A Holiday Romance. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ than get into the same old debate with Lani, including her pushing him to make amends with his family. His secretary thought he needed to get a life. Kyle believed his job was his life.

      Lani stood and hefted her bag by its shoulder strap. “If we’re done for the day, I’m outta here, boss. Prospect Number Five is meeting me for drinks in the Manzanita Lounge.” She paused in the office doorway, looking like a puffed-up pigeon teetering forward from her precarious perch on a pair of steep sandals. “You wouldn’t care to join us? Sit and talk to real people face-to-face for a change? You know, the nonemployee kind?”

      “No thanks,” Kyle declined without regret. “You’re done for the day. I’m not.”

      She clucked. “Ain’t that the truth?” She pointed a plump finger at him. “I’m warning you—fuddy-duddy. Before you’re forty.”

      He waved her away, then returned to what Lani forbiddingly termed the inner sanctum, an expansive office that was his home away from home since his promotion to resort manager. In that time he’d overseen the completion of the multimillion-dollar water park, brought in Gavin as one of his assistant managers, set up a new reservations system that would soon be implemented nationwide and seen the resort’s profit margin increase substantially.

      True, his personal life had suffered for all the work, including his love life. Everyone had said that Jenna, his last on-again, off-again girlfriend, was perfect for him. Everyone but the two of them, which was why ending it had been so easy.

      Kyle sat behind his desk. This was where he belonged. The lack of personal relationships didn’t bother him, despite his secretary’s concern. Especially now that his extreme dedication for the past three years was about to pay off.

      Big-time.

      For months, the prospect of the impending performance review had been a spur in his side, propelling him forward with single-minded devotion. It was the homestretch now. He couldn’t afford to slow up for a single stride.

      He removed his suit jacket and cuff links. He loosened his tie. He took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and switched over to voice mail before tossing it aside. The device skidded across the surface and glanced off the single framed photograph on the desk.

      Automatically, he reached out to right the photograph of his family—a group of ne’er-do-wells if ever there was one. Its presence on his desk was Lani’s doing, a replacement for Jenna’s head shot. Also an irritating distraction. Abruptly he thrust the photo away, facedown.

      A tap of the mouse brought his computer out of sleep mode. He sat and rolled his chair closer to the desk. Time for serious work.

      After forty-five minutes studying the monthly reports from his department managers, Kyle stopped to straighten and stretch. He relished these early-evening hours, with his staff gone home and the Prince Montez East Coast management offices shut down. As long as there were no emergency calls from the evening concierge, he could get a lot of work accomplished. Normally he dove into it with gusto, putting in another two hours before his empty stomach forced him into calling room service.

      But not this evening. Lani’s words nagged at him.

      Fuddy-duddy. Lonesome.

      Kyle stood and moved restlessly around the sparsely furnished space before pausing at one of the three tall windows that overlooked the stone courtyard and Moorish fountain at the center of the resort complex. Towering palms lined the long curve of the main road, as well as the various paths leading away from it. In the distance, beyond the foothills, was the humpbacked crest of Camelback Mountain, cast blood orange in the fading sun.

      He was unaccountably distracted by the vista. When was the last time he’d noticed a sunset?

      He turned suddenly and grabbed the picture off his desk, relocating it to one of the nearly empty shelves in the storage unit along one of the unadorned walls.

      Kyle didn’t bother much with the trappings of his position—an expense account, a company car and driver, the large office for work and the luxury suite for sleep. They were valuable only for the air of success they gave him. That, admittedly, he savored.

      From the shelf, the faces of his family mocked him. Think you’re a big shot?

      “Hell, yeah,” he said softly.

       What about us? Didja forget us?

      He swung away. Hadn’t he done enough for them? Late-night calls to lawyers, arguments mediated, loans that would never be repaid. Strings pulled, jobs acquired, christenings and bail hearings and holidays attended, each one invariably ending in an argument.

      Lani was wrong. He’d put in plenty of face-to-face time. Real people were highly overrated.

      There was a staccato rap on the door. Gavin Brill thrust his head inside. “Hey, Jarreau. I’m on my way home.”

      “Give my best to the wife.” Kyle’s gut seized. He must be hungry.

      “Sorry, man.” Gavin raised his eyebrows. At a scarce five-six, he was eight inches shorter than Kyle, but considered handsome by the women around the office. They swooned over his jet-black hair, blue eyes and Hollywood profile. “I’ll be too busy giving her mine.”

      “No one likes a braggart.”

      Gavin grinned. “I can’t help it.”

      Kyle scowled; this was their act. “How many times did you call her today?”

      Gavin had married Melina, one of their former reservation clerks. A cute little brunette who thought he was the sun and the moon and all the stars, too. Her adoration seemed cloying to Kyle, but he gave the couple allowances to be sappy newlyweds. Not that he’d admit it to Gavin.

      The man’s grin widened. “Only eight. You owe me twenty.”

      “Yeah, but how many times did she call you?”

      “That wasn’t part of the bet.”

      “A technicality,” Kyle said, but he took out his wallet. “I only have a hundred.”

      Gavin gestured with his head. “Walk down with me and we’ll change it at the front desk.”

      “You know I’m good for the money.”

      “C’mon, bud. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”

      First a fuddy-duddy and now a stick in the mud?

      “I can offer extra incentive,” Gavin said. “Your unexpected arrival will put the fear of authority in the new night concierge. I hear he’s been hell on the staff, trying to prove himself.”

      “Sounds like he has the right idea.”

      To demonstrate that he wasn’t a fuddy, let alone a duddy, Kyle didn’t bother to roll down his sleeves and put on his jacket. They walked past the elevator to the stairwell and jogged down four flights, neither willing to break the pace.

      “Melina says…” Gavin pushed through the staff door that opened onto a hidden corner of the vast lobby. He’d missed more than a few of their workouts lately and was trying not to pant. “Her friends at the desk—”

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