The Boss's Christmas Proposal. Allison LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 slow. If he were any other hotel manager, he would have been falling over himself to please her.
That 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,”