Chapter Twenty-Three
If Zach's chef—who actually appeared to the head chef for the entire Seasons Casino, not Zach's own personal chef, although that probably amounted to the same thing—thought receiving an order for dinner for two from a strange woman in Zach's suite was unusual, she didn't show it. Kendall was courteously informed that a meal to Mr. Slater's liking would be brought up to the suite in a short while.
After completing that task, Kendall decided she preferred to be fully dressed in front of any casino employee delivering dinner to the room. Not that there was anything at all intimate about her presence here, even the mere suggestion was ludicrous; and doubtless Zach's employees were well-drilled in keeping their eyes, ears, and mouths shut in any event, too. You couldn't stop them from thinking whatever they wanted, though, nor could Kendall deny what she herself would think about it in their shoes.
Riding back down in the elevator, she again examined not only her judgment in but also her reasons for not just telling Zach to take a backwards hike around his casino and making her own way home. When she spotted the gym on the way back to the day spa Kendall laughed at herself that it was because Zach looked so good in boxers…and maybe there was a grain of truth in that; regardless of how she felt about Mr. Slater, she wasn't blind. This time yesterday, the reason would have been because she was afraid he'd get too close to Miranda if she didn't monitor him, and maybe that was still part of it, although she no longer feared for Miranda's actual physical safety.
I just feel so cast out by everyone, she realized. It's weird but everyone except Zach has either given me a hard time or just called and then gone on with their lives while this is going on. Everyone except Myrtle, she supposed, and she vowed to call the older woman later that night. As for the rest…well, did it really matter? There was nothing anyone could do or say to make her feel better, nothing anyone could do or say to change anything that had already happened or that was waiting to happen, Kendall shivered.
She didn't want sympathy anyway; what good did that do? Most people, she realized cynically, conveyed their sympathies to you as expeditiously as possible, so they could start telling you about their own problems. That was one trait Zach had never, ever exhibited….
Returning to her dressing room in the spa no closer to any real answers, Kendall removed the robe and turban and hung them up, changed back into her own clothes, and fluffed out her hair. Giving the place a longing look over her shoulder, she was proceeding back to the elevator when the spa director, Frieda Swenson, came hurrying after her with her arms full.
"Miss Hart!" the other woman panted. "Miss Hart!" She was carrying the robe Kendall had been so glad to dispense with, as well as a lovely sectioned wicker gift basket tied with a soft lavender bow and filled with lavender netting cushioning samples of products used on Kendall earlier. "I'm glad I caught you. We didn't want you to leave without these complementary spa gifts. And of course, the robe is yours too."
Kendall forbore from identifying herself as one of the founders of Fusion and from pointing out that carrying beauty products to her was like carrying coal to Newcastle, but she accepted the basket and the robe, which she'd forgotten was hers to keep.
Frieda Swenson continued, "Oh, and I have a message for you. Mr. Slater called down to see if you were still here or on your way back to his suite. He wanted you to know the dinner you ordered arrived."
Making a mental note to tell Zach to please stop treating her like a yo-yo, Kendall managed another smile for Frieda, politely thanking her before the other woman departed. As Kendall turned back toward the elevator once more, she was speechless to find herself on a collision course with J.R. Chandler,
"My, my, my, my. How very interesting. How very, very, very interesting." J.R. sounded very chipper. "What was that I just heard? Dinner is waiting for you in Mr. Slater's suite? Le dîner pour deux? And I thought you'd be interested in breakfast in a bag. My mistake!"
When she found her voice again, the best Kendall could do was, "You need to change your record, J.R Your needle's stuck."
"It's not my needle that's stuck," he said crudely.
"Oh, yes, it is, it's stuck up your—never mind. What the hell are you doing following me around?" she demanded. "Because that is what you are doing, isn't it? This meeting isn't an accident."
"It's a free world." J.R. shrugged his shoulders. "I can come and go as I please. I just happened to please to spend the afternoon doing a little gambling. I was pretty sore about getting rooked at the craps table, but running into you more than makes up for it."
"And you just happened to get lost on the way out and wound up at the spa. Bullshit, J.R."
"I know, what a coincidence, huh, Kendall? Is there any reason why I shouldn't wind up here? If there is maybe you could fill me in."
Kendall sniffed. "Well, why would you end up here unless you're in the market for a stone massage or a kiwi facial, and somehow you just don't strike me as the type."
J.R. affected one of his choir boy expressions. "Mmm, I love kiwis. Why don't you answer my question first? Does it have anything to do with why you're acting all… well… flustered?"
"If I'm flustered it's because I caught you following me around like a sneak thief and I don't like it! Even you should be able to understand that, J.R. Now if you don't leave me alone and get out of my way I'll…."
"You'll what, Kendall? Sic Slater on me again?"
"What? Don't make me laugh, J.R. If Zach goes after you it's because you asked for it."
"Right, and it was a fluke the cop showed up when he did. Slater's got the police force in his back pocket."
"Zach didn't send any cop after you. You were speeding. Besides, I thought it was the Chandlers who owned the law in Pine Valley."
"But you didn't stop Slater from sending that cop after me either, did you?" J.R. asked resentfully.
"Will you please get this straight, J.R.? I don't have any control over what Zach does, which would be—in case you haven't noticed—whatever the hell he wants to do." After that remark, Kendall pressed her lips closed. Far from stopping Zach from reporting J.R.'s parking violation, she'd cheered him—but the basic point remained the same.
"Yeah, well, Kendall, you better tell your new boy toy to stop toying with me, or you'll both be sorry," J.R. threatened. "Remember, two can play this game."
Swallowing angrily, she began, "I'll do you a favor and not even mention this to Zach. Because he is not my—"
"Is this gentleman bothering you, Miss?" Kendall looked up in surprise to find a very tall, very burly man wearing a dark suit and tie, a prominent security badge, and a forbidding visage to go with them, approaching her and J.R. He went on to explain, "Ms. Swenson called for me when she heard raised voices. I'm Frank Reynolds, Deputy Security Head here at the Seasons."
Following this new intrusion, Kendall wanted to sink through the floor. Now Zach would definitely hear about this altercation with J.R. Why shouldn't he, though, she supposed—in fact, Zach should probably hear about it directly from her first, instead of from a member of his security staff. After this, she didn't owe J.R. anything. Especially when there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell J.R. was planning to keep it to himself anyway.
As soon as he was out of her hearing range, it wasn't necessary to be in a casino to bet J.R. would instantly whip out his cell phone, punch in Ryan's number and falsely swear, yet again, that there was something going on between her and Zach. When this whole farce was nothing more than a comedy of errors…no, a tragedy, with the potential to become even more tragic.
"Thank you," Kendall replied stiffly to the deputy security head. "But this man isn't really bothering me. I just don't think he realizes how anxious I am to leave, that's all."
"By all means, then, Kendall, depart. Don't let me stand in your way." J.R. spoke through gritted teeth. "Or your goon's way," he added sotto voce.
"May I escort you somewhere, Miss?" Reynolds asked Kendall protectively.
"Er, um, no thanks. I was just…heading over there." She gave J.R. what she hoped was a warning look before walking away with as much dignity as she could muster.
Finally, safely alone in the sanctuary of the elevator and whisking upward, Kendall began to shake with a belated reaction to the scene with J.R. Who the hell did that little prick think he was, spying on her, misinterpreting what he saw, and then tattling about it? For that matter, who the hell did Zach think he was, always taking matters into his own hands, calling around behind her and checking up on her as if she were his missing puppy? Why was she allowing it? When the elevator dumped her out into Zach's lair, Kendall was well and truly on her way to a rampage.
She found Zach showered and changed into a gray linen button front shirt and black linen slacks. He looked handsome, appealing and, for him, downright close to human. An appetizing aroma scented the air—something beef-y and wine-y—seemingly arising from beneath shining silver plate covers on a round, white damask-covered table set for two placed by the sofa—while soothing acoustic guitar music played almost inaudibly in the background.
"Tell me something, Zach, what the hell difference is there between this set-up and J.R.'s breakfast in a bag?" Kendall raged, hurling her spa gift basket and robe straight into his unprepared arms. "Here, take your lousy parting gifts, I don't need them and I don't want them! I won't be a bone between a couple of dogs like you and J.R.! Especially not now! I just won't!"
"Kendall, what the hell—," he began.
But she wasn't capable of listening through the stinging waves of emotion buffeting her, waves triumphantly rolling in to batter, roll over, and knock down the flimsy seawall of denial behind which she'd been both cowering from and defying those waves all of this day. She couldn't hear Zach over their deafening roar; she could barely even see him—him, or anything else in the room. It was largely instinct guiding her to the nearest flat soft surface on which to fling her prone form and simply lie, gasping desperately for air through the salt water and tears.
Zach left her alone. Some primitive intuition of hers was vaguely conscious he'd removed himself to the farthest end of the room, but not entirely from the vicinity. It didn't really matter. His bed—the same primitive instinct informed her it was that which held her up like a life raft—felt firmly supportive yet somehow as soft as being cuddled by a cloud. It felt very welcoming, very comforting, and she was just so exhausted.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Kendall escaped from all her chaotic feelings—and from all but one witness—into sleep.