“Yes, ma’am . . . but we have another waiting for you. Please accept our apology.”

Dakota couldn’t be more confused.

Desi answered the door while Dakota tried to figure out what was going on.

“Ms. Laurens?” the bellhop asked.

Desi motioned toward Dakota, who decided to hang up the phone and deal with the person in front of her.

“I understand you’re moving rooms.” The bellhop stood rod straight, his hair gray at the sides. His uniform had straight lines and not one off-putting stain.

“This is the one I paid for,” Dakota told him.

“Yes, ma’am. Please follow me. If the room doesn’t meet your needs, you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

Dakota sent a puzzled look to Desi.

Her agent shrugged.

After grabbing her purse, Dakota let the employee lead her and Desi away.

They entered the elevator, where the bellhop swiped a card over a sensor before handing her the key. “In order to enter your room you must swipe this key here and press the floor within five seconds.”

The elevator shot to the top floor.

“We have you in number two.”

The bellhop opened the penthouse doors wide. The massive room spread out in front of her. Her suite faced west and the sun was setting. The view from this floor, the lights, the crystalline angles, the endless rows of buildings . . . New York lay sparkling in all her energetic glory below. “It’s breathtaking.”

The bellhop rocked back on his heels. “Mrs. Morrison asked that you call her sister if you have any concerns about the room. If it’s all right with you, Ms. Laurens, we’d like to transfer your things here.”

“I . . . ah, I can—”

“I assure you . . . nothing will be missed.”

Dakota’s head bobbed on her neck like a doll’s.

When the bellhop left the suite, Desi moved to the center of the living room and turned in a full circle. The great room spread over eight hundred feet, a piano sat in one corner, a bar and kitchen in another. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of the city and a portion of Central Park. Fresh flowers sat on a table by the door, a basket of fruit graced the dining table.

“How do you know a Morrison?” Desi was already headed toward one of the doors on the far side of the suite.

“I don’t.”

The master bedroom was larger than the living room in her condo. King-size bed, massive TV . . . a balcony with French doors. The bathroom looked like a Tuscan spa.

“He said Mrs. Morrison arranged this.”

“I know Monica, not her sister.”

Desi hesitated in the doorway of one of the extra rooms off the main suite. “Who’s Monica?”

“I met her at the conference.” Distracted, Dakota moved to the massive windows and stared at the setting sun. “She used to work with Walt.”

“Who’s Walt?”

“The doctor I’m dating . . . holy shit, Desi. This view is amazing.”

“Dakota!” Desi’s voice actually rose above Dakota’s thoughts. “Can you please connect the dots for me?”

“Monica is a sister-in-law to Mr. Morrison.”

“As in the owner of the hotel?”

“As in owner to many hotels . . . or so I found out when looking them up. Monica is a nurse practitioner who once worked with Walt. I told you about Walt, right?”

Desi shook her head and sat on one of the two plush sofas. “No.”

Dakota brought Desi up to date on her love life.

“So this is the guy who prompted your idea for the book.”

“This is the guy I had to blow off for this visit to New York.”

Before Desi could say anything else, the bellhop returned with her bags. She directed him to the room with her luggage and removed a tip from her purse.

He pocketed the cash quickly. Before he left the room, he said, “Again, we’re sorry for the inconvenience. The room provisions are complimentary, as is any in-room dining you may need during your stay. Have a nice evening, Ms. Laurens.”

“Room provisions?” Dakota asked the closed door.

Desi laughed and moved to the kitchen. “Open bar, doll . . . what do you want?”

“The flight home won’t be as nice,” Walt warned her when he pulled out of her driveway early Friday morning.

“I’m surprised you found a flight at all.” Dakota wore large-rimmed sunglasses, her hair slicked back in a ponytail. She had a light sweater in her lap and a knit top that left her arms bare. Her slacks hugged her hips and moved to sensible two-inch heels. Walt’s mouth watered a little more every time he saw her. “Do you always wait for the last minute?”

“Not always . . .” He turned off her street, merged into traffic.

“So what do you do on time?”

“Work.”

“Outside of that.” Walt caught Dakota shaking her head.

“Some of my bills.”

“Automatic bill pay doesn’t count. Do you remember birthdays?”

“I remember Mother’s Day.”

“All that last-minute shopping, or booking of flights, must cost you a small fortune.”

He glanced at her, winked. “Online shopping is the bomb.”

John Wayne Airport was much smaller than LAX. Walt found the VIP parking and told them his name.

When they were whisked through security with only a metal detector and a baggage X-ray, Dakota started asking questions. “When does our flight leave?”