Burned Deep (Burned 1)

I didn’t have time to dwell on that perilous thought, though. I had forms and policies to read, and then the resort tour, taken mostly by golf cart. I was exhausted by the time I got home. As I fell into bed later, my phone jingled from its perch on the nightstand, signaling an incoming text.

It was Dane. I smiled.

How was your first day?

I typed: Busy. And my hand is cramped from signing my name so many times. Seriously?

I don’t like anything falling through the cracks.

Not a surprise when it came to him. I texted: Thanks for the flowers. They’re spectacular.

So are you. Now go to sleep. You have an even busier week ahead of you.

With a nod he obviously couldn’t see, I wrote: I suspected as much.

Sweet dreams.

Clearly, I found it impossible not to nibble on the lure.

You, too. Whenever it is that you sleep.

I returned the phone to the nightstand, drifting off with thoughts of Dane and 10,000 Lux racing through my head.

* * *

The week was a blur of activity. There were so many people to meet, so many different offices to try to find, so many things to learn about hotel life and how everything worked. Then there were the multitude of discussions on all of the opening events, guest lists, and planning to be handled. I was utterly brain fried—now understanding why my brides always stared at me with deer-in-the-headlights, glassed-over eyes during their initial consultation. The tables had been turned.

Dane called on Wednesday night, but I missed his call, because I was dead asleep. He texted, concerned. I immediately replied when I woke in the morning, telling him I was basically a zombie at this point but really, really excited. I didn’t hear back, likely because it was the middle of the night for him.

On Thursday afternoon, I inspected the conference space and grand ballroom—and by grand I meant absolutely breathtaking. I stood in the center of the enormous room, envisioning black-and-white galas held under the glittery rays of chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds.

I’d been told by someone in Engineering that the artistically painted panes covering the domed ceiling could be diffused with the touch of a button to reveal a crystal-clear night sky. Or a stellar blue afternoon. Whatever. It was totally over-the-top. No surprise there.

I left with that overwhelming feeling I couldn’t seem to shake when I was on-property. Down the wide Italian marble corridor, also lined with gorgeous chandeliers, I located the media room, beautifully laid out, all the equpiment and controls marked with their corresponding conference rooms. Nothing was on, and I was tempted to power up, because that panel was clearly labeled as well.

Eyeing the switches for the ballroom, I wanted to test the sound system. I liked to know well in advance how the acoustics were and the level of clarity of the speakers. My fingers itched to give it all a whirl.

But my good sense won out—what if I fucked something up? Dane had enough on his hands. No need to add media operational issues to the list.

I’d wait and ask the A-V guys to walk me through it all. They’d handle events, but it’d be helpful to have the knowledge in case of emergencies.

Tearing my gaze from the even more tempting remote panels nestled in their wall-mounted docking stations, which were powered on, I reached for the lever on the door, ready to head back to my office. I gave it a tug, but the door stuck. That happened sometimes at my townhome, when there was a lot of humidity in the air. The wood would swell and fill the door frame.

I pulled a little harder. Behind me, I heard a thump. Moments later, there was a strange crackle in the air.

I moved away from the door and surveyed the equipment again.

Another buzzing, hissing noise and my brow furrowed. I got down on my hands and knees, following the sound. Under a narrow table stacked high with opened boxes filled to the brim with packing slips and materials—and more were tucked under a portion of the table—I spied a panel of multiple outlets.

And, above it, I fixated on the stream of water flowing from a small hole down the wall that led to the plugs.

A spark made me gasp. A heartbeat later, a sharp sizzle had me jumping to my feet. The lights in the room flickered, then shorted out, making me panic. The remote units remained aglow, obviously holding a charge, though their docking station indicators dimmed. I had enough illumination to find the door. I yanked on the lever with force. The door flew open—just as the sparks ignited the twisted brown paper overflowing from the boxes.

Shit!

I barreled into the hallway and yelled, “Fire!”

One of the Electrical staff was close at hand—and instantly on his radio. A flurry of activity ensued with more staff rushing toward us, fire extinquishers at the ready. Before I knew it, Amano was at my side, ushering me out of the conference center.