Page 25 of All the Drama from New York

The phone immediately dialed, and on the second ring someone answered it. “Good morning, Ms. Royal, how may I help you?”

“Hi Con, I need an urgent phone replacement sent to my studio.” Glancing at Ryan’s cell, she checked the brand. “It’s an iPhone, so could you please send over the latest model. And I will need a black cover and a screen protector.” She smiled at Ryan. “Oh, and could I have it here within the hour? Please.”

“Of course. It will be on its way in the next twenty minutes. Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Royal?”

“No, thank you, Con. That’s all I need. Bye.”

She hung up the call. “I went with black because it’s a practical color, but if you would like something a little different, I can ask Con to get you another cover. Just tell me what you want, Ryan.”

He slipped his broken phone back into his jacket pocket and chuckled. “Wow, you really do have a magic genie on speed dial. Any chance of me getting three wishes?”

She could tell he meant it as a joke, but heat still raced to her cheeks. Camille wasn’t used to having to explain her life to strangers. “I have some amazing people around me. But it’s not magic with Con. He’s always having to replace cell phones, so more than likely he had the latest model sitting on the desk in front of him when I called,” explained Camille.

It sounded like bragging, but it was the simple truth. Con was the mobile tech guy for the Royal Resorts USA head office. He worked out of one of the nearby towers at Hudson Yards and spent his days handing out cell phones to team members like they were candy bars. Camille’s cousin Jordan Royal was forever dropping and/or losing his cell phone.

“I’ll reimburse…”

“No, you won’t. Con will be sendingmethe bill. I knocked you down in the middle of the street. It’s the least I can do toreplace your cell phone. Though if you tell your lawyer that I admitted liability I will absolutely deny it.”

Ryan held up his hands in surrender. “The phone will be more than enough compensation. My broken one wasn’t exactly the latest model.” He looked away, then gave a tired sigh. “Do you mind if I take a seat for a minute. I just want to rest my back and head.”

Camille scooted over to her desk and pulled out the chair. She patted the seat. “Sit here. It’s a really comfortable chair. I sat in it for four hours straight from just after three o’clock this morning, and it supported my back beautifully.”

He took her up on the offer, but as he sat, he asked, “Why were you working at such an early hour? Are you a bit of a night owl?”

Camille bent and hit the enter key on her laptop. The large Bluetooth connected monitor on the desk sprang to life. Her spreadsheet nemesis glared back at her in all its colorful glory. “I was trying to make sense of that.” She pointed at the planning system Hope had left her.

“My PA eloped to Las Vegas yesterday, and then she quit on me. I’m supposed to figure out how it works, but my brain just can’t make any sense of it.”

Ryan sat forward in the chair, then pulled the keyboard closer to himself. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Do you have any experience with systems of torture?” she asked, only half joking.

“I have two years of a business degree under my belt. I’ve used spreadsheets quite a bit. And I’ve worked the front desk in several large hotels. If I can understand their booking systems, I should have a fair shot at deciphering this extremely colorful spreadsheet.”

A laugh escaped her lips. The colors were the only thing she appreciated about Hope’s system. The rest was a hard no.

“I’ll go find us some food downstairs. But in the meantime would you like a coffee?” she asked.

“Yes please, Camille. Black and with a dash of real milk. Sugar if you have it. But if none of those are possible a straight Italian espresso would be great.”

She headed over to the nearby kitchenette and turned on the coffee machine. Spreadsheets might be beyond her, but she could make a decent long black.

And being French, of course, she had real milk.

As soon as she set the coffee on the desk next to Ryan, Camille headed for the stairs. The breakfast delivery of freshly made egg and bacon muffins from the Royal Resorts Manhattan hotel would go perfectly with hot coffee.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Ok, I’ll just keep taking a look at this spreadsheet. I had no idea there were that many colors in the rainbow. And whoever built this thing sure had a thing for pivot tables.”

He knows what a pivot table is, that’s a start.

If Ryan could decipher even a little of Hope’s planning schedule it would be worth much more to her than the cost of a new iPhone and some freshly baked breakfast muffins. A great deal more.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hope was either a certifiable mad genius or just plain mad. It took Ryan a good fifteen minutes to get his head around the complicated legend which Camille’s former PA had listed in her instructions.

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