Pretty.
But cold.
Her eyes flick over me.
Assessing.
Judging.
“Can we help you?” the shorter girl asks.
“Yes. I’m Harleigh Storm. I’m looking for the front office manager.”
The dark-haired woman’s eyes lift to me. “You found her. I’m Diana Fairchild.” Her voice is smooth and polished.
She steps out from behind the desk.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, extending my hand.
She takes it and then quickly releases it.
“I oversee the front operations of the resort—the front desk, concierge services, bell staff, and guest relations. Essentially, the nerve center of guest interaction.”
I nod quickly. “Of course.”
“Your direct supervisor is in the hospitality development department, but I’ve been asked to oversee your introduction to the resort.”
“Thank you.”
Her gaze drifts down again.
Sweater.
Jeans.
Boots.
Her lips press together almost imperceptibly.
Then she leads me over to a coat closet behind the front desk and hands me a burgundy blazer that matches her own and an engraved name tag.
“Here.”
I blink. “Oh.”
“Dress slacks would be a more appropriate choice, going forward,” she says evenly.
My cheeks warm. “Understood.”
“Good.” She gestures toward a hallway. “Your office is this way.”
My office.
The words send a thrill through me.
We walk down a quiet corridor lined with framed historical photographs of the Belicourt.
Movie stars.
