Page 21 of Moonshine and Magnolias
“If you’re sure.” She scrambled off the lounge and made tracks to the staircase before she stopped. Her eyebrows drew down. “I didn’t just fail some sort of test, did I?”
“The test of listening to your cousin.” Wendy made some shooing motions. She took Brandi’s abandoned position, playing word games on her own phone to keep her mind occupied. After a while, her eyelids drooped, only to snap open again. The quiet solitude reminded her of working overnights at the large hotel chain, but at least then, she had slept all day to prepare for her shift.
Since guests could roam the open areas of Fountenoy Hall, adding a coded lock to the door would prevent this sort of circumstance. They could email the code and not have to worry about late arrivals, then change the code at check outs. She added the thought to the notes in her phone.
Her eyes threatened to close again, but the buzzer sounded and jerked her back to full consciousness. She opened the door to her guests and led them to the registration desk.
Though the two men were dressed in business suits, they didn’t look anything like typical office workers. Their identical broad, bulking shoulders should have made them menacing, but their alert eyes took in all corners of the room and gave off a protective air as opposed to threatening. The man who handed her the credit card was as dark as the other was pale. Usually Wendy would ask about their drive and suss out their reason for being in Claremont. Tonight, however, she only took their information and verified their credit card, then showed them to their rooms and gave them keys. “The rooms connect through this door, but you can leave it locked if you prefer to remain separated.”
“Thank you.”
Brandi had been right about their accents. Like Sebastien’s, whose tiny principality had a strong French and Italian influence. “The folders on your beds explain how dinner reservations work and other hotel information. Breakfast starts at seven. Good night, gentlemen.” She closed the door behind her and headed up one flight to her bedroom.
This time when she closed her eyes, sleep claimed her immediately.
And morning came all too soon.
Her alarm bleated out an obnoxious tune and she groaned while she hit her nightstand, trying to turn off the damn noise. By the time she had sleepwalked through her morning routine and made it bleary-eyed downstairs, the scent of bacon had created an olfactory path to the kitchen. No Dr. Rob Upshaw sat at the table yet. Not that she had been looking for him. The room was empty, except for the stares of her ancestors on the wall.
For the past few days, she didn’t have to brace herself when entering the kitchen. The tightness in her chest had lessened each time her aunt had bustled about. And after yesterday’s time with Dr. Upshaw, she had left the office with a sort of sadness, but not dread.
“Good morning!” Brandi stood at the stove, a turquoise apron covering her non-uniform clothes. Seeing her working when it wasn’t her shift was a step forward, so Wendy let the dress code violation slide. Besides, guests recognize her cousin worked at the Hall, so maybe those rules could be less restricted. Something to discuss at the staff meeting. Her fingers itched to take out her phone, but she decided to hold off instead of getting teased.
Her mom stood next to her aunt, picking the vibrant fruits and vegetables laid out on the island in front of them. Max the produce guy stood nearby, lifting a head of purple cabbage out of his box. Wendy nodded to them and made her way to the coffee brewing in the corner.
“You should come to dinner tonight,” her aunt said to Max. “Taste the fruits of your labor. No pun intended.”
Max chuffed out a laugh that was surprisingly deep for such a small man, andput his hand on Eulalee’s arm. “That sounds just fine.”
Wendy caught her mom’s raised eyebrows in silent communication. Interesting. Especially when Aunt Eulalee’s eyes lit up at the innocent contact. Maybe her skin tingled where he touched, like Wendy’s did when Rob…
The tune she assigned to Steward Hotels filtered out of her skirt pocket. A streak of resentment at the interruption cut into her heart, and she flinched at the unexpected feeling. What the hell was happening? She really should get up to Atlanta before she became even more disconnected. She waved her phone at Aunt Eulalee. “It’s work. Do I have time?”
“Go,” Brandi answered. “I can cover you for a change.”
Wendy stepped out the back door and into the herb and peach-scented air of the brick patio. The sun was still behind the house, casting long shadows over the green lawn. “This is Wendy.”
“Wendy. How are things going down there?” her boss asked.
“Things are going well, Tina. How’s Terre Haute?”
“It would be better if you were here. Do you know where the profit and loss statements are for the getaway promotion we ran last month?”
“Check the shared drive under Promotions.” Wendy sat on the wicker love seat and trailed her arm over the stiff back.
She heard some keyboard clicking, then a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I don’t mean to pressure you, but when do you think you’ll be all wrapped up? I’d hate for you to miss all you’ve been working on for so long.”
She sat up straight. What the hell was she bringing that up for? “My team is doing great. Everything is on schedule, and I was thinking of coming up closer to the opening.”
It was like she hadn’t even spoken. “I’m going to prep Greg on your responsibilities just in case.” Muffled voices came over the phone line. Her boss wasn’t alone.
A low hum of resentment settled into Wendy’s chest. This project was hers, and no way was she going to give it to some guy who couldn’t even find a clearlylabeled business statement. She stood up and clenched her fist. “That’s not ne—”
“He’s here with the new numbers. I have to go.”
The hum’s vibrations built to a crescendo that could rattle the kitchen windows. Tina had given away her project. Her boss just gave away her project. The same fucking project she’d been working on for almost two years, pouring in her ideas and creativity, and any extra time she had been able to devote to it around her shifts at the Hall. Without even conferring with her.
The cheerful chirping of the morning birdsong mocked her frustration and she wanted to kick the wicker chair. Hard. Several times. She had known being at the Hall was going to suspend her career path, but at the time, coming home had mattered more. Losing the Terre Haute opening just proved sentimentality wasn’t worth it.
