“Yes. Of course. But we can’t have our awards luncheon in the same house. With the bees. I was hoping you’d have room for us here.”
Here? As in the place I offered and you refused, telling me the Anderson House was so much better suited? But those thoughts were for her, not for a guest.
“Let me check,” she told him. “I think I might be able to make room.”
She braced herself to stand. Not physically, but mentally. Because the well-dressed Mr. Ford, for all his dapperness, was maybe five foot six. And Courtney wasn’t. And when she stood...well, she knew what would happen.
She untangled her long legs and rose. Mr. Ford’s gaze followed, then his mouth dropped open a second before he closed it. Courtney towered over Mr. Ford by a good six inches. Possibly more, but who was counting?
“My goodness,” he murmured as he followed her. “You’re very tall.”
There were a thousand responses, none of them polite and all inappropriate for the work setting. So instead of saying anything, she gritted her teeth, thought briefly of England then murmured as unironically as she could, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
* * *
Courtney waited while her boss stirred two sugars into her coffee then fed half a strip of bacon to each of her dogs. Pearl—a beautiful, blond standard poodle—waited patiently for her treat, while Sarge, aka Sargent Pepper—a Bichon-miniature poodle mix—whined at the back of his throat.
The dining room at the Los Lobos Hotel was mostly empty at ten in the morning. The breakfast crowd was gone and the lunch folks had yet to arrive. Courtney got the paradox of enjoying the hotel best when guests were absent. Without the customers, there would be no hotel, no job and no paycheck. While a crazy wedding on top of every room booked had its own particular charm, she did enjoy the echoing silence of empty spaces.
Joyce Yates looked at Courtney and smiled. “I’m ready.”
“The new linen company is working out well. The towels are very clean and the sheets aren’t scratchy at all. Ramona thinks she’s going to last until right before she gives birth, but honestly, it hurts just to look at her. That could just be me, though. She’s so tiny and the baby is so big. What on earth was God thinking? Last night I met with Mr. Ford of the California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturing. Bees have invaded the Anderson House, and he wants to book everything here. I didn’t mock him, although he deserved it. So now we’re hosting all their events, along with meals. I talked him into crab salad.”
Courtney paused for breath. “I think that’s everything.”
Joyce sipped her coffee. “A full night.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Sure.”
At least six hours, Courtney thought, doing the math in her head. She’d stayed in the lobby area until Ramona’s shift had ended at ten, had done a quick circuit of the hotel grounds until ten-thirty, studied until one and then been up at six-thirty to start it all again.
Okay, make that five hours.
“I’ll sleep in my forties,” she said.
“I doubt that.” Joyce’s voice was friendly enough, but her gaze was sharp. “You do too much.”
Not words most bosses bothered to utter, Courtney thought, but Joyce wasn’t like other bosses.
Joyce Yates had started working at the Los Lobos Hotel in 1958. She’d been seventeen and hired as a maid. Within two weeks, the owner of the hotel, a handsome, thirty-something confirmed bachelor, had fallen head over heels for his new employee. They’d married three weeks later and lived blissfully together for five years, until he’d unexpectedly died of a heart attack.
Joyce, then all of twenty-two and with a toddler to raise, had taken over the hotel. Everyone was certain she would fail, but under her management, the business had thrived. Decades later she still saw to every detail and knew the life story of everyone who worked for her. She was both boss and mentor for most of her staff and had always been a second mother to Courtney.
Joyce’s kindness was as legendary as her white hair and classic pantsuits. She was fair, determined and just eccentric enough to be interesting.
Courtney had known her all her life. When Courtney had been a baby, her father had died unexpectedly. Maggie, Courtney’s mother, had been left with three daughters and a business. Joyce had morphed from client to friend in a matter of weeks. Probably because she’d been a young widow with a child, herself.
“How’s your marketing project coming along?” Joyce asked.
“Good. I got the notes back from my instructor, so I’m ready to move on to the final presentation.” Once she finished her marketing class, she was only two semesters away from graduation with her bachelor’s degree. Hallelujah.
Joyce refilled her coffee cup from the carafe left at the table. “Quinn’s arriving this week.”
Courtney grinned. “Really? Because you’ve only mentioned it every morning for the past two weeks. I wasn’t completely sure when he was getting here. You’re sure it’s this week? Because I couldn’t remember.”
“I’m old. I get to be excited about my grandson’s arrival if I want to.”
“Yes, you do. We’re all quivering.”
Joyce’s mouth twitched. “You have a little attitude this morning, young lady.”
“I know. It’s the Drunken Red-nosed HoneybBees. I always get attitude when they take over the Anderson House. Gratitude attitude.”
“Quinn’s still single.”
Courtney didn’t know if she should laugh or snort. “That’s subtle. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Joyce, but let’s be honest. We both know I’d have a better shot at marrying Prince Harry than getting Quinn Yates to notice me.” She held up a hand. “Not that I’m interested in him. Yes, he’s gorgeous. But the man is way too sophisticated for the likes of me. I’m a small-town girl. Besides, I’m focused on college and my work. I have no free boy time.” She wanted her degree within the next year, then a great job and then men. Or a man. Definitely just one. The one. But that was for later.
“You’ll date when you’re forty?” Joyce asked humorously.
“I’m hoping it won’t take that long, but you get the idea.” “I do. It’s too bad. Quinn needs to be married.”
“Then you should find him someone who isn’t me.”
Not that Quinn wasn’t impressive, but jeez. Her? Not happening.
She’d met him a handful of times when he’d come to visit his grandmother. The man was wildly successful. He was in the music business—a producer, maybe. She’d never paid attention. On his visits, he hung out with Joyce and her dogs, otherwise kept to himself, then left without making a fuss. Of course the fuss happened without his doing a single thing other than show up.
The man was good-looking. No, that wasn’t right. Words like good-looking, or handsome, should be used on ordinary people with extraordinary looks. Quinn was on a whole other plane of existence. She’d seen happily married middle-aged women actually simper in his presence. And to her mind, simpering had gone out of style decades ago.
“You really think he’s moving to Los Lobos?” she asked, more than a little doubtful.
“That’s what he tells me. Until he finds a place of his own, I’ve reserved the groundskeeper’s bungalow for him.”
“Nice digs,” Courtney murmured. “He’ll never want to leave.”
Although to be honest, she couldn’t imagine the famous, Malibu-living music executive finding happiness in their sleepy little central California town, but stranger things had happened.
“I’ll check his arrival date and make sure I’m assigned to clean it,” she told her boss.
“Thank you, dear. I appreciate the gesture.”
“It’s not exactly a gesture. It’s kind of my job.”
While she
was considered a jack-of-all-trades at the hotel, her actual title was maid. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and right now that was what mattered to her.
“It wouldn’t be if you’d—”
Courtney held up her hand. “I know. Accept a different job. Tell my family about my big secret. Marry Prince Harry. I’m sorry, Joyce. There are only so many hours in a day. I need to have priorities.”
“You’re picking the wrong ones. Prince Harry would love you.”
Courtney smiled. “You are sweet and I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now about the wedding.”
Courtney groaned. “Do we have to?”
“Yes. Your mother is getting married in a few months. I know you’re taking care of the engagement party but there’s also the wedding.”
“Uh-huh.”
Joyce raised her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”
“No, ma’am.”
It wasn’t that Courtney minded her mother remarrying. Maggie had been a widow for literally decades. It was long past time for her mom to find a great guy and settle down. Nope, it wasn’t the marriage that was the problem—it was the wedding. Or rather the wedding planning.
“You’re trying to get me into trouble,” she murmured.
“Who, me?” Joyce’s attempt to look innocent failed miserably.
Courtney rose. “All right, you crafty lady. I will do my best with both the party and the wedding.”
“I knew you would.”
Courtney bent down and kissed Joyce’s cheek then straightened, turned and ran smack into Kelly Carzo—waitress and, until this second, a friend.
Kelly, a pretty, green-eyed redhead, tried to keep hold of the tray of coffee mugs she’d been carrying, but the force was too great. Mugs went flying, hot liquid rained down and in less than three seconds, Courtney, Joyce and Kelly were drenched, and the shattered remains of six mugs lay scattered on the floor.
The restaurant had been relatively quiet before. Now it went silent as everyone turned to stare. At least there were only a couple of other customers and a handful of staff. Not that word of her latest mishap wouldn’t spread.
Joyce stood and scooped Sarge out of harm’s way then ordered Pearl to move back. “What is it your sister says in times like this?”
Courtney pulled her wet shirt away from her body and smiled apologetically at Kelly. “That I’m pulling a Courtney. You okay?”
Kelly brushed at her black pants. “Never better, but you are so paying for my dry cleaning.” “I swear. Right after I help you with this mess.”
“I’m going to get changed,” Joyce told them. “The prerogative of being the owner.”
“I’m really sorry,” Courtney called after her.
“I know, dear. It’s fine.”
No, Courtney thought as she went to get a broom and a mop. It wasn’t fine. But it sure was her life.
Copyright © 2016 Susan Mallery Inc.
ISBN-13: 9781459292406
The Friends We Keep
Copyright © 2016 by Susan Mallery Inc.
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The Friends We Keep (Mischief Bay) Page 37
