Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
A porter in a maroon uniform appeared and escorted the couple toward the guest suites. The two people behind the desk spoke quietly to each other as I approached.
The man looked up as I arrived at the desk. “Checking in, miss?”
“No, I’m not. I’m here to work.” I took a deep breath, hoping to get a better response than I had with Mrs. Greer. “What can I do to help?”
3
ZOE
“And you said you’re celebrating your daughter’s birthday?” I smiled at the Martin family, which consisted of a tired-looking dad, a mom with a designer handbag, a girl who looked to be in fourth or fifth grade, and a younger boy.
The mom beamed. “Yes, Emma just turned ten. We wanted to do something special.”
“Well, happy birthday, Emma.” I handed the carved wooden keychain across the polished counter. “You’re in the Laurel Suite on the third floor. It has a beautiful view of the mountains.”
Emma’s eyes went wide, and even her younger brother looked impressed. A porter appeared at my elbow as if summoned, and I gestured toward the family. “William here will take you up and get you settled.”
As the Martins headed toward the elevator, their excited chatter fading, one of my new coworkers nodded his approval at me. His name was Dennis, and he had salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of calm demeanor that probably came from years of dealing with demanding guests. Pam—his colleague at the desk—was a cheerful woman with dark curly hair and laugh lines around her eyes. “You’re a natural. Most people forget to mention the view.”
“I’m glad Mrs. Greer sent you down to help,” Dennis added.
I felt a flush of pride, followed immediately by a stab of guilt. Mrs. Greer had done no such thing. “Does The Fraser get many families?” That hadn’t been the impression I’d gotten from what little I’d been able to find out about the exclusive resort.
Pam leaned over from her spot at the computer. “Not really. Mostly rich couples looking for a romantic getaway.”
The front doors swung open, letting in a gust of cold air and two more porters hauling luggage. I watched them maneuver suitcases and duffel bags across the gleaming floor, but it was the long, narrow case that caught my attention.
Skis.
My stomach clenched. Tomorrow morning at eight, I’d be standing in the lobby, waiting for the ski pro to drag me up a mountain and use me as his beginner guinea pig. I wasn’t coordinated on flat ground, let alone on two slippery planks attached to my feet. Sure, this was the Appalachian Mountains, not the Alps, but I could still break something. My pride, if not my body.
I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the computer screen in front of me. There was work to do, and dwelling on tomorrow’s humiliation wouldn’t help.
The hours passed in a blur of check-ins, guest questions, and phone calls. By the time a new shift arrived at ten o’clock, my feet ached in my heels, and my stomach was growling loud enough that I was worried the guests could hear it.
Dennis logged out of his terminal and stretched. “Time for dinner. You coming?”
I blinked. This seemed awfully late to eat. “I was just going to head to my room.” Which I hadn’t actually seen yet, but surely I could find it.
Pam laughed. “Your room will still be there in an hour. The staff usually eats together when the shift ends. Come on, you can meet everyone.”
I hesitated, but Pam was already heading toward the back of the lobby, and Dennis was gesturing for me to go first, so I smoothed down my skirt and followed Pam.
The restaurant was elegant, all dark wood and soft lighting, with a polished bar running along one side. Only a handful of guests were dining—the season hadn’t fully started yet—and their low conversation mixed with the clink of silverware and glasses. We headed to the back, where several tables had been pushed together for the staff.
I slid into a chair next to Pam, across from Dennis and a younger guy who introduced himself as part of the concierge team.
“Is there a menu?” I asked, glancing around.
“Nope.” Dennis poured wine into glasses as he spoke. “Whatever the kitchen makes for staff, that’s what we eat. It’s not the five-star stuff the guests get, but it’s still pretty damn good.”
The conversation drifted to upcoming holiday events and which guests were the most demanding. I smiled and nodded, sipping my wine. A short time later, a pair of waiters emerged from the kitchen carrying multiple plates, setting them down in front of us with practiced efficiency.
The plate in front of me held seared chicken with a golden, crispy skin, roasted vegetables that still had a bit of bite to them, and a small mound of creamy polenta. I tried that first and had to suppress a moan. It turned out that I was hungrier than I realized, which was good because the chicken was perfectly seasoned, the vegetables caramelized, and the polenta was rich and buttery.