Naughty or Nice?. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ pushed a newspaper article toward her. “The Chronicle gave us a mediocre review.”

      “That beats the flogging they gave us last spring,” she said. “Anything else?”

      “I doubt I’m the only one wondering about this axman, Stanton.”

      Cindy glanced around the room, which had suddenly grown so quiet she could hear her hair moaning. After a deep breath, she rested her elbows on the table. “The corporate review was next on the agenda, but I’m glad you brought it up, Joel.” She wet her lips. “As most of you know, a third-party firm has been hired to study select properties under the corporate umbrella.” She smiled. “And we’re one of the lucky ones—the Chandelier House is going to be treated to the works.”

      Cindy counted on fingers that hadn’t seen a manicure in months. “An audit of our accounting procedures, our reservations process, sales, customer service—if we do it, it’s going to be scrutinized.”

      Manny cleared his throat. “Is there a reason we’re being studied so closely?”

      Cindy clasped her hands in front of her. “The inspection might be related to the fact that I’ve resisted efforts to change the way the hotel does business.”

      “And that you have breasts,” Amy muttered.

      “I have no reason to believe this has anything to do with me being a woman,” Cindy said with sincerity, then grinned and pointed her thumb toward the slight curves beneath her jacket. “Besides, your point is debatable.”

      Laughter eased the tension in the room.

      “They want to turn us into a cookie-cutter corporate operation,” Joel supplied.

      Cindy weighed her words. “It would seem that headquarters would like for us to conform more to a corporate profile, yes.” She forced optimism into her voice, then swept her gaze around the room. “A Mr. Stanton is scheduled to arrive next Monday with an examination team. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he arrives a few days early to check us out. Let me know if you notice anyone suspicious.”

      “Should we be worried?” Amy asked, massaging her temples. “I think I’m getting a migraine.”

      “We should all be aware,” Cindy corrected gently. “Aware that everything we do will be under a microscope. As soon as Mr. Stanton arrives, I’ll call an executive committee meeting and make the proper introductions.” She conjured up an encouraging smile. “Now, if there’s nothing else—”

      “Whoa,” Joel said, raising his hand. “Don’t forget about the Christmas party tomorrow night.”

      Cindy nearly groaned. Nothing could have been further from her mind. “How could we forget?” she croaked.

      “With cutbacks on the horizon, should we bring a bag lunch?” Sam asked.

      Everyone laughed, but Cindy shook her head emphatically.

      “Forget the lunch,” Joel said, “but feel free to bring a date for Cindy.”

      Amid the laughter, Cindy narrowed her eyes at Joel. “You are treading on thin ice.” She smacked her hand on the table. “This meeting is adjourned.”

      As everyone filed out of the room, Joel fell in step beside her and she poked him in the shoulder. “What makes you so sure I’m not bringing a date? It just so happens that I might.”

      Joel’s look of incredulity made her wish she actually did have a date. And the flash of Eric Quinn’s face in her mind exasperated her further. “You don’t have a date,” Joel scoffed. “Name one eligible bachelor in this town you haven’t neutered with indifference. Your name is on the bathroom wall—for a hard time, call Cindy Warren.”

      “You flatter me.”

      “Cindy, if you bring a date tomorrow night—” He looked toward the ceiling. “I’ll cover for you all day Wednesday.”

      She straightened. Since her home consisted of a small suite near the top of the hotel, excursions outside the walls—especially for an entire day—were rare. This could be her last chance to go Christmas shopping before the hotel descended into seasonal chaos. “You’d cover my office calls?”

      “Yep.”

      Her last chance to buy a few casual clothes before she headed home to Virginia on Christmas Eve. “My pager?”

      “Sure thing.” Then he grinned. “Of course, if you come stag, I get your parking spot for a month.”

      And hadn’t the lock on her garment bag jammed the last time she’d traveled to L.A. overnight on business? She definitely needed new luggage. “And all I have to do is produce a man?”

      “He has to be straight,” Amy qualified, walking on the other side.

      “Right,” Joel agreed sternly. “I expect to see definite heterosexual groping before the night’s over.”

      Cindy put her hand over her heart. “I’m wounded—you two honestly think I can’t find a date?”

      “Right,” they said in unison.

      She squinted at Joel. “You’re on, buster.”

      Joel rubbed his hands together and squeezed his eyes shut. “VIP parking—I can hardly wait.”

      “Well, I can’t wait to meet this mystery man,” Amy said over her shoulder as she followed Joel toward the stairs.

      Cindy stopped and stared after her friends, dread surging in her stomach. “Neither can I.”

      

      ERIC SPENT the next couple of hours touring various areas of the hotel as unobtrusively as possible, occasionally ducking into alcoves to scribble on index cards. If employees stopped to offer assistance, he either manufactured requests for directions or said he was waiting for someone.

      The covert stage of his job had always been his least favorite. Eric didn’t have a problem with pointing out deficiencies in an operation, but he much preferred doing it face-to-face with the staff.

      He spotted Cindy Warren twice as she practically jogged from one task to another, but he stayed out of her line of vision despite his urge to talk to her again. He typically made his most valuable observations early in the review process and he liked as much done as possible in the first couple of days, since he never knew if or when his cover would be blown. After that, the sucking-up factor set in—an ego trip for some consultants, but merely a hindrance to productivity in his opinion.

      After he’d exhausted his many checklists, he made his way to the concierge desk, where a pleasant-looking blond man offered him a professional smile.

      “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

      Eric sized him up in seconds—he knew from the man’s demeanor he was an asset to Cindy Warren. “I’m looking for a dinner recommendation.”

      “Any particular type of cuisine, sir?”

      “Maybe СКАЧАТЬ