slanted a glance at Hawke before shifting his focus back to her. “I’ve been tied up in depositions in Baton Rouge all day and just got back. When I picked up my messages, there was one saying that you needed to see me, that it was urgent. The front desk said you were still here, so I decided to stop by on my way home. Is everything okay?”
Everything was far from okay, Laura thought. But now was not the time to go into all that was wrong—not with Jackson Hawke standing there, measuring Daniel with his eyes and on the heels of whatever madness had stricken her. Because it certainly had been sheer madness that had caused her to react to Hawke as she had. The man was her enemy, she reminded herself. “Not exactly. And I do need to talk with you,” she said, hoping Hawke would take the hint.
“I think that’s supposed to be my cue to leave,” Hawke said drily before he shifted his gaze from her to Daniel. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jackson Hawke,” he said and extended his hand.
Daniel shook his hand. “Daniel Duquette,” he replied, his brow creasing. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Jackson Hawke with Hawke Industries who engineered the takeover of the Wilhelm family’s company last year, would you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
As she witnessed the exchange, Laura had a vague recollection of the small chain of family-owned inns that had been bought out by a corporation. She’d heard that the sale hadn’t been a friendly one, that the two brothers who’d owned the properties that had been in their family for years had been split on whether or not to sell. There had been a great rift in the family because of it and because of the sale. The man behind that had been Jackson Hawke?
“So what brings you to New Orleans, Mr. Hawke?”
“Business.”
“Thanks for sharing the éclair,” Laura said, eager to get rid of Hawke and talk to Daniel about the mess her mother had gotten them into.
Hawke held her gaze for several moments. “You’re quite welcome.”
“Good night, Mr. Hawke.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment, but Laura didn’t miss the gleam in his blue eyes that told her he hadn’t forgotten what had almost happened between them. “I’ll call your assistant in the morning about scheduling that meeting. Duquette,” he said with a passing glance, and without waiting for a reply he strode out of the room.
The door had barely closed when Daniel asked, “What was that all about? And what’s Jackson Hawke doing here?”
Laura sat down in her chair and released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “He’s the reason I called you. My mother pledged her stock in the Contessa as collateral for a bank loan and defaulted on the loan. Hawke bought her note and now he’s trying to take over the Contessa.”
Daniel let out a whistle. “Damn.”fv
“My sentiments exactly,” she said. “I spoke with the bank chairman briefly by phone and he wasn’t much help. I’m going to meet with him after the Thanksgiving holidays. I know it’s late, but could you take a look at these documents and tell me if there’s anything I can do to stop Hawke from taking over the hotel?”
“Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Daniel removed a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, slipped them on and began to read through the sheaf of papers she’d handed him. “I assume your mother received notices from both the bank and Hawke telling her she was in default of the loan,” he said as he flipped through the pages.
“She remembers receiving something about the payments being late. She meant to contact them and explain she needed an extension, but because of the time difference and the new club opening, she never got around to making the call.” Laura cringed inwardly as she heard herself repeating her mother’s excuse. It was typical Deirdre behavior, she thought. When confronted with a problem, more often than not, her mother would go into her Scarlett O’Hara mode and plan on dealing with the matter another day. Only she never did deal with the problem. It either took care of itself or it got worse. But this time her mother’s irresponsibility had proven disastrous.
Finally, he removed his glasses and looked up. “It looks legit. Unless your mother can come up with fifteen million dollars in the next thirty days to repay the loan, Hawke Industries can claim the stock she pledged as collateral and take over the hotel. I’m sorry, Laura.”
So was she. But she refused to give up and play dead. Already, a plan was forming in her mind. “In other words, if I can come up with the fifteen million dollars and pay off the loan before the thirty days are up, then Hawke can’t take the hotel. Right?”
“Right. But where are you going to get fifteen million dollars?”
“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “But I’m not going to just hand over the Contessa to Jackson Hawke without at least trying to save her.”
* * *
He had given her enough time, Jack decided. It hadn’t been easy, but he had made himself wait three days—until after Thanksgiving had passed. Since his mother had walked out on him and his father all those years ago, holidays had been just like any other day as far as he’d been concerned. On those few occasions when his father had attempted to make Thanksgiving or Christmas some warm, fuzzy family event, it had invariably ended with Samuel Hawke pining for the woman who’d run out on them both, then drowning his heartache in a bottle of whiskey. Once his father had died, Jack had been able to stop pretending that holidays were some special family affair.
But something told him that that was just what they were for Laura Spencer—special, warm and fuzzy family affairs. He couldn’t help wondering how she had spent her Thanksgiving. He knew her mother was in France and that her father lived on the East Coast. He also knew she had a slew of step and half siblings scattered across the country. Evidently, she hadn’t traveled to see any of them since she was already at the hotel on the Friday morning following the big turkey day.
Or had she canceled her plans because of him? It was a strong possibility that she had, he conceded. Pushing aside a twinge of guilt that he might have caused her to spend Thanksgiving alone, Jack assured himself that Laura would make up for it at Christmas. She’d probably fly to France and spend it with her mother, he reasoned. Unless, of course, she was planning to spend Christmas with his stepbrother, Matt.
Jack considered that a moment, recalled one of the few times he had visited his mother, her new husband and stepson. The visit had been at Christmas and the entire scene had been something out of a Norman Rockwell painting—only it was a picture in which Jack hadn’t belonged. Laura would belong though. He frowned at the image of Laura with Matt and his family gathered around a Christmas tree, opening gifts, drinking eggnog. According to Fitzpatrick Investigations, she and his stepbrother had been seeing each other for more than a year and it was rumored they’d been seriously involved when she had moved back to New Orleans.
Jack frowned. He knew Matt Peterson. The man thought far too highly of himself to restrict himself to any one female. A leopard didn’t change its spots and neither would his stepbrother. Laura might think that she was the only woman in Peterson’s life, but Jack would bet his vintage Corvette that there were several someone elses. But if Peterson had devoted a year to Laura as the report indicated, his stepbrother had done so for a reason. More than likely that reason had something to do with the senatorial race Peterson was rumored to be considering. Jack considered that angle for a moment. Laura was pretty, smart, well educated and poised. While her parents might be maritally challenged, her family tree was a good one and Laura herself was scandal-free. She would definitely be an asset on a senatorial candidate’s arm and help him to get votes. Her return to New Orleans would have put a kink in Peterson’s plans, but Jack doubted the man had abandoned his goal. He might have shelved it for a while, but Peterson didn’t like losing any more than Jack did. It had been one of the few things they’d had in common. According to Fitzpatrick’s report, the pair had supposedly remained “close” friends despite her move. Just how close were they? he wondered. How many times had Matt tasted her mouth,