Page 36 of Passion at the Lake

“Cool it for a second, Dirk,” she snapped.

That right there was the manager in her that kept the hotel running smoothly.

“What was your question?” she asked, returning to me.

I still needed her take on the housekeeping staffing issue, and how she recommended hiring for that position. “It’s about…” I stopped when the solution to both my problems smacked me in the face. “Never mind. It’ll keep. Go have a good time.”

“We will. And you’ll take care of finding Angela a position with somebody, right?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Promise me,” she demanded.

“Okay already. I promise I’ll get her an offer.” I had to keep Grace happy.

We ended the call just as Marge called up that dinner was ready.

I stood. “Be right down.”

There was no chance in hell the girl downstairs who drove the two-hundred-thousand-dollar car would stoop to cleaning toilets and making beds for me.

The problem would solve itself.

I’d get Angela the offer I’d promised Grace I would, and I’d still get to send the bitch off to a hotel somewhere and be rid of her. With the way she’d screwed up my life before, I couldn’t and wouldn’t have her anywhere around here. Angela was a dangerous shrew.

In my next talk with Grace, I’d be able to tell her I’d fulfilled my promise, and then get her to advise me on how she kept the housekeeping positions filled so I didn’t have to clean rooms myself every evening.

* * *

Angela

Marge smiledat Boone as I slid the plate in front of her. “This smells positively divine, and I’ll bet it tastes even better.”

She’d already tasted it in the kitchen, so her comment was clearly aimed at Boone, not me.

I gave him a wide smile as I set his plate down. “I hope you like it.”

He didn’t say anything until I returned with my plate. “What is this?” His tone was as unfriendly as his sneer.

Marge glared at him. “Manners, Boone James. I asked Angela to make us something special, and this is very tasty. Give it a try.” She pointed her fork at him. “After you apologize.”

“Bacon pasta alfredo with thyme,” I said before he had a chance to utter anything. “I understand it looks odd. Just think of it as mac and cheese with a twist.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he pushed the noodles around with his fork. “Shouldn’t spaghetti have tomato sauce?”

“She didn’t call it spaghetti, now did she?” Marge scolded.

I started eating and waited for a response.

His taste verdict came a minute later. “It’s not bad.”

From Boone Benson, I’d settle fornot badany day of the week.

We weren’t halfway through eating when Marge surprised me. “Angela needs a job,” she announced. “She was checking around town today without any luck.”

I looked at the center of the table, too ashamed to meet Boone’s eyes.

He picked up his glass. “Is that so?”

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