“Sounds good—I’ll try it. How’s the lounge?”
“Great drinks, but not much action on Monday night.”
Shaking his head slightly, Eric laughed. “Fine with me.”
The concierge extended his hand. “I’m Manny Oliver.”
Eric clasped his hand in a firm grip. “Quinn. Eric Quinn.”
“Glad you chose the Chandelier House for your trip, Mr. Quinn. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
At that moment, Eric caught sight of Cindy across the lobby. He hadn’t realized he was staring until Manny’s cool voice reached him. “That’s our general manager, Cindy Warren.”
Eric tried to appear casual. “We met briefly in the salon this morning. I was quite impressed with her, um, professionalism.” And her legs. Eric watched her move alongside a barrel-chested man, gesturing from floor to ceiling in the curve of the magnificent staircase.
“She’s first-rate,” the man agreed. “The Chandelier House is lucky to have her.”
“She seems young for so much responsibility,” Eric said, fishing.
“Early thirties,” Manny offered.
“Is she single?” The words came out before Eric could stop them, and he wasn’t sure who was more surprised, himself or the concierge.
Manny straightened, his defenses up, and Eric wondered if the man had romantic feelings for his boss. “Ms. Warren is unmarried,” he said tightly.
Mentally kicking himself, Eric simply nodded. “Thank you for the meal recommendation, Mr. Oliver.” He withdrew a bill from his wallet, but before he could extend it, Manny stopped him with the slightest lift of his hand. “Don’t mention it, Mr. Quinn. It’s my job to take care of everyone in the hotel.”
Manny’s friendly smile didn’t mask the glimmer of warning in his clear blue eyes.
“I’m sure you’re good at your job,” Eric said lightly.
“The best,” Manny assured him as another guest approached his station. “Enjoy that steak, Mr. Quinn.”
Unable to resist another peek in her direction, Eric was treated to an inadvertent display of lower thigh as Cindy stretched her arm high to make a point to the man, presumably in preparation for installing more seasonal decorations.
Feeling Manny’s stare boring into his back, Eric dragged his gaze away from Cindy Warren. Checking his watch and finding he had plenty of time for a drink before dinner, he moved in the direction of the lounge, trying to shake off the undeniable surge of attraction he felt for the general manager. The nostalgia of the season must be getting to him, he decided. Making him sappy. Or horny. Or both.
The name “Sammy’s” stretched over the entrance to the lounge, one of the few areas in the hotel Eric had not yet staked out. He walked down two steps and into the low-lit interior, fully expecting the lounge to resemble the hundreds of other generic hotel bars he’d visited during his fifteen-year stint in the business. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to find a motif of antique musical instruments. An old upright piano sat abandoned in a far corner. The strains of Burl Ives played over unseen speakers, evoking memories of past Christmases. A bittersweet thought; family gatherings hadn’t been the same since his mother’s death.
The place was practically deserted, with only a handful of customers dotting the perimeter of the room. A knot of Trekkies indulged in a down-to-earth pitcher of beer.
But to his pleasure, Jerry the barber sat on one of the upholstered stools, still wearing the Santa hat. He chatted with a thick-armed bartender and smoked a sweet-smelling cigar.
“Weeeeell, if it isn’t Mr. Quinn.” Jerry grinned and nodded to the stool next to him. “Have a seat. Tony’ll get you a drink.”
Eric slid onto the stool and rested his elbows on the smooth curved edge of the bar. “Bourbon and water,” he directed Tony with a nod. “Taking a break, Jer?” He patted his shirt pocket for a cigarette, then remembered he had left them in the room.
The older man nodded and took a long drag of his cigar. “I’m through for the day—got tired of that woman caterwauling.”
“Excuse me?”
Jerry used the cigar as a pointer while he talked. “That woman who whacked off Ms. Cindy’s hair—she’s been bawling all day.”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Eric said with a laugh. “We warned your boss.”
“You know Cindy?” Tony glared as he slid Eric’s drink toward him.
Another besotted employee, Eric surmised. “Not really,” he said lightly.
Tony sized him up silently, flexing his massive chest beneath his skintight dress shirt. The red jingle bell suspenders did little to soften the man’s looks. Finally Tony walked down the bar to help another customer.
“Don’t mind him,” Jerry said with another puff. “He’s Ms. Cindy’s self-appointed bodyguard.”
“He looks dangerous.”
Jerry glanced around, then leaned toward him. “Just between me and you, he did a stint at San Quentin.”
Eric glanced up from his drink in alarm. “For what?”
“Never asked,” the man admitted. “But he’s fine as long as he stays on his medication. A bit protective of the boss lady, though.”
“Ms. Warren is a popular woman,” Eric observed.
“She’s a good woman,” Jerry amended. “But stubborn.” He shook his head. “Stubborn as the day is long.”
“She’s not a good manager?”
“She’s the best. But a big company bought this place a couple of years ago and has been trying to change it ever since. Ms. Cindy is wearing herself out digging in her heels.”
Eric kept his voice light. “There’s always room for improved efficiency.”
“People don’t come to the Chandelier House for efficiency, Mr. Quinn. You can go down the street and get a bigger room with a better view for less money.”
“So why come here at all?”
The man laughed and nodded toward the Trekkies. “We’re oddballs, Mr. Quinn, and we cater to oddballs. It’s a profitable niche, but Ms. Cindy can’t get anyone up the ladder to listen to her.”
“She confides in you?”
“Nope.” Jerry grinned. “But I know this hotel—been here thirty years, and I know women—been married three times.”
“The last one is a dubious credential,” Eric noted, taking another drink from his glass.
“Women are the most blessed gift the good Lord put on this earth,” the old man said
