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“In three weeks.”
“Until then, ten rooms is your limit. We’ll review it after your appointment.” I look at Iris. “Offer the other four rooms to anyone who wants the overtime. If there aren’t enough volunteers, bring in someone from the agency.”
“That will cost money,” Martin says.
“So will hiring and training a replacement if we make Lucinda’s knee worse.”
Martin considers that, then makes a note.
Lucinda looks at me. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m lazy.”
“No one who knows you would think that.”
Iris nods firmly.
“You’re still healing,” I say. “If someone else came back after surgery, you’d help them, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then let us help you.”
Lucinda finally meets my eyes and nods.
“Ten rooms,” I say. “Take your breaks, use the elevator instead of the service stairs, and tell Iris if your knee gets worse. We’ll review everything after your appointment.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” I look at Iris. “Anything else?”
She checks her notes. “The new laundry company shrank thirty-two bathrobes.”
I close my eyes.
At eleven forty-five, Anna leaves for lunch, and I take her place behind the front desk. Tuesdays are usually quiet enough for one person, so I cover her break instead of calling someone in for an hour.
I don’t mind. I like spending time in the lobby and seeing the hotel the way our guests and staff do. The farther a CEO gets from the daily work, the easier it is to suggest changes that sound clever in a meeting but make no sense in practice. I never want to run the Hartwell that way.
For the first ten minutes, everything runs smoothly. I answer two calls, arrange a late checkout for tomorrow, and help a family find a nearby restaurant that serves plain pasta because their six-year-old has decided sauce is unacceptable.
Then the booking system freezes, and a message appears on the screen.
Network connection lost.
I know what happened. The clip on the network cable beneath the desk is broken, so every now and then the cable slips free. IT is bringing a replacement this afternoon, but for now, I crouch beneath the desk and reach through the mess of wires.
My tight pencil skirt makes the job harder than it needs to be, but I find the loose cable and push it back into place. A chime from above tells me the system is working again.
Before I can stand, a pair of polished black shoes comes into view. I back out from beneath the desk, brush the dust from my knee, and rise with my best front-desk smile.
The smile disappears.
“You don’t have to kneel, Ms. Hartwell. A hello will suffice.”
Eric Voss is waiting at the end of the desk in an immaculate navy suit, one hand resting in his pocket. The jacket fits his shoulders without a single pull or crease, and his crisp white collar makes his clean-shaven jaw look even stronger.
He looks far too pleased for a man whose hotel I put on hold yesterday. Amusement warms his eyes, and the slight curve of his mouth draws my attention before I can stop it.
His gaze moves from the loose strands of hair falling from my bun to the dust on my blouse. His smile widens. I tuck my hair behind my ear and brush the dust off my blouse.
