hair and light eyes who looked as if he rarely smiled.
Helen had told Kimi that she had hand-picked Greg Sherman to be the general manager of the Kyoto location, and Kimi had been surprised, because her stepmother usually liked people with a little more…life…to them.
But Greg Sherman, in the flesh, was definitely fuller of life than that bland photo had been. Oh, his hair was conservatively short, but the medium brown waves looked like they would escape over his brow given the least provocation. The deep brown suit he wore was well-tailored if not exactly cutting the edge of male fashion, but she supposed it was the ideal choice for a man helming a new first-class hotel.
Then there was the fact that just the brief graze of his hand had left her skin tingling.
She reminded herself that this was her boss. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“I am sorry to have caused a distraction,” she said sincerely. “It is good to be here.”
The light eyes of the photograph were actually a very distinctive, very pale shade of green. No bluish tinge. No hint of brown. Just a pale green surrounded by a defining black ring that made them all the more startling, and they were looking her over without a single hint of expression.
He did not even acknowledge her sentiment. Instead, he eyed the cart. “Is this all of your luggage?”
She was not certain if he had stressed the all or not. But she was absurdly grateful that she had decided to leave a few things back in Chicago, or there would have been more. Still, she might as well admit to the obvious. “I never did learn the art of packing light. And yes, this is all.”
He did not return her smile. “Mrs. Taka-Hanson told me that you’ve asked to stay on-site. You’ll want to settle in.”
She would not lose her good humor just because the man had the personality of a plank of oak. A very tall, very broad in the shoulder plank of oak. “Yes, if only to get this stuff out of the lobby.”
He seemed to let out a faint sigh. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll get your room key.”
Kimi looked past him to the wide, curving sweep of the reception desk. She imagined that beneath the thick plastic and protective paper covering nearly every surface, it would be as spectacular as the one at the Taka San Francisco. She had heard that things were a little behind here, but she had expected the hotel interior to look a little more…finished. “Is the rest of the hotel in such—” she hesitated for a moment, trying to find a suitable word that would not sound as if she were being judgmental.
“—chaos? Today seems somewhat more so than usual.” For an infinitesimal second—so brief that she would later wonder if she had imagined it—his gaze dropped from her face to her toes, hitting all points in between. “Our computer network isn’t operational yet,” he added. “It adds a fresh dimension to the challenges our team’s already facing.”
The explanation was smooth. Almost smooth enough that she could brush away the idea that she was a contributing factor to his chaos. Almost.
So, Mr. Sherman figured he had her number, did he?
She swept away the sinking disappointment and lifted her chin a little, giving him the same kind of direct look that she had learned at her father’s knee. “Well, I appreciate the opportunity to be here.” She rested her hand on the cool bronze of the luggage cart and smiled with as much good humor and grace as she had learned from her stepmother. “As you can see, I come hoping to be prepared for anything.”
He remained unimpressed. “Shin.”
The slender man who had brought the luggage cart snapped to attention.
“Arrange for Ms. Taka’s things to be taken up to the Mahogany Suite.”
“Right away.”
Kimi retrieved her jacket and draped it over her arm, smiling at the man as he guided the cart across the concrete, before it was handed off to two other younger men. She was not surprised. She recognized Shin Endo from his photo, too, and it seemed unlikely that the security director for Taka Kyoto would concern himself with bellman duties.
Speaking of which. She hurriedly fell into step behind Greg, who was striding toward the reception area. “Have all the staff positions been filled now?” Three weeks ago, when she had pretty much begged her father not to have her drawn and quartered for dropping out of school, the staff roster here had been only partially filled.
“No.” His answer did not invite further inquiry and she did not know whether to be delighted or aggravated. Yes, she knew she was coming in at a very junior level. Helen had made that more than clear when she had told Kimi what she could expect once arriving in Kyoto. But did that mean he could not discuss even some basic matters with an interested staff member, junior or not?
He slapped a thick folder down on the long, curving desk and walked around where it very nearly met the opposite and inner curve of an open staircase. Even behind the chest-high reception desk, Greg looked ridiculously tall. More like an American quarterback than an urbane hotel manager. That detail also had not shown through Helen’s black-and-white photo.
Kimi dropped her jacket onto the desk and the thick plastic covering the wood crinkled. “How many employees live here on-site?”
He did not look up from whatever it was he was focusing on behind the desk. “Not many. Will you need more than one key?”
For what? All the wild parties he assumed she would be having? She kept the thought to herself and smiled demurely when he looked up at her. “Not unless I lose it.”
With a faint snap, he pushed a traditional brass key into a small padded portfolio. But when she expected him to hand it to her, he held on to the small square and rounded the desk again. Her tote containing the only items that Kimi considered truly essential—her laptop and her few framed family photographs—was still hanging from his shoulder. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to your room.” He extended his hand in a smooth, indicating gesture. “Our main elevators are through the lobby and beyond the fountain.”
Aggravation was edging out delight. “I am sure you have more important things to do.” He was treating her as if she were a guest. A not particularly welcomed one, at that. “I can find my way on my own.”
“Not at all.” Olympic ice-skating could have been performed on that deeply smooth voice.
Learning how to mimic Mori Taka’s direct and intimidating stare was one thing. Maintaining it against those stained-glass eyes of Greg Sherman’s was another.
She looked away, busying herself with the jacket and sailed across the lobby passing what she assumed would be the fountain once it received the advent of water. Greg still beat her to the elevator bank, his long stride easily eclipsing hers. He pressed the call button and the wood-paneled doors of the nearest car opened.
She stepped inside. The floor of the elevator was carpeted in a taupe, tonal stripe that still smelled new. He pressed the button for the twenty-first floor and the doors sighed closed. Kimi knew that she was successful in keeping a pleasant expression on her face, because she could see their faint reflections in the mottled, mirrored interior.
Above the elevator doors, a beautiful, old-fashioned clock face showed the progress of their ascent. Unfortunately, that progress seemed dauntingly
