Page 21 of Faking It With My New Boss

I headed across what would soon be an immaculate lobby to a corner that looked bare and empty compared to the rest of the space. Built into a section against the sidewalk to the side of the building, it featured a massive picture window now covered with paper and tape.

“This space definitely has a lot of potential,” Courtney said. “It could be just about anything if it was in the right hands.”

“And therein lies my problem,” I said. “I don't have the right hands to do it. This space is the most frustrating area I've ever had in one of my hotels. Usually, I know exactly what I want and how I want it to be. But this is just not gelling for me. Not to mention the whole right hands part. I don't have a professional to oversee the project.”

“Are you still looking for an interior designer?” Courtney asked, sounding almost cautious, like she wasn't sure how I was going to respond to the question. Not that I could blame her. My attitude had been somewhat unpredictable in her brief time knowing me.

“Not right now. I decided to put a hold on finding one because I'm still not completely positive what this space is even going to be, which would make it hard for a designer to put together. I'm not sold on it being a boutique, but I'm not sure what else it could be,” I said.

“You'll figure it out,” she reassured me.

“Want to see the rooms?” I asked.

If I didn't know any better, I would think she had just blushed. She looked down and brushed her hair away from her face before looking at me again.

“Sure. Yeah,” she nodded. “That would be great.”

That was a lot of confirmation for not sounding at all confident with what she was saying. But I decided to take it at face value and bring her up to a section of the rooms that had been finished recently. We laughed slightly as we walked into the elevator together and I noticed Courtney looking around at the mirrors on the sides.

I smiled at her in one of them and she smiled back at me. My stomach tightened slightly and I made myself look away.

We got to the finished floor and I brought her into one of the rooms. As we walked around and I showed her the amenities, she seemed to be taking notice of all the details. Her eyes swept across the furniture, the art, the fixtures. When they got to the bed, they paused.

“Is this the bedding that's so wonderful you sell it in your shops?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

I nodded. “Yes. Feel it.”

I leaned down to run my hand along the top of the comforter. It was smooth and soft with a fresh crispness that came from never having been used. Courtney stepped up and touched the bed. She let out a little sigh.

“It's so soft,” she said.

“The sheets are bamboo,” I told her.

“I can see why people would want to buy them,” she said.

We looked at each other and there was another moment of tension between us. It both excited and confused me. Even though we didn't really know each other and didn't get along to start with, I was drawn to her and we kept having those electric moments. I didn't know what to think of it.

“Let me show you where the event will be held,” I said, breaking the moment and stepping away from her.

Courtney nodded. “That would be a good idea. It will help us visualize exactly how to lay everything out.”

We hurried out of the room and downstairs to the event space. She was clearly impressed and I found myself liking that. I was so accustomed to impressing people and having women fall all over themselves about me I had forgotten what it felt like to actually have to work to get that same reaction from someone. I wouldn't exactly say that Courtney was falling all over herself about me, but she was certainly impressed, and I would take that.

We walked around exchanging ideas and coming up with new ones to fit the space.

“What about dancing?” she asked, stopping in the center of the room.

My face scrunched up. “Dancing? I don't know if there needs to be dancing. Doesn't that sound kind of old school? And if there absolutely has to be dancing, the dance floor needs to be somewhere out of the way. We don't want people getting in each other's way. We can put the dance floor in that back corner over there. We hadn't talked about anything specific to go there.”

I looked over at Courtney and saw she was clearly horrified by the suggestion.

“There has to be dancing,” she said. “And the dance floor has to be right here in the middle of the room.”

“Why?”

She looked like she was trying to come up with a way of saying something, but eventually just gave in and reached out for me.

“Come dance with me,” she said.

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