was something she was not interested in, she reminded herself. She was here to work, not to be fawned over. She had had enough of that at college.
“Is there someone in particular I should see about my duties?”
“Human Resources is located on the lower level. I’ll tell them to expect you in the morning.”
That had not exactly answered her question. She rather doubted it was because he was unaware of the particular details of her assignment there. But she did not question him further. Her gaze rose to the floor indicator again. One floor to go.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. She probably should not have spent the morning before shopping in New York with a friend. Lana Sheffield was a friend from years ago who now worked for a fashion magazine. But she had her eye on being a designer, and Kimi had gone along with being Lana’s “practice” project. As a result, Kimi had stepped onto the plane in New York—having nearly missed the flight in the first place—looking exactly the way she had looked after Lana had finished having her fun.
Kimi had spent more than half a day in the air, trying to sleep and mostly failing. Now here in Kyoto, the workday was nearly done. She had never enjoyed the time difference between Japan and the States. It always left her feeling dim.
The elevator slid to a seamless halt, emitting a soft, mellow chime the moment before the doors opened. She stepped past her new boss onto more new carpet—champagne-colored this time and stretching across the wide corridor so perfectly it looked as if no human foot had ever trod on it. This level was as beautifully finished as the lobby was decidedly unfinished. She wondered if the twenty-second floor—the top floor—was finished, as well.
“At the end on your right.” Greg’s voice seemed even deeper there in the hushed silence.
Kimi headed down the hall, looking curiously at the spaciously separated guest-room doors they passed. All were closed. The room numbers were displayed on small metal origami sculptures affixed to the wall beside each door. She had no way of knowing for certain if any of the rooms were occupied. Given the state of the lobby, she did not imagine that they were, but who knew? Maybe Greg’s room was on this floor, too.
A faint shiver drifted down her spine at the thought.
Dread or excitement? A draft, she thought, quelling the debate inside her head.
He had reached the door ahead of her and unlocked it. “We’ve been using this suite for some advance photos, which is why it has a lock at all. The access control won’t be activated until later next week. After we’d expected you.” He gave her a glance.
She refused to apologize again for being early. So she just kept her smile in place.
A smile he did not return. “You’ll be issued a key card at that point. Until then, you’ll have to use the old-fashioned method.” He tucked the metal door key into the portfolio and handed it to her as he pushed open the door and waited for her to enter. “Security monitors for the suite will be up next week, also. The phones are operational now, of course,” he said, following her through the short foyer to where the suite opened up into a gloriously spacious living area.
She could appreciate why the space had been used for photos. It was magnificently appointed.
He set her tote bag on the spotless surface of a mahogany dining-room table, complete with eight chairs upholstered in a beautiful deep sienna silk. “You have three lines. More can be arranged if necessary. Wireless internet is available here in your suite and throughout the facility.” He waved at the beautifully polished desk. “Printer and fax machine are located behind the drawer on the lower right. It slides out.” He crossed to the bank of windows and drew open the bronze-colored silk drapes, leaving the pale oyster translucent sheers beneath in place. She could not tell for certain, but she suspected the view beyond would be as lovely as the view inside.
“Three of our five restaurants are already open on a limited basis,” he continued blandly. “But Chef Lorenzo will make certain that all of your needs are met, no matter the time of day. The spa isn’t yet open, but it, too, will be available for use in the next week.”
“I’m here to work, not idle away my time in a spa.”
He lifted an eyebrow and continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “You can access the fitness center now, if you’re not bothered by the interior finishing that’s still being done. Otherwise, Michel St. Jacques—our concierge—can arrange any services you desire with another establishment.”
He was not finished, though, as he introduced her to the individually controlled climate systems—one for the living area, one each for the two bedrooms and the three bathrooms—and showed her how to operate the safe hidden inside the walk-in dressing room, how to program the plasma televisions and on and on.
Kimi heard his smooth spiel but did not listen.
How could she, when her temper was rumbling inside her ears? She was not a guest.
But at last he finished extolling the virtues of the Mahogany Suite.
She was somewhat surprised that he did not actually say he hoped she enjoyed her stay at the Taka Kyoto as he ended near the door once more.
She gave him a practiced smile—the one that she had learned how to use when she was barely a teenager to combat the shyness that had plagued her—and slid a folded bill into his hand even as she opened the door herself for his exit. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sherman. I am sure I will be very comfortable.”
Then, because it pleased her immensely to see the discomfited surprise cross his unrelentingly handsome face as he realized he had just been tipped, she closed the door on him.
Chapter Two
“She actually tipped you?” Shin was laughing at Greg as they watched a mattress delivery at the loading dock a short while later. “Was she generous, at least?”
Greg held up the U.S. currency between two fingers. Benjamin Franklin’s face peered out from the folded hundred.
Shin just laughed harder.
Greg shoved the bill back into his pocket and rolled his shoulders against the itchy irritation that had tightened them from the moment he’d seen the pampered heiress’s “tasty” behind.
He scratched his name on the paperwork the truck driver presented him and handed back the clipboard, already turning away. Shin kept pace, and they entered the echoing, vast exhibition space that occupied most of the lowest level of the hotel. In comparison to the rest of the establishment, the space, which was thankfully finished, looked almost industrial. Greg knew, however, the magic that could be done with the concrete and metal. All it took was imagination. And come the beginning of the year, the space was steadily booked for nearly two years out with everything from luxury automobile shows to wine auctions.
They went up the rear service stairs to the next floor where the bulk of the hotel offices were located. Concrete gave way to carpet, metal was replaced by wood. Even the staff who worked within the walls of the Taka were treated to excellent conditions. He’d managed a number of houses in his career, and he could truthfully say that wasn’t always the case. For some hoteliers, the only thing that mattered was the front-end appearance. But Taka was first-class from front to back, bottom to top.
When
