t know about that.”
He looked at her. “Don’t tempt me. You’re still working.”
Tension crackled between them. She wondered how tacky it would be if she was seen kissing a guest. Or they could slip into his bungalow and—
Her phone chirped. She hung her head.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s my mother. I gave her a special tone so I would know it’s her texting me, what with the wedding and all, but now I’m thinking that wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it’s better if I don’t brace myself.”
“Are you arguing?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. It’s more the constant flood of ideas.” She glanced at the screen. “‘Confetti drop with pom-poms,’” she read.
He frowned. “Like cheerleader pom-poms? Wouldn’t someone get hurt?”
She laughed and held out her phone so he could see the picture. “No. The little fuzzy ones. Instead of dropping confetti, we would drop little pom-poms. I can’t decide if they would be easier or harder to clean. Probably easier. We could use the leaf vacuum to suck them all up.”
She texted a quick Great idea! then put her phone back in her pocket. “I had no clue she was so creative. I think she’s spending a little too much time on Pinterest. Did I tell you the colors of the wedding are basically shades of pink, with a little vanilla thrown in for contrast? So it’s pink everything. Even pink champagne.”
Quinn strummed a chord. “You mean rosé champagne.”
“Oh, please. Don’t start with me.”
“There’s a difference.”
“Sure there is,” she said sarcastically. “Enlighten me.”
He smiled and began to strum a tune she recognized as one of Tadeo’s hits.
“Cheap pink sparkling wine gets its color from food coloring. Rosé champagne, true champagne, gets its color from the skin of the grapes. Pinot noir grapes, to be exact.”
Holy crap, she thought. How did he know that? Probably from dating some supermodel slash winemaker. “I am so out of my league with you.”
He chuckled. “Not really, but I do have a talent for picking up odd facts. Never bet against me at trivia.”
“I’ll make a note. And tell my mother we need rosé champagne for sure.”
“That will make her happy.”
He continued to play the song.
“Did you write that?” she asked.
“Most of it. Tadeo helped.” He grinned. “He would say it was the other way around.”
“You have an interesting group of guys you hang out with,” she said. “Zealand, Wayne, Tadeo.” Zealand and Tadeo were involved in the music business, so they made sense, but Wayne was kind of an odd choice. The former marine and the playboy music executive. “How did you and Wayne start working together?”
Quinn stopped playing. His smile faded. “It’s a long story.”
“Oh. You don’t have to tell me. I was just wondering, but it’s no big deal.”
He put down the guitar, and the quiet of the night crept in to surround them.
“It’s all public. You can find out online.” He leaned back in his chair. “Wayne’s son, Casey, was also a marine. He was injured in a bomb blast. Badly injured. Stuck in a wheelchair and living with a brain injury. The doctors did the best they could, but there wasn’t much hope. Wayne took care of him, but it’s a hard job and he was doing it all alone. The only thing Casey still responded to was music. Specifically Tadeo’s music.”
Courtney thought about what she knew about the artist. He’d had multiple hits and was known for very loud, slightly crazy concerts.
“Wayne got concert tickets, but when he tried to get the stadium to make special accommodations for Casey, no one would help. He showed up during setup and made a fuss.”
“What does that mean?”
“He punched one of the roadies.” Quinn lifted a shoulder. “I happened to be there. He was brought to me, and the tour manager wanted to call the police. I asked what was going on and it all came out. Wayne was emotionally and physically at the end of his rope. He just wanted to get his son into the concert before he died. That was it. An easy enough request to fulfill.”
“You made it happen,” she said.
“Sure. Casey came to all three concerts. He met Tadeo. We made some calls and got Wayne help with his son and then we moved on to the next venue.” He stared past her, as if seeing things she couldn’t. “Two months later Casey died. Six months or so after that Wayne showed up in my office. He looked like hell. He said he wanted to thank me for what I’d done. We talked for a while and then I hired him to be my assistant. That was about seven years ago.”
Courtney’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t much of a crier, so they were kind of a shock. She sniffed, blinked them away, then glared at Quinn.
“You’re really pissing me off,” she told him.
“What did I do?”
Everything. Nothing. Before she could figure out what to say, her pager went off.
She stood. “I have to get back to the kitchen. There’s a delivery. I’ll see you later.”
“Courtney. What’s wrong?”
She waved off the question. Because what was she going to say? She already liked him. After the amazing sex, she was in danger of getting more involved. Now, hearing the story of how and why he’d hired Wayne, she could feel herself sinking in deeper.
She knew the danger. Love hurt. Always. Every kind. If you loved someone, you were going to get hurt. It was a given. She didn’t want that. Not ever. The guys she’d been involved with before had all been borderline losers. Her heart had never been at risk. But Quinn was different. Something she would have to remember. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed, she was going to have to be a lot more careful.