Page 30 of Wishing for Christmas
“Can Matthew take care of this for now?” Clara asked. She wondered how much longer she had left on this awful arrangement of shadowing him in his job. Surely, one year in the future, she should be nearing the end of that whole thing by now.
Lucy drew her eyebrows together. “Matthew? But why?—”
“Ma’am.” A voice cut off Lucy.
Clara looked up to see the man who had been trying to check in.
“Is there some sort of problem here?” he asked.
Clara smiled at him. “No, sir, I just?—”
“Excuse me,” a new voice boomed through the lobby, stopping her mid-sentence.
Clara looked up to see another man, middle-aged and heavily built. He hurried over with urgency, unwilling to look out for anyone who might be in his way. And he was holding a plunger.
Clara’s eyes widened. A tingle began to creep up from the bottoms of her toes. Whatever this guy had to say, it wasn’t going to be good. He didn’t have shoes on, only a Celtics sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and wet socks.
“I seem to be having some plumbing issues in my room.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he realized his entrance had attracted the notice of the other people bustling around the lobby. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so frantic.” He looked to the floor and stroked his beard. He cleared his throat. “But I’ve tried everything.”
Clara shuddered. Plumbing was definitely not in her wheelhouse. She tossed a sympathetic smile at the man. “Of course. We’ll get you all fixed up in a minute, sir.” She held up a finger. She shared a peripheral look of panic with Lucy. “Where’s Matthew?” she asked her under her breath.
Lucy didn’t answer, turning her attention back to her check-in. Clara let out a breath. She didn’t have time for these guests. She needed to figure out how to fix this situation with Mr. Spencer.
“Call Matthew in his office. Tell him I need him—now,” she said to Lucy.
Lucy shrugged and picked up the phone.
Clara breezed past the plunger-wielding man, through the lobby. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting . . .” she said to him as she hurried past.
“It’s kind of an emergency,” she heard him say to the back of her head.
She closed her eyes in frustration as she sped up her steps. She ached with shame at the sound of her rubber boots squeaking against the marble floors, but moved quickly through the corridor that led to the conference rooms at the back of the hotel until she was practically running. Her forehead was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She wiped the sleeve of her sweater against it.
The Darlington’s four conference rooms opened to an oval-shaped vestibule. A poinsettia arrangement filled the glass table in the center of the space. A dozen people dressed inbusiness attire stood around it, many looking at their watches. The sound of holiday music felt out of place in the current atmosphere, heavy under the strain of inconvenience. She could only imagine what Mr. Spencer’s clients thought about the Darlington’s service. Where were the banquet staff? She tried to open the conference rooms. Only one was unlocked, and it was completely empty.
Clara’s office sat a few yards away. There, she would be able to look up Mr. Spencer’s event order and figure out what he needed. It would have all the information to throw his meeting together in no time. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a meeting pop up at the last minute. The only difference now was that this whole situation was entirely her fault. That and the knowledge that this account had the potential to make or break her career.
She hurried to her office and opened the door, going straight for the computer. She entered her password to unlock it and found herself denied access. Not this too. She threw her hands in the air.
Clara only knew one thing at that moment: She needed Matthew. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t solve these problems on her own. She sprinted back to the front of the hotel and hopped behind the desk alongside Lucy, who appeared to be having trouble with the check-in. A line had formed.
“He’s still not here?” Clara asked her.
“Who?”
“Matthew.”
Lucy shook her head.
“Do you even work here?” The man checking in asked.
Clara lowered her gaze to her rubber wellies and jeans and felt her face heat up.
“Well, I first noticed the water on the floor . . .”
She cringed. The man in the Celtics sweatshirt was now telling the newest guest in line, an older woman, all about his plumbing issues.
Clara stood up on her toes to get as high as she could, which wasn’t very high in her boots. She looked past the guests in all directions in a desperate attempt to locate Matthew. Maintenance wasnother area of expertise. She needed to be dealing with herclient instead of these hotel guests.
