“Only when it comes to work, my friend.” Greg continued on until he reached Sales and Catering where he found Grace in her office, frowning over the table linens draped over her conference table. “What’s wrong now?”
She pushed her hands through the long, blond hair that was courtesy of her Swedish mother. “Obviously, the color.”
He eyed the linens. “They’re red.”
She sighed mightily. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’d think that by now you would have learned the difference between scarlet and red.”
“I don’t need to know the difference. You do. That’s why I stole you from that shack in Tokyo.”
She smiled. That “shack” was one of the most famous, premier hotels in all the world. “And I came because you do amuse me. This,” she flipped out a napkin and dropped it atop the cloth already spread on the table, “is scarlet silk damask.”
He could barely discern the difference between the two. “And that is what the others are supposed to be?”
“Exactly. We’re using scarlet silk when we host the luncheon next week for the mayor, not red linen. At this rate, I’m going to have to make a trip I don’t have time to make to Tokyo to beg, borrow and steal the right linens.”
As far as he was concerned, the red ought to be fine. But he knew better than to step into Grace’s decisions. Her acumen couldn’t be topped. If she needed scarlet-colored whatever for some reason, then she needed it. “You’ve got staff,” he reminded. “Send them on the hunt for you.”
“Speaking of staff, Tanya did your packets. She’s already taken them up to the training room.”
“Thanks. Incidentally, you’ll have one more soul to boss around tomorrow. If it’s capable of being bossed.”
Grace leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms. “Kimiko Taka’s in the house. I heard.”
Not surprising, since the only thing that ran more swiftly than gossip in a hotel was the water in the pipes. “Send her on your scarlet-colored errand,” he advised, not entirely joking. “Rumor has it that shopping is one area where she really shines.”
Grace’s phone rang, and she picked it up, waving him out of her office. He gave a tap on the oversized wall clock she’d hung alongside an enormous project board, reminding her to keep track of the time, before he left. He didn’t want anyone missing this meeting. They had too much business to cover in too little time as it was.
He rounded the corner that would lead him back to his primary office—not the one located on the lobby level behind reception—and stopped short at the sight of Kimiko Taka exiting the elevator. She looked right then left, and spotted him.
If he wasn’t mistaken, the high heel of her boot actually moved back a few inches. But that hesitation was brief before she strode straight for him. She didn’t look quite like a runway model—for one thing, she was far too short. But she definitely had all of the attitude.
She stopped a good yard away from him. “Would you mind pointing me toward Human Resources?”
He touched the discreet bronze plaque hanging on the wall beside them on which the locations for the various departments were inscribed. “Go right at the end of this corridor.”
An unexpected hint of pink rose in her cheeks, but her wideset gaze didn’t falter from his. In that, he had to give her credit. The girl knew how to look a person dead-on.
“Thank you.” She stepped sideways, veering around him.
“Ms. Taka.”
She stopped, slowly turning around to face him. “Yes?”
Her dark gaze followed his hand as he pulled the hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and the pink in her cheeks became even brighter. She brushed those pinup-girl ringlets off her shoulder again. “I suppose I should apologize.”
Supposing and actually doing were two different things, but he had no interest in debating the point. He held out the folded bill and after a brief hesitation, she reached out to take it.
But he didn’t release it. “The next time I see you on the premises in a staff-related capacity, I expect you to dress appropriately.”
“Yes—” she tugged harder on the bill “—sir.”
“And by appropriate, I mean by my standards. Presumably one of those two dozen pieces of luggage that you brought contains a skirt longer than four inches and a blouse that buttons above your cleavage?” A surprisingly full cleavage, hugged by pink lace.
He jerked his gaze upward, realizing he was nearly staring.
Her glossy lips had compressed, and her long lashes had swept down. But when she spoke again, there was no hint of temper in her lilting voice. “Mr. Sherman, I can look like a nun if you’d like.”
Even a full-scale nun’s habit wouldn’t dim the girl’s undeniable beauty. The fact that he recognized that beauty wasn’t bothersome.
What was aggravating was his damnable response to it. He was too old to be going dry-mouthed around a woman. Particularly the boss’s daughter.
He released the bill. “Exercise some judgment, Ms. Taka. That’s all I ask.”
“Of course.” Her lips stretched into a smile he was positive she didn’t mean as she slipped the folded bill down into that cleavage. “Is there anything else, sir?”
He could have told her that the HR office was empty. He should have. But that smile, that sir, got under his skin. “No.”
She lifted her chin and turned around again, striding to the end of the hall.
His teeth clenched when he realized he was watching the faint sway of Tasty until she turned out of sight.
He went into his office and shut the door. The last thing he needed was to see Kimiko Taka strutting her way back to the elevator once she discovered that every person in Human Resources had already left for the staff meeting.
Insufferable man.
Walking away from Mr. Plank-o’-Wood, it was all Kimi could do not to tug self-consciously at her skirt. That was more than four inches long, thank you very much. It reached a very respectable length, in fact, hitting her midthigh.
She could practically feel his gaze burning a hole in her spine before she reached the end of the hallway and turned out of his sight. Only then did she let herself exhale shakily. So much for the pep talk she had given herself twenty-some floors up in her suite.
She wanted to kick herself for not changing her clothes. But the truth was, she was so dog-tired that she had been afraid if she slowed down enough to change, she would just collapse in a heap.
Before finding her way to this lower level, all she had taken time to do was send a few text messages back home to let everyone know of her safe arrival and hook up her computer to transmit the Economics paper she had finished writing during the flight.
