by Cindi Myers
Bryan’s main duty was to supervise all this activity and to troubleshoot any problems that arose. He walked the halls, greeting everyone he passed, enjoying the freedom of not having Carl looking over his shoulder. For this one week, he was in charge, almost as if the Elevation Hotel was his own.
But by the second day of watching everyone else work, he was bored. He sat in his office and stared out at the slopes. Brown swaths of grass looked like patches on the melting snow, and the quiet of the normally bustling hotel was eerie.
He checked his watch. Only ten o’clock. Too early to call Angela. He’d spoken to her briefly the night before, telling her he only wanted to make sure she’d arrived in Broomfield safely. Really, he’d wanted to hear her sexy voice, as smooth and rich as the chocolate glaze in which their fingers had once entwined. He was counting the days until he could see her again—hold her and kiss her and feel her arms around him.
The thought made him even more restless, and he started on yet another tour of the empty hotel. At least walking the halls got him moving and made him feel he was doing something constructive. He could have been in Moab right now, riding his bike on scenic trails or scaling rock cliffs. He could be relaxing on a Mexican beach or trekking in the Canadian Rockies—all things he’d done on previous mud-season trips. A long week of sitting behind his desk instead, surfing the Net and waiting for problems to surface, wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
The halls were even quieter this morning. The carpet shampooers were working on upper floors and the window washers weren’t due to arrive until Thursday. The front desk was empty, and the washers and dryers in the laundry room churned away unattended.
Curious, Bryan opened doors and searched storerooms. Had his co-workers walked off the job without telling him, leaving him all alone in the hotel?
He was beginning to feel spooked by the time he descended the stairs to the basement, then he heard muffled laughter. He followed the sound to a storage room, where boxes and crates had been shoved aside to make room for several tables, around which sat most of the hotel employees.
They all looked up as Bryan walked toward them. “Guess we’re busted,” Edwin said, tossing a handful of playing cards onto the table in front of him.
“Oh, Bryan’s okay.” Rachel smiled and stood. “Come on in and join the first annual mud-season poker tournament, boss,” she said, offering him her chair.
Bryan hesitated, aware of everyone’s eyes fixed on him. Did Rachel think he’d sanction their goofing off because of his partying past?
He was supposed to be in charge here, and they were supposed to be working. He could almost hear Carl’s voice: The company is not paying employees to sit around and play poker.
He searched the faces of those around the table. Some regarded him with suspicion, others with amusement. He stopped when he came to the catering manager, Marco. He sat back, arms folded across his chest, a smug look on his face.
“Marco, did you finish the kitchen inventory?” Bryan asked.
“It doesn’t take that long to count cans of tomatoes and packages of frozen peas.”
“But are you finished?”
“As finished as I need to be.”
It wasn’t the answer Bryan wanted, and Marco knew it, but Bryan let it drop. He moved on to Rachel. She was smiling at him. “What about you, Rachel?” he asked. “Did you finish with the office supplies?”
“If I have to count one more pencil or message pad, I’ll scream,” she said. She fanned herself with a hand of cards. “That kind of thing is just make-work, to keep us busy while there aren’t any customers. None of it’s really important.”
Several heads nodded in agreement.
“Besides,” Rachel continued. “We’ve got all week to get things done. So why not have some fun while Carl isn’t here to frown at us all like a grumpy old man.”
If he frowned at them, did that make Bryan a grumpy old man? And Rachel was right about the make-work. It wasn’t that important, though Carl would expect it to be done by the time he returned. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “We get all the work done first, then the poker tournament is on. I’ll pitch in to help.”
“What if we don’t like that deal?” Marco asked.
“Then you can spend the rest of your week counting cans of tomatoes and twiddling your thumbs, but not playing poker.”
He kept his expression stern as they stared at him. Some of them looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze or shifting in their seats. Marco looked defiant, while Rachel seemed disappointed. But she was the first to speak. “I guess we might as well get the work out of the way,” she said. “Carl will have a fit if he comes back and he doesn’t have all those numbers to fill up his reports.” She threw down her cards. “But if you see me running out of the building, pulling my hair out, you’ll know it’s because I couldn’t take one more stack of message pads.”
One by one, the others set aside their cards and stood, some grumbling under their breaths, but most appearing to accept the compromise well. Marco was the last to rise. He glared at Bryan and started to move past him without speaking, but Bryan stopped him. “Is there much fresh food left over?” he asked.
“Some.” Marco regarded him with suspicion. “Why?”
“When you’re done counting those cans and boxes, why don’t you plan some dishes to use up the fresh stuff? We’ll have a party.”
“I’ll have to use some of the nonperishables as well.”
“That’s okay. Do whatever you need to make it good.”
Marco hesitated, then nodded. “All right. That’s a good idea,” he added, reluctantly.
With a growing sense of satisfaction, Bryan watched them leave. His first crisis as manager, and he thought he’d handled it well.
He wished Angela had been there to see it. His friends had made it a point to tell her about his partying past, but today she’d have seen that he had really put that behind him. There was a time for work and a time for play, and he knew how to balance both.
FORTUNATELY for Angela, her mother did not spend all her time trying to improve her daughter. The two women did go shopping and visited all of their favorite restaurants. They debated on going to a movie, but couldn’t agree on what to see.
Angela met Vicki’s latest boyfriend, Al, a handsome retired businessman to whom she’d sold a condo in a pricey neighborhood. Al drove a red sports car and Angela suspected his perfectly styled silver hair was a toupee, but he was good to her mother, so Angela liked him for that.
On Thursday night, Al offered to take the two of them to the Blue Parrot, an Italian restaurant that was one of their favorites. “Isn’t the community theater near here?” her mother asked as Al pulled into the parking lot.
“Yes,” Angela said. “Just a few blocks away.” The players had often come here after rehearsals or performances for a late dinner and drinks.
“Angela is a marvelous actress,” Vicki told Al. “She does great comedy and once won an award as best supporting actress in a local theater group.”
Angela wondered what had happened to that award—it was probably packed in a box with all the other things she’d left in her mother’s storage unit when she moved. Funny—when she’d won the award, she’d been so proud. But it, like everything else associated with her stint with the Broomfield Community Players, had been tainted by her breakup with Troy.
Al entertained them throughout dinner with his exploits as a world traveler, relieving Angela of any responsibility to contribute to the conversation herself. She let her mind wander to thoughts of Bryan. She’d spoken to him earlier that afternoon, and he’d reported that everything was running smoothly. “All the inventories are getting done in record time,” he said. “I think Carl will be pleased. If you were here, we could have a celebration of our own,” he said.
“Oh? What kind of celebration?”
“Well…I’m in this empty hotel with two hundred and forty rooms—all freshly cleaned and waiting for guests. You could
be my very special guest.”
The idea sent a hot thrill through her. “Too bad I’m stuck here instead,” she said.
“What are you smiling about?”
Her mother’s question startled Angela out of her reverie. “Was I smiling?” she asked, pretending interest in the filet on her plate. “I was thinking about a new recipe I want to try in my shop.”
“Most women look that way when they think about sex,” Vicki said tartly. “With you, it’s food.”
“Chocolate is not just any food,” Angela said, mostly because she knew it would aggravate her mother. She made it a point to order chocolate mousse for dessert, though Vicki declined anything but a cup of decaf with skim milk.
When they were finished eating, Angela thanked Al for the meal, then excused herself to visit the ladies’ room. As she waited for them to join her in the foyer of the restaurant, someone called her name. “Angela? Is that you?”
She knew the voice before she turned around. When she saw Troy, her heart stuttered in its rhythm. He was as handsome as ever, his dark hair a little longer than it had been when she’d seen him last, but his shoulders as broad, his waist as trim. He wore a gray pinstriped suit that fit him perfectly and a blue tie that called attention to the color of his eyes.
Even so, he was not as handsome as Bryan—his mouth was too wide, his smile too false. How could she have ever thought differently?
“Hello, Troy,” she said, managing to sound much calmer than she felt.
“You still sound as sexy as ever.” To her surprise, he pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “How are you?” he asked.
“I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m great. Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned and addressed a knot of people who were crowding into the doorway. “Kim, come up here. I want to introduce you to someone.”
Kim had platinum blond hair, green eyes and a brilliant smile. She moved with a dancer’s grace and her size two dress probably had a designer label.
“Kim, this is an old friend, Angela Krizova. She and I used to act together,” Troy said. “Angela, this is my fiancée, Kim Moorehead.”
The hand Kim offered Angela was manicured and adorned with three gold-and-gemstone rings. A large diamond flashed on her left hand. Angela managed a sickly smile and a weak handshake. So she was merely an old friend. Apparently, Troy hadn’t told Kim about their engagement. Because he was ashamed of her?
“Nice to meet you,” she mumbled.
Then her mother and Al arrived, and she was able to excuse herself.
“That looked like Troy Wakefield back there,” her mother said, craning her neck to peer over her shoulder as Angela hurried her toward the car.
“Who’s Troy Wakefield?” Al asked.
“Angela was engaged to him for a while, but it didn’t work out.”
At least her mother hadn’t announced that Troy had left her at the altar.
Al looked Angela up and down, as if the news surprised him. “Is that so?”
“Who was that woman he was with?” Vicki asked. “She certainly was pretty.”
“That was his fiancée,” Angela said, her voice flat. She didn’t really care that Troy was engaged. It wasn’t as if she wanted him back. But did he have to be so predictable and choose a woman who looked like she ought to be modeling lingerie? Someone who looked even a little bit ordinary—a woman whose hair or smile or figure wasn’t quite so perfect—wouldn’t have been such a blow to Angela’s ego.
What would Kim have thought if Angela had just happened to mention that not only had she and Troy acted together, but they’d also been engaged? What explanation would Troy have for choosing such an unlikely partner?
“Well, I’m sure she isn’t nearly as talented as you are.” Vicki sniffed.
“Maybe not.” Only thinner and firmer and daintier—everything Angela was not. Had he deliberately set out to find someone who was her complete opposite, or was that merely a coincidence?
“Don’t frown like that,” Vicki said. “It will give you wrinkles.” She leaned over the front seat of Al’s car and patted her daughter’s arm. “One day you’ll meet a man who loves you just as you are,” she said. “Someone who recognizes your inner beauty—the kind that doesn’t fade.”
It was the kind of thing mothers were supposed to say. Words meant to offer comfort. But they only made Angela grumpier. Inner beauty was all well and good, but she wanted a man who thought she was gorgeous outside, too.
And maybe she’d found him. Bryan said she was beautiful, and he was certainly a man who should know. She’d reveled in his praise, but part of her had dismissed his words as flattery from a man besotted by lust.
If only she could trust that his words were true. If only she could trust herself enough to believe in his praise.
Chapter Eleven
“Excellent job on the parade float.” Carl breezed into Bryan’s office the Thursday following the hotel’s reopening and Carl’s return to work. He waved a single sheet of paper over his head. “I’ve just learned we received first place in the commercial floats category.”
“Thank you,” Bryan said. “Casey and Max and the other volunteers who helped deserve a lot of credit, too.”
“Be sure to thank them for me,” Carl said. He sat across from Bryan’s desk. “You’ve been here, what, over four months now?”
“Almost five,” Bryan said. Longer than most of his friends had figured he’d last.
“I hope you’re enjoying the work,” Carl said.
“I do.” Most of the time anyway. He’d always figured if something was one hundred percent enjoyable, they wouldn’t have called it work. “I’m learning a lot,” he added.
Carl nodded, his expression grave. “You did a good job looking after things while I was away. The hotel was spotless and the employees seemed to be in good spirits.”
“Thank you.” Bryan managed to avoid looking smug. All the inventories and most of the cleaning had been completed by Wednesday morning, at which time he’d announced a big clean-out-the-refrigerator feast and round one of the first Annual Mud Week Poker Tournament. Marco had outdone himself with the food, creating several new dishes they all agreed should be on the catering menu from now on. On Friday, the tournament had been won by a bellman named Curtis Anderson. Bryan had made it to the next to last round, ending up only fifty dollars in the red, and Rachel had declared it the best Mud Week they’d ever had.
“You’ve done very well,” Carl said. “I see a good future for you with the company if you continue on the path you’ve set for yourself.”
Bryan saw no point in mentioning that he had no intention of making a career with the company. This was only an important stop on the way to being his own boss. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me to hear that.”
“I’d like to see you rewarded for your hard work,” Carl said. He slid the sheet of paper across the desk.
Bryan had assumed the paper was the announcement of their winning float entry. Instead, he saw it was an intercompany memo announcing a Local Lodging Providers annual dinner at the Crested Butte Country Club the following Thursday evening. “Management from the various hotels and inns in the area get together at these things to talk shop,” Carl said. “I thought you might like to go.”
“Yes, sir, I would.” What better chance to talk to some of the people who operated the boutique places like the one he wanted to open someday? He’d make valuable contacts who might give him good advice.
“Excellent.” Carl reclaimed the paper. “Oh, and you may bring a date, if you like.”
“Yes, sir.” Angela would enjoy the evening.
Carl sat back in his chair again. “You know,” he said, “I’ve heard a rumor that the manager of our property in Taos is planning to retire next year. That would be a good posting for an ambitious young man.”
“Yes, sir.” He hadn’t given much thought to leaving Crested Butte, though he could see that a transfer might be the quickest wa
y for him to move up. Would Angela even consider moving? Maybe it was too soon to think that way, but now that she was a part of his life, he had a hard time thinking of a future without her in it. If someone had told him six months ago that he would ever feel this way about a woman he’d known such a short time, he would have laughed them out of the room. Bryan Perry was not the kind to fall hard for any woman.
He’d been a different kind of guy then. Now he felt as if everything in his life was coming together—the right job, and the right woman.
“I can see you’re giving it serious thought,” Carl said. “I like that in a young man. Do you play golf?”
“Not very often,” Bryan said. He and Zephyr and their friends usually looked down on the cart-and-clubs set. They preferred more rugged activities like mountain biking and rock climbing.
“I have a regular foursome at the country club, but one of our members will be out of town this weekend,” Carl said. “Perhaps you could join us Sunday afternoon.”
“I’m really out of practice,” Bryan hedged.
“None of us is ready to turn pro,” Carl said. “It would be good for you to brush up on your game. You’ll meet a lot of important contacts at the club. And you might be surprised how much business is conducted on the links.” He rose. “I’ll let the club know to expect you and a companion for the dinner on Thursday and golf on Sunday afternoon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When he was alone again, Bryan thought about calling Angela and asking her to be his date for the dinner, but decided to wait. Though they’d spent last night together and had arranged to see each other again Friday as well, he was trying hard to rein in his eagerness. She’d been so wary of getting involved with him from the first that he didn’t want to risk her thinking he was pressuring her for anything.
After all, he told himself, they had plenty of time. Time to get to know each other. Time for others to accept them as a couple. Time to plan for a future together.
