Did I? There were days I would agree with that. Other days when the air conditioning refused to work or when my booking software showed nothing but empty rooms I wasn’t so sure.
“You can definitely say that this career found me, not the other way around,” I agreed, heading back into the house.
Allison had stayed largely cloistered in Room Two all day once we resolved her WiFi issues. She emerged now to request a glass of wine and to ask if I had a printer.
“No, sorry, I don’t.” I’m not sure I had ever printed anything in my entire life.
I had once heard that was a generational divide.
Allison certainly seemed horrified. “Well, where do I print something?”
“The library, I guess?” I honestly had no idea.
“You really should have a business center,” she chided. “I bet your competition does.”
I couldn’t argue with that because I had no idea who my competition was. I had been too busy trying to stay afloat to investigate other B&Bs in the area, though now I was suddenly curious.
I texted Maggie.
You love research and you love me. Do your thing and see how many B&Bs are in the Marigny and the Bywater and if they suck or not. Do they have business centers? Oh, and are haunted.
They’re all haunted. Or claim to be. But sure, on it. Though no one has a business center, I can guarantee it. Why the sudden interest?
If being a B&B owner is my calling I should be serious about it.
I wasn’t convinced it was my calling but I should at least listen for the whisper.
By six that evening, all the guests had assembled downstairs, gussied up and gala-ready, and even I had managed to snag enough time to put on makeup with my own gown. I herded them out to the rented shuttle van idling at the curb.
It was an unglamorous white seven-passenger number that I’d rented because I’d learned my lesson the hard way about trying to book ride shares in New Orleans. Sometimes they showed up. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they showed up smelling like shrimp. Other times they showed up smelling like Snoop Dogg had smoked seven blunts in the backseat.
There was just no telling.
A van ensured all my guests departed and arrived at the gala at the same time so no one could claim they had gotten unfair treatment.
Ask me how I knew that could happen.
I was still mentally processing the haranguing I’d received from a Loyola Mom who threatened me to within an inch of my life if she was late to her daughter’s graduation ceremony. The whole experience had been made worse by the fact that I had just inherited the inn and had no idea what I was doing.
“You’re driving us?” Taylor asked, eyeing the van, and then my dress, with some amusement as I climbed behind the wheel.
It was cheaper this way. And I was nothing if not good at saving a dime.
“I’m your hostess, your chauffeur, and apparently your emotional support human this weekend,” I said, wearing a sky blue evening gown that Maggie had assured me complimented my eyes. “Buckle up. There is no valet parking in the afterlife.”
“Comforting,” Reginald said dryly, folding his long frame into the middle row with caution.
“Move into the back, Reginald,” Allison complained. “Vivienne and I are in dresses. We’re not climbing all the way back there.”
Reginald sighed, but did as he was told.
Taylor moved easily to the back with a cheery wink, then slammed the sliding door shut once the women were settled in. That he had the strength to throw that door all the way closed from his position in the back seat indicated that in spite of a life indulging in liquor Taylor was in good shape.
I could feel Vivienne staring at me. I turned and saw she was taking photos of me. I’m sure my eyes bugged out because I couldn’t think of any reason why she’d want pictures of the back of my head and the rental van’s dashboard.
“I like the light,” she explained.
“Leave the poor girl to drive,” Reginald protested. “God only knows if she can even handle this thing.”
