Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
I admire the arched ceilings with detailed cornice in gold and giant painted tropical plant leaves. “I didn’t know what to expect, but this place is something. Very retro and yet modern.”
“Yes, the designer, Maude Claret, was aiming for a vintage aesthetic circa 1969 Palm Beach.” She gestures at a small fountain where the path splits off down another hall. “But with mermaids instead of flamingos.”
“Makes sense.” Mention of mermaids makes me think of sea witches, which makes me think of that coffee shop we stopped in yesterday. Sloane, the original sea witch’s attractive granddaughter. I smile as I remember her pale jade-green eyes and full lips. It’s been a while since any woman has sparked my interest like that. Well, since Abbi, I guess.
And though I’ve sworn off entanglements with women, sheer curiosity had me planning to jog over to her coffee shop this morning. That is until I woke up.
Maybe tomorrow.
It’s just coffee.
Belinda leads me past the entrance to the hotel’s convention center and then pushes through a set of glass doors. The hall ahead opens and a soft buzz carries where people sit at desks with their computers, fingertips clacking away at keyboards, a murmur here and there, the odd ringtone. I remember that sound from not too many years ago when I sat in their same position, helping push the bureaucratic pen along.
I hated it.
It’s not as dark and dreary as in the admin office in Miami. Here, they have windows, and the cube walls are low. Plus, there’s no counter to keep the riffraff like Connor from wandering in. I’ll bet they regret that design decision before too long.
“This is the pit,” Belinda explains. “All the hotel’s administration works here. Department managers’ offices are on the far end.”
I note the glass wall and the desks behind it, with people in various states of business—taking calls, answering emails. One is in a meeting. They work in fishbowls.
Several people pop up over their cubicles, their curious gazes landing on me, eyeing my attire. Maybe I should have made more of an effort to dress like a Wolf executive, rather than a hungover groundskeeper.
Belinda guides me to the left and we’re moving down another narrow hall of closed frosted-glass doors. “These are our boardrooms. Lena, who is in charge of hospitality and entertainment, is here. That’s my office.” Belinda stabs the air with a lengthy pink fingernail, pointing out the opaque glass door at the end, before pushing through another one beside us. “This is yours.”
The room isn’t huge—enough for a desk and two visitor chairs, a clothing rack, and a giant leafy palm in the corner. Not that I care. I wander over to the one window. Beyond the foliage is the golf course. “No ocean view?”
Belinda grunts. “That’s valuable real estate. Besides, if you have any time to stare out the window, you’re not doing your job.”
I reach up to flick the sleeve of a green pinstripe suit. Behind it hangs an array of button-down and golf shirts in both white and pink, as well as dress pants in dark green and beige. Below are several pairs of dress shoes. “This better not be what I think it is.” Wolf didn’t say anything about a uniform.
“Henry insisted that I ensure you dress the part and, based on how you’ve arrived today, I see he wasn’t wrong to worry. I’ve taken the liberty of acquiring a few key pieces. Abbi sent me the measurements they used for the wedding tuxedo as a guide, though she warned me you’re a size bigger.” She scrutinizes me, and I’m beginning to feel like a lamb chop on a dinner plate, its recipient deciding where to start. “I have a tailor coming this afternoon with more suits and to adjust this one as needed.”
Henry is a controlling prick. “But fucking green?”
“It’s a nice green! And it’s a fifteen-hundred-dollar suit. Besides, it’s only for select events.”
I hold up a palm-leaf print tie. “I’m not wearing this.”
“It’s standard attire.”
“For waiters and desk clerks, of which I am neither.”
Her beautiful face cracks with a sardonic smile as she holds her arms out at her side. “You think this would have been my first choice?”
My gaze lingers over her curvy frame, clad in a botanical green blazer and pencil skirt that shows off shapely legs and calves that strain in hot pink, four-inch heels. “It works for you.” The truth is, Belinda can make anything work. I’d put her in her early forties and one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met. It’s not even her body, which is firm and curvy. It’s her poise, the way she can walk into a room and command it. She’s the only person I’ve seen order Henry to do anything, besides Abbi. Probably the only one with the guts to try.