"He's gained four ounces," she told Kate.
"At the rate he's going, he'll be ready for heavyweight status in another week." Charmed, Kate shifted to the edge of the chaise to stroke his downy head. "He has your eyes and Josh's ears. God, he smells so good." She drew in the powdery, milky scent of baby and decided to talk business another time. "I get to hold him when you're done."
"You'll stay for dinner, Miss Kate." Ann put her hands behind her back to end her struggle not to adjust the way Margo was holding the precious boy. "Mr. Josh has a late meeting at the hotel, and you'll keep us company. Then you can hold our baby as long as you want."
"Well…" Kate traced a fingertip over the curve of J. T.'s cheek. "Since you've twisted my arm."
The Bay Suite of Templetoh Monterey was elegantly appointed. Black-lacquered tables held huge porcelain urns filled with exotic blooms. A curved settee in icy blue brocade was sprinkled with pillows that picked up the tones of a floor-spanning Oriental rug. The drapes on both sets of wide glass doors were open to invite in the glorious bleeding colors as the sun slowly sank into the sea.
The table in the dining area was conference size, graced with high-backed, ornately carved chairs with tapestried seats. Dinner was served on bone-white china, accented with a Fume Blanc from the Templeton vineyards.
The meeting might have been held at Templeton House, but both Thomas and Susan considered that to be Laura's home. This, as pleasant as it was, was business.
"If there's a weakness in the Beverly Hills location, it's in room service." Byron glanced at the notes beside his plate. "The complaints run to the usual—the amount of time for delivery, mix-up in orders. The kitchen runs well as a whole. Your chef there is…"
"Temperamental," Susan suggested with a smile.
"Actually I was going to say frightening. I know he scared me. Maybe it was being ordered out by a very large man with a thick Brooklyn accent and a cleaver, but there was a moment."
"Did you leave?" Thomas wanted to know.
"I reasoned with him. From a safe distance. And told him, quite sincerely, that he made the best coquilles St. Jacques it had ever been my privilege to taste."
"That goes a long way with Max," Josh commented. "As I recall, the line chefs there work like machines."
"They appear to. They're terrified of him." Grinning, Byron sampled his tarragon chicken. "The problem doesn't seem to be in the preparation, but in the servers. Naturally there are certain hours when both the kitchen and the servers are backed up, but the room service staff has become undeniably lax."
"Suggestions?"
"I'd recommend transferring Helen Pringle to the Beverly Hills location, if she's agreeable, in a managerial position. She's experienced and efficient. We'd miss her here, of course, but I believe she would eliminate the problem in L.A. And she'd certainly be my first choice for a promotion."
"Josh?" Thomas turned to his son for verification.
"Agreed. She has an excellent record as an assistant manager."
"Make her the offer." Susan picked up her wine. "With the appropriate increase in salary and benefits."
"Fine. I think that closes Beverly Hills." Byron skimmed down his notes. San Francisco had been dealt with and tabled. San Diego required a personal spot check but posed no immediate need for discussion. "Ah, there is a little matter here at the flagship." Byron scratched his cheek. "Maintenance would like new vending machines."
Thomas raised a brow as he finished off his salmon. "Maintenance came to you about vending machines?"
"There was a problem with the plumbing on the sixth floor. Sabotage by a toddler who decided to drown his Power Rangers in the toilet. Hell of a mess. I went down to soothe the parents."
And ended up sending them down to the pool while he helped the mechanic stem the flood. But that was beside the point.
"I supervised the disgorging, so to speak, and the matter of vending machines came up. They want their junk food back. It seems candy bars and chips were ditched a couple of years ago and replaced with apples and fat-free cookies. Believe me, I got an earful about corporate interference in personal choice."
"That would be Ridgeway," Josh decided.
Susan made a dismissive sound, but held a napkin to her lips to disguise her grin. She had an image of Byron, elegant in a suit and polished shoes, wading through water and listening to a mechanic's gripes about snacks. "Recommendation?"
"Keep them happy." Byron shrugged. "Let them eat Milky Ways."
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"Agreed," Thomas said. "And is that the biggest staff problem here at Templeton Monterey?"
"Just the usual hitches, nothing that isn't typical day-to-day. There was the dead woman in 803."