"I'm sure we can arrange that. Mr. Hubble in Catering… Yes, yes, I understand how important it is. Mr. Hubble—" She broke off, rolled her eyes at Byron. "How many extra chairs would you like, Ms. Bingham?" She listened patiently, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "No, of course not. And I'm sure you'll have plenty of room if you make use of the terrace. No, I don't believe it's calling for rain. It should be a lovely evening, and I'm sure your reception will be elegant. Mr. Hubble—" Now she gritted her teeth. "Why don't I talk to Mr. Hubble for you and get back to you? Yes, by noon. I will. Absolutely. You're welcome, Ms. Bingham." She hung up. "Ms. Bingham is insane."
"Is she the orthodontist convention or the interior decorating?"
"Decorating. She has decided, at the last minute, that she simply must give a reception tonight for sixty of her closest friends and associates. For reasons I can't explain, she doesn't trust Bob Hubble to pull it off."
"Templeton," Byron said and smiled at her. "The trouble is, your name is Templeton. Which puts you in a lofty position."
You wouldn't know it from her office, he thought. It was tiny, cramped and windowless. He knew she'd chosen the position and the work space herself when she had decided to squeeze out time for a part-time job at the hotel.
Byron didn't know how she managed—her family and home, the shop, the hotel. But she seemed to him to be the soul of serenity and quiet efficiency. Until you looked close enough, at the eyes. There, shadowed in their lake-gray depths, were doubt and worry and grief. Remnants, he thought, of a shattered marriage.
"You didn't have to come down here, Byron." She finished scribbling notes to herself as she spoke. "I would have made it up to your office this morning."
"It's all right. Problem with the tooth soldiers?"
"You'd think orthodontists would have a little decorum, wouldn't you?" With a sigh, she pulled papers out of a file. "We've had complaints from both bars, but that's nothing I can't handle."
"I've yet to come across anything you can't handle."
"I appreciate that. But there's a delicate situation. One of the doctors apparently was having a, let's say, intimate moment with one of the other doctors when her husband decided to pay an unannounced surprise visit."
"God, I love this job." Byron settled back. "It's like a long-running soap opera."
"Easy for you to say. I spent an hour this morning dealing with the penitent woman. She sat where you are, spilling out tears and the whole sordid story of her marriage, her affairs, her therapy."
Weary with the memory, Laura pressed her fingers to the inside corner of her eye, almost relieving the tension that was living there. "This is her third husband, and she claims to be addicted to adultery."
"She should go on Oprah. Women who are addicted to adultery, and the men who love them. Do you want me to talk to her?"
"No, I think I sent her off steady enough. Our problem is, the husband wasn't too thrilled to find his wife and his"—she winced—"his brother-in-law wrapped in matching Templeton robes."
"It just gets better. Don't stop now."
"The husband popped his brother-in
-law—who, I should add for clarification, is married to our heroine's sister—in the mouth. Knocked out several thousand dollars' worth of caps and so forth. There was some damage to the room, nothing major. A couple of lamps and crockery." She waved that away. "But our problem is that the guy with the broken mouth is threatening to sue the hotel."
"Another victim." If he hadn't been so amused with the scenario, he would have sighed. "What's his rationale?"
"That the hotel is responsible for letting the husband in. He—the husband—called room service from a house phone, ordered champagne and strawberries for his wife's room. He had a dozen roses with him," she added. "Then he waited until the wine arrived, slipped into the room behind the waiter, and—well, the rest is history."
"I don't think we've got any real problem here, but I'll take the file."
"I appreciate it." Relieved, Laura passed the torch. "I'd talk to the man myself, but I get the impression he's not. too keen on women in authority. And, to be honest, I'm swamped. The orthodontists have their banquet tonight, and the cosmetic people are coming in tomorrow."
"And, of course, Ms. Bingham."
"Right." She checked her watch and rose. "I'd better get down to Catering. There was one other little thing."
Standing up himself, he raised an eyebrow. "The decorators are wrestling in the atrium?"
"Not yet." Because she appreciated him, she smiled. It was second nature to Laura to hide nerves. "It was an idea I had for the shop, but since it involves the hotel, I wanted to run it by you."
"Laura, it's your hotel."
"No, at the moment I work here, and you're the boss." She picked up her clipboard and passed it from one of her hands to the other. "Last fall we put on a reception and charity auction at the shop. We intend to do it every year. But I was thinking we could plan another event. Straight advertising, really. A fashion show, using clothes and accessories from the shop, during the holiday season. The White Ballroom would be ideal, and it's not booked for the first Saturday in December. I thought we could feature gala attire, formals, ballgowns, in addition to accessories, all from the shop. We'd advertise it in both the hotel and the resort, with percentage-off certificates issued to Templeton employees and guests."
"You've got marketing in the blood. Listen, Laura, you work conventions and special events." He put an arm around her shoulders as they left the office. "You don't need my goahead."