“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight.” Cosette waved, and left the ballroom.
Layla folded her arms, watching waiters clear the tables as the crew took down decorations. Tyler stood at his bar in the corner, wiping down the counter.
He looked up, as though sensing her gaze. He lifted a glass and a bottle of wine in an unspoken invitation. Three weeks, and he’d finally extended an olive branch.
Layla turned away. Did he expect her to share a drink, and then things would go back to normal? No way. She’d put up with a lot over the summer—been way more patient than most girls would’ve been.
He didn’t get off that easy this time. Besides, she had more important things to worry about than a boy right now.
Beep, beep, beep. Layla groaned, fumbling for the snooze button. Beep, beep, beep.
“Oh, hush,” she muttered, swiping a finger across the screen. Silence abruptly blanketed the room once more.
Layla slumped into her pillow with a sigh. Her gritty eyes said she hadn’t slept nearly enough.
It took five minutes to drag herself into the bathroom. She frowned at her reflection. Her bangs had flattened against her forehead in sleep, humidity had finally brought out her hair’s natural waves, and her eyes . . . She pulled a face. Clearly, being an event coordinator was going to require a strong concealer. It would be worth it, though, if she could save Cypress Grove.
A cool shower woke Layla up. By the time she walked across the dewy clover, two cups of piping hot coffee in hand, she felt ready to take on the world. Or the accounting books, at least. There had to be somewhere they could cut costs so this place turned a profit. It’d be one of her top priorities.
The mansion was unlocked, the oversized rooms and narrow hallways quiet except for a lone janitor. She let herself into Stacia’s office and set the coffee on the desk. For the first time, she really observed the place. The desk was free of loose papers and dust. The metal file cabinets were a definite eyesore, but no paper peered out from behind the closed drawers. Layla opened the top drawer and found it neatly organized with clearly labeled files. She shut it, unsurprised. Stacia’s organizational skills had been legendary at the mansion. Layla hoped she could live up to the hype.
She sank into the soft leather of Stacia’s office chair—hers now—and flipped on the computer. She sipped her coffee while waiting for it to boot up, then clicked on the welcome screen.
Layla’s hand stilled on the mouse as the home screen appeared. Really? She’d expected a password-protected login screen she’d be unable to crack until IT gave her an account. This seemed like a security risk, or bad protocol, or both.
Then again, it wasn’t like Cypress Grove held the codes for a bank vault. They planned parties—the tobacco side of the family business was handled in a separate building on the far north field. It wasn’t like there was a huge market for stealing information about table linens and flower arrangements. Although there was apparently enough of a market to get Stacia fired.
Cosette walked into the office, wearing a fitted pencil skirt and sleeveless blouse with her hair up in a ponytail. She glanced at the clock on the wall—9:12. “I’m so sorry, Miss Anderson. I thought you said to be here at ten. How long have you been waiting?”
“Relax.” Layla smiled, hoping it seemed reassuring. “I just wanted to get a jump start. And really, you’ve got to stop with the ‘Miss Anderson’ stuff. Call me Layla. Here, I brought you coffee. I wasn’t sure how you liked it, so I kept it black.”
Cosette took the cup, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thank you.”
“It’s a bribe.”
Cosette dumped two sugar packets into her cup and stirred it with the straw. “You don’t have to bribe your assistant. It’s my job to help you.”
“I’m not sure if this is in your job description. Today, we’re going over the books and figuring out how the event center can save money.”
Cosette stopped stirring, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “I thought the accountants took care of that.”
“We’re going over their work.” Layla pulled a chair next to hers. “This may take a while.”
“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Layla laughed. Cosette seemed so different from yesterday. Maybe it was a night of sleep, or maybe it was the knowledge that she no longer had to make the decisions.
“Has this computer ever been password protected?” Layla asked. “I logged on without a problem.”
“I don’t think so. Stacia wasn’t too concerned with that kind of thing.”
Layla nodded and made a note on the pad of paper next to the keyboard. “We’ll deal with that later. Did Stacia have access to the accounting drive?”
“Yeah, we both do. I scan and upload receipts for her sometimes.” Cosette leaned over. Within a few clicks, they were in the accounting drive. This one was password protected, which made Layla feel a little better. “Stacia kept it organized by event, and then by month and year.”
“Thank heaven she was so meticulous.” Layla clicked on the folder for last night’s wedding. “Stacia seemed like such a model employee. Do you have any idea why she was let go?”
Cosette shook her head, lips pressed tightly together. “Your guess is as good as mine. She mentioned discussing a few events with me the night before she was fired, and then she was gone.”
Layla searched Cosette’s face for any sign of deceit, but the girl seemed genuinely stumped. Of course Stacia had worked alone. If she hadn’t, someone else would’ve been fired, too.
Layla scanned the itemized list from last night, letting out a squeak. “Two thousand dollars for a wedding cake?”
Cosette shrugged. “They hand-piped the scallops and lace on each layer.”
“Yeah, it was beautiful.” But two grand for a cake seemed extravagant, even by Layla’s standards. “Okay, the flowers. Twenty thousand dollars?”
“Tulips aren’t in season. We flew them in from a special greenhouse in the Netherlands.”
Wow. Layla had never considered some of these details. Could she really do this?
She took a deep breath and plunged forward. They made their way through the list, discussing the table linens, the seafood bar—the ruined shrimp had cost Cypress Grove a pretty penny—and signature cocktails created just for the bride and groom. Cocktails Tyler had spent the entire evening making and that the guests had raved about.
Layla pushed Tyler away, focusing on the next item. “Where were the ice sculptures hiding? I never saw any.”
“We didn’t do them. Stacia convinced the bride and groom that ice sculptures are ridiculous in this heat. It would’ve been a logistical nightmare.”
Layla frowned, leaning forward to peer at the screen. “No, it says right here that ten thousand dollars was allocated to three ice sculptures. One of a swan, one a monogram of their initials, and one a bouquet with real flowers frozen into it.”
Cosette tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash can. “Yeah, we talked about all of those. It was going to cost another five thousand dollars to bring in a special cooling system to keep the sculptures frozen. Stacia was so relieved when they changed their minds.”
“The five thousand dollars isn’t mentioned anywhere, but the ten is right here, see?” Layla pointed out the line on the screen.
“I guess it’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” A pretty serious mistake. Layla made a note to look into it later. “Okay, the bouquet toss fee.” She stared at the line, re-reading it in her head. “We charge brides a fee to toss a bouquet?”
Cosette rolled her eyes. “Kind of ridiculous, I know. It was just added last year. Two hundred bucks a toss. Stacia wasn’t thrilled about the new expense, but what could she do? Mr. Anderson insisted.”
“My dad asked for this fee?” Looking into the ledgers was starting to feel like Pandora’s box. The mansion must’ve been in trouble for longer than she’d realized.
Cosette’s cheek
s flamed red. “I’m sorry. I forgot . . . That is, I didn’t mean—”
Layla held up a hand, cutting Cosette off as her stomach rumbled in worry. “I agree—that’s a ridiculous charge. I’ll talk to my father about it.”
They finished up that event and moved on to the next one—a retirement party. Layla took a long sip of her now barely warm coffee and started in. Six thousand dollars for an award-winning pianist, five thousand for custom china, another two grand to paint the company logo on the dance floor, and an additional thousand to paint back over it after the event.
“They didn’t do the logo,” Cosette said.
Layla froze, hand hovering over the keyboard. “They didn’t?”
“Not the painted one. Some company created a custom stencil for the spotlight. It looked really nice.”
Two missed items in two events. Unease bubbled in Layla’s stomach. Stacia possessed a meticulous attention to detail. She wouldn’t have misreported items, especially on back-to-back events.
But Layla had also thought Stacia would never be fired. Maybe she didn’t know the event coordinator as well as she thought.
Layla and Cosette went through three more events and found no discrepancies, then moved on to the maintenance of the mansion. Daddy had been right—Layla gagged on her coffee when she saw how much was spent each month on utilities—but there were other things, too. It seemed the mansion always needed repair.
“Six hundred dollars for a clogged toilet?” Layla said. “That seems outrageous.”
“I hadn’t heard about that one. The maintenance guys take care of everything and submit work orders to Stacia. She either approves or denies them. Someone else is responsible for finding the repairmen and scheduling appointments.”
“Okay.” Layla pulled out a pen and poised it over the paper. “Who’s responsible for that?”
“I guess you are, now. Or me, if you’d prefer.” Cosette’s eyes turned down, and she traced the wood grain of the desk with one finger. “The mansion isn’t doing well, is it?”
Layla leaned back in her chair and let out a gusty sigh. “I won’t lie to you; things aren’t going well. But this is my home, and I won’t let it be sold off to the highest bidder. We need to work together to bring down some of these costs.”
Cosette nodded, but her dark eyes still hinted at concern.
“Let’s hope nothing else breaks in the near future and the events keep booking.” Layla tried to keep her voice positive and upbeat. “We’ll be fine.”
“You already have another work order. Two, in fact.” Cosette motioned toward a basket in one corner. “Maintenance drops them off there.”
“Okay.” Layla reached over and grabbed the small stack of papers. She picked up the first one and squinted, trying to read the chicken scratch. “We need work orders for light bulbs?”
“That means we’re running low. We keep them on hand so we don’t have lighting issues at events. Stacia was a stickler for that kind of thing.”
Layla tried to keep the despair at bay as she took in the total. “I guess burned out bulbs wouldn’t look very professional. This says we’re ordering an entire case.”
“It’s cheaper if we order them in bulk.”
Spend a penny now to save a penny later. Layla sighed. “Okay then. What do I do?”
Cosette pointed to a line on the bottom of the paper. “You sign here then put them in the out basket. I take them to accounting at the end of the day. They approve the funds, and then maintenance orders the new parts.”
Layla nodded, signing her name with a flourish. She picked up the next order, flinching at the dollar amount. “Water damage to the second floor bathroom?”
“I hadn’t heard of that one. I guess maintenance noticed something when they did a walk-through.”
Layla rose, sending her computer to the lock screen. Maybe Stacia didn’t use a password, but she certainly did. “Let’s go take a look.”
Cosette’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “You want to look at the second floor bathroom?”
Layla blinked, surprised at the question. “Well, yeah. I need to see what kind of damage has been done before I approve this work order.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
Layla led the way out of the office, Cosette following close behind.
“Stacia never checked before signing the work orders, did she?” Layla asked.
Cosette’s cheeks were stained pink. “She was always so busy.”
Stacia hadn’t checked the work orders. Hadn’t password-protected her computer. Made mistakes in the ledgers. What else had been hiding beneath her ready smile and competent hands?
Maybe Daddy had been right to fire her.
“This is one thing we’re going to make time for,” Layla said. “You or I will check out every major work order before it’s approved.”
They climbed the stairs to the second floor and strode down the hallway, bypassing the first bathroom and stopping outside the second.
Layla pointed to the ten foot high door. “It’s this one, right?”
Cosette nodded.
“Okay then.” Layla pushed open the door. A light automatically flicked on, illuminating the space. This bathroom had all the charm of an 1850s powder room, while featuring all the conveniences of modern living. A pedestal sink stood beneath a large oval-framed mirror. A small collection of expensive soaps and lotions sat in a wire basket and hand towels rested on a cabinet. A basket to discard used ones stood underneath. Layla took in the room as though she’d never seen it before, trying to envision it as an event coordinator and not someone who’d grown up here. She could see why people paid top dollar and waited a year to get married at Cypress Grove.
Water damage. Right. Layla focused on the floor, searching for . . . whatever water damage looked like. Maybe a giant puddle of murky water. The tiny mosaic tiles were definitely dry, the grout between them a brilliant white.
“Shouldn’t there be mold or mildew or something?” Cosette asked, her lips turned down.
“I’m not sure.” Layla crouched down—no easy feat in a restricting skirt—and ran her hands along the cool glass hexagon tiles. “No bubbling, and none of the tiles are cracked or uneven.”
“I really don’t know that much about this kind of thing.”
“Me either.” Layla rose and placed a hand on her hip as she surveyed the rest of the room. Everything looked fine to her.
“There must be something maintenance noticed that we aren’t seeing,” Cosette said.
Layla ran a hand along the wall. Something wasn’t adding up here. No way this bathroom needed work. “Shouldn’t the paint be peeling along the baseboards?”
“Maybe they wrote down the wrong bathroom?” Cosette suggested.
Layla snapped her fingers, clutching at the simple explanation. The mis-accounted ledger items had her unnecessarily suspicious. “Yeah, that’s got to be it.”
The first bathroom looked identical to the one they’d just left—right down to no indication of water damage.
Layla folded her arms, pressing them into her stomach. There was no reason to panic. Yet. “They submitted a three thousand dollar work order for one of these bathrooms.”
Cosette’s eyes were wide. She tightened her ponytail then smoothed a hand down her blouse. “I don’t know anything about this kind of thing, but that seems like a lot. We haven’t had any guests complain about either bathroom, and they look great to me.”
“I’ll talk to maintenance about it. There’s probably a simple explanation for the whole thing.” But even as the words left Layla’s mouth, they felt like a lie.
Someone from maintenance had submitted this work order. Would they really tell her if it was false? They could pull out some plumbing jargon, and Layla wouldn’t know a truth from a lie. She planned parties. Plumbing issues and bathroom repairs were well outside the realm of her expertise. She didn’t even know if three thousand dollars was a reasonable amount for water damage repairs.
> She needed to talk to an impartial third party who she could trust to tell her the truth. Her hands trembled, and she pressed them against her skirt as she walked so Cosette wouldn’t notice. There was only one person to call in this situation, and she dreaded the conversation.
Tyler stood on the sagging front porch of the Victorian, eying the appraiser. A gentle breeze snapped through the air, finally bringing with it a hint of fall. Despite being almost Halloween, most days the humidity was still thick enough to drink.
The appraiser tapped on his tablet with a stylus. He was so short Tyler could see the wisps of graying hair on the top of his shiny scalp.
Tyler’s limbs were shaky with anticipation. The sellers had accepted his offer two weeks ago after three days of negotiating. Tyler was happy with the selling price—a full ten thousand under asking—but the worry that he was buying a money pit was still hard to dispel. He’d never spent this much money in his life.
The appraiser was his last line of defense against a bad decision. Catrina had highly recommended the man, and Tyler trusted her judgment.
After another two minutes, the appraiser snapped his tablet shut and stowed it in a briefcase. “The place has good bones.”
Tyler let out a whoosh of air.
“I’ll have the official appraisal for you by tomorrow night, but I don’t see anything overly concerning. If the market doesn’t change, you should make a good profit after the renovation.”
Tyler held out his hand. “Thank you so much.”
“A pleasure. I hope we can work together in the future.”
The appraiser locked up the house. Two weeks, and Tyler would have the keys. He waved, and the man’s car disappeared down the quiet drive.
Tyler gave the house one last look then climbed into his own car. He might not have Layla, but he’d found the perfect property to start his new business with.
He started the engine, but before he could put it in gear, his phone buzzed with a text. Tyler swiped it open. It was probably his mother, asking how the appraisal went. Tyler had a feeling both she and his father were hoping something showed up that made the property a bad purchase.
Kiss Me in the Rain (Destined for Love: Mansions) Page 8
