Flick. Flick. 

Plop!

“Great. Now I’m going to smell like onions all night,” Paula groused as she picked the unwanted condiment from her sandwich and dropped it into the trashcan. “Why did you even bother asking what I wanted if you weren’t going to listen?”

“I got distracted,” her coworker whined, taking an oversized bite from his roast beef sandwich.

“Yeah, I bet I know by what…or rather by whom. What’s her name?”

“Juliana.” He said the name with a dreamy sigh.

“I bet Juliana smells like onions.”

“Careful,” the red-haired man cautioned. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about.”

“Right. What’s your future wife’s last name?”

Rusty Wilburn looked away sheepishly. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t matter, because you can call her Mrs. Wilburn.”

Paula McKenzie chuckled at her boss. In the three years they had been paired up on the night shift, they had gotten to know each other pretty well, and she knew Rusty could fall in love at the drop of a hat. Too bad he hadn’t fallen for someone who worked at a Thai restaurant. Chicken salad on rye was getting old, especially with onions.

From three-thirty p.m. to midnight, Paula and Rusty were the shift supervisors at the Weller Regent Hotel in Orlando, known by everyone who worked there as the WR. The four-star hotel catered to upscale business travelers who wanted something quieter, something with a more personal touch.

Paula had landed a coveted summer internship at this, Weller’s oldest hotel, while earning her hospitality degree nine years ago at the University of Florida. Immediately upon graduating, she had come on board as a night desk clerk, moving through all the departments—catering, business services, meetings, training—to the position she now held: shift manager. Two more rungs remained before she could work in Operations, but it was likely she would have to relocate to move up in the chain. Rusty, the senior shift manager, was next in line to move up in Orlando. That was her career goal, though—daytime management and one day, her own hotel.

“Damn it!” Rusty sat up and reached for his napkin, a futile gesture against the mustard stain on his dark blue shirt.

“You did that on purpose,” Paula accused.

“I did not!”

By mutual consent, tonight was Rusty’s night to deal with emergencies and customer complaints while Paula did paperwork in the second floor administrative offices. But with his shirt prominently sporting a bright yellow stain, she would have to be the one to venture out if the need arose.

Sunday nights were moderately busy, the weekend convention goers giving way to the road warriors headed for another week of business meetings. The housekeeping staff had turned over virtually every room in the last twelve hours, and Paula had spent the entire afternoon conducting inspections and completing employee evaluations. Thanks to Rusty’s prolonged trip to the Brooklyn Deli—during which she had to help out at the front desk—she was way behind with her weekly reports.

Rusty had his own pile of paperwork to resolve. Maintenance logs, inventory sheets, and vendor invoices filled his desk. If they were lucky, the staff on hand would find a way to deal with problems so both of the managers could catch up. If not, they would stay late to finish.

“Hey, look who’s back.”

Paula glanced at the security monitor positioned between their desks. Every five seconds, the image rotated automatically to a different camera, from the main entrance, to the front desk, to the elevator lobby on the first floor, and to the pool area. Rusty grabbed the remote and froze the angle immediately upon recognizing the woman they had watched twice before as she checked into the WR on Sunday night.

“Too bad you’re practically married,” Paula chided. “What would Juliana No Last Name think of you ogling someone else?” She set her work aside for the moment to watch the beautiful woman exit the taxi and direct the bellman to her bags. Indeed, Paula too had noticed this guest on her first visit a month ago. A woman as striking as this one was hard to miss.

“I’m looking for someone for you now,” he answered.

Paula laughed. “While I happen to applaud your taste, I hereby relieve you of your mission.”

“Wonder what her story is,” Rusty mused. When they had a rare moment of down time, the two would entertain one another with their made-up background stories of the anonymous guests.

“I don’t know. She looks like a typical business traveler.”

“No, I mean the limp.”

They studied the video as the woman paid the cabbie, gathered her purse and briefcase, and hobbled toward one of the small glass entryways that framed the hotel’s massive revolving door. Paula was inwardly pleased to see the bellman respond quickly to hold the door open as she disappeared from the camera’s view.

“She doesn’t act like it bothers her that much,” she observed offhandedly. She wasn’t interested in making this woman a subject of their game…at least not aloud. But she had wondered silently about this beautiful guest, going so far on her last visit as to pull her reservation record.

Her name was K. Wynne Connelly, and she was from Baltimore. She had the standard corporate rate, billed directly to Eldon-Markoff, a travel and tour company headquartered a block and a half from their hotel.

Rusty advanced the controls to watch the action at the front desk. Jolene Hardy and Matthew Stivich worked efficiently to check in the short line of guests.

“Jolene’s done a great job, hasn’t she?” Paula asked casually, changing the subject to mask her interest as she searched the video for sight of Ms. Connelly in line.

“Yeah, she caught on quick. You’ve really brought her along well.”

Paula had mentored the new hire since her first day as a college intern. Once Jolene cleared probation next week, she would be given more authority to appease guests. For now, she still needed supervision, requiring a manager’s okay to waive a charge or to make special accommodations.

“Looks like she needs a hand with that one,” Rusty offered, knowing full well that Paula would have to go downstairs to take care of the obviously irate gentleman at the counter. Without the sound on the video, they relied on facial expressions, and this man looked as though he was about to blow his top.

She groaned. “I guess I should wash my hands first, since your future wife put onions all over my sandwich.”

Paula stopped in the ladies room to quickly wash up and check her appearance. Today’s suit—taupe linen with a navy silk top—was her favorite combination from among the four WR uniforms. In her closet hung its complement, a navy suit with a cream-colored silk blouse, and several coral tops that could be worn on certain days with either suit. From time to time, the hotel updated its fashions, but conservative attire was the rule. After nine years of being told what to wear to work, she had grown accustomed to it, grateful that the corporate directors at least had a sense of style.

From the ladies’ room, she proceeded down the back stairs to emerge behind Jolene at the check-in counter. A quick glance told her Matthew had things under control on his end of the counter, but the man in front of her newest clerk was growing louder by the second.

“How can I help here, Jolene?”

“I’ll tell you how you can help,” the red-faced man stormed. “You can get me the king-sized bed I specifically reserved!”

Paula looked over the shoulder of her harried clerk. “Mr. Thomason, is it?”

“That’s right.” He seemed infinitely satisfied to be getting special treatment from someone in charge.

“Our reservationist probably didn’t make it clear at the time, but we aren’t able to guarantee all room types for guests traveling alone. But let me see what I can do.” In fact, it was standard practice for the reservationists to read a disclaimer that was often ignored. But arguing with Mr. Thomason wasn’t going to solve the problem, and that would make a poor impression on the people waiting in line. Paula searched a moment before using her code to manually override the system. “I can upgrade you to the concierge floor and waive the extra fee for this stay. That should take care of this problem. But in the future, if you’re traveling alone, the only way we’ll be able to guarantee a king-sized bed is if you book directly onto the concierge level,” she advised with quiet authority.

Paula stepped back and allowed Jolene to complete the transaction. Spotting the familiar face next in line, she shifted immediately to an open terminal. “I can help you here.”

The guest she had watched from arrival stepped forward and proffered her credit card. “I’m Wynne Connelly. I have a reservation.”

Wynne Connelly was even more stunning up close and in person. The black and white video didn’t do justice to her hair, which was dark brown with strands of red. It was cut all one length to just above her shoulders, and full of what looked like natural wave. But the woman’s most captivating feature was her eyes, blue-green, like the color of a tropical sea. “Yes, Ms. Connelly, I have your reservation right here, a single room, non-smoking, three nights.”

“That’s correct.” Smiling slyly, she leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. “So if I act like an ass, can I get upgraded to the concierge floor too?”

Paula chuckled and shook her head without looking up. “I tell you what, Ms. Connelly. What if I just do the upgrade anyway and save us both the bother?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I was just being silly. But I appreciate the thought,” the woman said sincerely, apparently embarrassed to have evoked such a generous offer. “I promise not to misbehave,” she whispered.

Paula looked up to see her mischievous smile. “That’s okay. We like a challenge,” she said with a smirk. “I’d be happy to do it, though. I see by our records that you’re making a habit of staying with us, and we want to reward that.”

“In that case, thank you very much. I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Paula advised, once again invoking her business voice. “It’s a very nice deal if you can take advantage of the extras. You’ll have two phone lines and a fax machine, and high-speed Internet access. Breakfast is served in the private lounge just across from the elevator from six a.m. until ten. Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres are available after five. And if you want to stop in there before turning in tonight, they’ll have coffee and dessert until midnight.”

“I’ll be sure to check that out.” Ms. Connelly scribbled her name on the signature card and initialed the rate and departure date.

“Did you have a nice trip into Orlando this evening?” Paula asked that question of all her guests at check-in—to be polite, of course, but also to kill time while the computer processed her commands. Tonight, though, she was taking advantage of the chance to make conversation.

“It was delightfully uneventful, like all flights should be,” Ms. Connelly replied. “And it was wonderful to arrive someplace where it was warm. It was snowing in Baltimore when I left.”

“Then I’m glad you’re enjoying our weather, at least for tonight.” Paula turned to indicate the placard behind her that displayed weather icons for the next three days. “It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow and the next day.”

“That figures. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

“I have an extra one in my office. If you like, I’ll send it up with a bellman later. You can just leave it at the front desk when you check out.”

“Boy, you really are accommodating tonight, aren’t you?”

“Just that good old Weller Regent service, second to none.” For Wynne Connelly, Paula would have thrown in a backrub.

“I couldn’t take your umbrella. You might need it yourself. Besides, my coat has a hood.”

“No, I won’t need it. I lend it out all the time,” Paula insisted. In fact, she had lent it only once, to a pretty flight attendant who chatted with her sweetly at check-in…much like Ms. Connelly was doing.

“Well, in that case, I accept.”

“So do you travel a lot with your work?”

“A fair bit. Our headquarters is here, and it looks like I’ll be coming back and forth a lot for the next few months.”

“I’m glad that you’ve chosen to stay with us. We’ll do our best to make you comfortable here at the Weller Regent. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call, Ms. Connelly.” Though it sounded official and contrived, Paula made it a point to look directly into the woman’s eyes to convey the offer as sincere.

“Shall I ask for you when I call?”

“If you like.” Paula smiled, slipping a business card from her pocket. Departing from her usual business tone, she continued, “Here’s my direct extension. I’ll be here tonight and tomorrow night as well.”

Ms. Connelly pocketed the card and smiled back at her. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

The computer spit out the key card. There was really no more reason to keep the woman at the desk. Paula pushed the envelope across the counter. “This is your room number.” She circled 2308 in red. For security reasons, they never repeated the room number aloud. “You’ll need your key in the elevator. Just insert it and wait for the green light before pressing your floor. Would you like some help with your bags?”

“No, I can manage. Thank you for everything.” Wynne shouldered her briefcase and flashed a brilliant smile.

“You’re very welcome.” Paula congratulated herself on her timing, quietly applauding whatever forces had come together to cause Mr. Thomason to behave like a jerk and Wynne Connelly to arrive a moment later. It was nice to have finally gotten the chance to meet this beautiful guest, and a special bonus to have the authority to dole out such a treat.

Paula McKenzie, the nametag had said. Shift Manager.

Wynne took one last look behind her at the pretty woman before rounding the corner at the elevator. There was now one more reason to look forward to these trips. She stepped into the elevator and checked her reflection in the brassy mirror, smiling demurely as the door closed.

“Why yes, Ms. McKenzie! You may flirt with me whenever you like.”

Moments later, she exited the elevator directly across from the private lounge on the concierge floor. Clusters of love seats and wing back chairs held couples and small groups, all conversing softly in the dim light as they sampled the dessert offerings. It was a pleasant atmosphere and one she would try to take advantage of, provided she didn’t get hit on. That was the worst part about traveling alone, and the main reason she usually just ordered room service.

Wynne studied the key for a moment and inserted it into the slot. By all appearances, the room was like those she had stayed in before, except for the fax machine and king-sized bed. A quick check behind the curtains revealed a view of the city, rather than another wing of the hotel.

Nice.

She liked the feel of the Weller Regent. On her first trip to Orlando, she had stayed at the Hyatt, Eldon-Markoff’s other recommended hotel. She didn’t care for the boisterous atmosphere of the Hyatt’s lobby bar and its adjacent towering fountain. The Weller Regent possessed a calmer, more distinguished ambience that was perfect for Wynne when she needed a respite on the road.

The décor was warm and inviting, a blend of cream and taupe, not the usual vibrant colors some hotels used to mask stains on the bedspread and drapes. Everything about the hotel was plush, almost decadent. The feathered pillow-top mattresses were the finest anywhere, and the towels and robes were soft and luxurious.

Methodically, she emptied her suitcase and hung up her three crisp suits, only one of which she had ever worn. As marketing director at Gone Tomorrow Tours, Eldon-Markoff’s newest subsidiary in Baltimore, Wynne usually wore skirts and sweaters or sometimes pantsuits to work. But the corporate culture was more formal in Orlando, so she had dipped into her savings to purchase eight new suits to get her through the strategic planning project.

Most likely, she would be keeping this travel schedule through the end of April, which was not a bad time to be leaving Baltimore for sunny Florida. After that, who knows? From the looks of things, she might plan herself right out of a job. But if that happened, she would have nice new clothes to wear to job interviews.

That’s what this project was all about, streamlining the marketing and sales initiatives for Eldon-Markoff. That meant crafting a plan to link the company’s worldwide travel agencies and its tours. Wynne was asked to work on the plan, along with sales director Doug Messner from the Dallas travel agency office. Cheryl Williams, Eldon-Markoff’s vice-president of sales and marketing, headed up the task force. Cheryl was a dynamo and skilled leader whom Wynne admired for her ability to get things done.

But it was clear after only three planning sessions that sales and marketing would operate more efficiently if it were centralized. Now it was up to the team to draft a plan to make it happen. Probably the best she could hope for was a good severance package.

A sharp knock on the door signaled the arrival of the bellman with the borrowed umbrella.

“Thank you,” she said, passing the young man a couple of bills.

“You’re welcome, Ms. Connelly. And Ms. McKenzie asked me to remind you about the dessert.”

“Please tell her thanks, and that I will go see about dessert right now.”

Checking to make certain she had her key, Wynne followed the bellman back to the elevator, at once eyeing the dessert table in the center of the lounge.

“May I bring you something to drink?” a tuxedoed woman asked.

Wynne thought about it and passed, deciding she would just grab one of the sweet offerings and return to her room. So many different treats…but she should have only one. She took the lime tart with the strawberry on top. And then reached back for a truffle.

Back in her room, she dropped tiredly into the wingback chair. It was almost ten and she had a full day tomorrow. Her leg throbbed from the demands of her trip. Fishing in her purse, she drew out a bottle of ibuprofen. Since the accident two years ago, she carried it everywhere she went, waiting for the moment her leg would start to ache from deep within. A hot bath would soothe the pain and help her sleep.

Flicking on the light in the marble bathroom, Wynne silently blessed Paula McKenzie for the upgrade. Her tub was equipped with massaging air jets.

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