Page 72 of Vow To The Devil

"Yeah!" Solana takes off, running full tilt at Dare. She flings her arms around his legs just as he stops before the hotel's check in counter. He grins and kneels down, exchanging a few words with Solana. Then he stands up again, ruffles her hair, and looks expectantly at the young woman behind the counter.

Dare slaps his black Amex on the counter. "I'll be renting out the entire penthouse floor. And before you say anything, know that I am comfortable demanding that I rent the whole hotel."

I watch the exchange with a mix of admiration and confusion. Dare is so confident, so assured of himself. He knows what he wants, and he'll stop at nothing to get it.

The receptionist's eyes widen at Dare's audacious statement, but she quickly regains her composure and starts punching in some keys on her computer. "Of course, Mr. Morgan. Your assistant called and said you would be arriving with some... guests. We have the Windsor Suite available for your use and all the rooms on that floor are ready as well."

"Sounds great. Do me a favor and send up that French chef of yours. The kids are going to need to be fed pretty soon."

I stifle a smile at Dare's arrogance. It's one thing to be rich, but it's another to flaunt it like he does. The woman at the counter nods nervously and hands him a set of keys.

"See that the children are treated like royalty during their stay. These are all my valued guests." His voice rings with absolute authority.

The concierge swallows hard and nods, not daring to refuse.

The doors open to our floor and a maid immediately recoils at the sight of us. Her nostrils flare in disgust at the group of grubby orphan children flooding the pristine hallway.

I put a protective hand on Solana's shoulder as she shrinks back, stung by the rejection.

Dare steps forward, eyes blazing. "This young lady will be staying in the presidential suite," he informs the maid coolly. "Please see that it's prepared for her immediately."

The maid blinks in shock but doesn't dare disobey. With a reluctant dip of her head, she bustles off to ready the room. Solana looks up at Dare with awe.

One by one, Dare assigns the children to lavish accommodations, his manner leaving no room for debate. The staff hurries to comply, though their displeasure is palpable.

I follow the children around the penthouse floor, marveling at the lavish furnishings and sweeping views of the city. This is a world away from the cramped dormitories at Hope House.

Dare is on the phone organizing an army of nannies, tutors, and counselors to care for the children. His confidence and take-charge attitude are reassuring, but I still have logistical concerns.

"Dare," I say gently, "this is incredibly generous, but how long do you plan on keeping up something this extravagant? It will cost a small fortune."

He ends his call and turns to me, his gaze intense. "Money is no object. All that matters is creating stability after the trauma they've endured."

I look down, touched by his dedication but anxious about the burden he's taking on. "I thought you were cut off?"

Dare tilts his head. "Not from my personal accounts."

My brows rise. Personal accounts?

I shake my head, realizing that I may never understand how rich people think.

"It's just...this is a massive undertaking. Are you sure you can get the staff to handle it? And what about long-term plans for the children?"

Dare steps closer, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. "Talia, please trust me. I will do whatever it takes, for however long, to make sure these children thrive. You have my word."

His solemn promise sends a shiver down my spine. I know at this moment that Dare would move heaven and earth for those in need. And I realize, with dawning wonder, that I would do the same for him.

The children burst into their rooms, marveling at the plush king-sized beds, massive flat screen TVs, and decadent marble bathrooms.

"This is amazing!" shouts Miguel, jumping up and down on the bed. Little Rosie's eyes widen as she takes in the ornate furnishings, so different from the sparse dormitories at Hope House.

I follow Solana into the presidential suite, where she immediately heads for the bowl of chocolate truffles left on the nightstand.

"Just one for now," I say gently, guiding her over to the walk-in closet. Her small shoulders slump in disappointment.

A knock at the door reveals a trio of smiling young women. "We're the nannies Mr. Morgan hired," explains the one in front. "We're here to help the children get settled." Behind them is a middle-aged man in a suit. "And I'm the social worker assigned to oversee their care."

I sigh in relief. With their expertise, we can create some semblance of normalcy for the kids.

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