Amazing Gracie
Walking briskly through the small, elegant lobby of the Maison de Sol in Cannes, Gracie MacDougal noted every tiny detail, from the single wilted daffodil in the lavish arrangement of spring flowers to the fingerprints on the beveled glass in the double mahogany doors. She plucked the offending flower from the arrangement, then beckoned to the young man working behind the reception desk. Andre was one of her best, most dutiful employees. They'd become friends. Someday, she was sure, he'd replace her.
"Andre, call housekeeping at once, s'il vous plait. Take care of that window."
"Of course, madame," he said dutifully, then discreetly studied the glass to figure out what was wrong with it.
"Fingerprints," Gracie said, grinning at him.
He peered more closely at the decorative windowpane. "Ah," he said when he discovered them.
"You'll learn, Andre. You'll learn. Our guests expect perfection down to the tiniest detail."
"Our guests, madame, or you?"
"Perhaps you're right," she conceded. "If I'm doing my job, then the guests will take it for granted. I only wish &hellip; "
"What?" Andre asked, regarding her intently. "What it is that you wish?"
"I only wish our new boss cared more about the details than the bottom line."
"Monsieur Devereaux is a bit of a &hellip; What is it they say in America, a suit?"
Gracie fought a chuckle and lost. "That he is, Andre. He is a bit of a suit."
Handsome, distinguished, and annoying, Maximillian Devereaux was, in Gracie's opinion, more of an accountant than a hotelier. If the books balanced, he wouldn't care if there was a layer of dust an inch thick on the gleaming antique tabletops in the lobby. His attitude and the battles it engendered were beginning to take a toll.
Walking briskly through the small, elegant lobby of the Maison de Sol in Cannes, Gracie MacDougal noted every tiny detail, from the single wilted daffodil in the lavish arrangement of spring flowers to the fingerprints on the beveled glass in the double mahogany doors. She plucked the offending flower from the arrangement, then beckoned to the young man working behind the reception desk. Andre was one of her best, most dutiful employees. They'd become friends. Someday, she was sure, he'd replace her.
"Andre, call housekeeping at once, s'il vous plait. Take care of that window."
"Of course, madame," he said dutifully, then discreetly studied the glass to figure out what was wrong with it.
"Fingerprints," Gracie said, grinning at him.
He peered more closely at the decorative windowpane. "Ah," he said when he discovered them.
"You'll learn, Andre. You'll learn. Our guests expect perfection down to the tiniest detail."
"Our guests, madame, or you?"
"Perhaps you're right," she conceded. "If I'm doing my job, then the guests will take it for granted. I only wish &hellip; "
"What?" Andre asked, regarding her intently. "What it is that you wish?"
"I only wish our new boss cared more about the details than the bottom line."
"Monsieur Devereaux is a bit of a &hellip; What is it they say in America, a suit?"
Gracie fought a chuckle and lost. "That he is, Andre. He is a bit of a suit."
Handsome, distinguished, and annoying, Maximillian Devereaux was, in Gracie's opinion, more of an accountant than a hotelier. If the books balanced, he wouldn't care if there was a layer of dust an inch thick on the gleaming antique tabletops in the lobby. His attitude and the battles it engendered were beginning to take a toll.
He was the third CEO of Worldwide Hotels in the last five years. He'd been brought in to improve the bottom line after Worldwide was acquired by a larger chain to add some class to its image. Though Worldwide continued to operate as a separate division with its own corporate identity, in Gracie's view the small chain of exclusive, luxury inns was in serious danger of losing its reputation and its clientele. The wilted daffodil in her hand was symptomatic of the problem.
Less than an hour later, after inspecting every nook and cranny of the hotel, she dropped the flower on Max's desk and said just that. He peered down his long, aristocratic nose at her, glanced at the broken petals, then sighed with evident exasperation.
"What is it now, Ms. MacDougal?" he asked, as always reverting to formality to indicate his own annoyance with her.
"The flowers weren't changed this morning as they should have been," she said.
"What fortunate timing," Kevin said wryly. He wasn't sure whether to kill his cousin or thank her. Obviously Helen had been a very busy woman. Maybe he should recommend she get a job so she'd stop meddling in his life.
He studied Gracie, who was concentrating intently on putting one foot in front of the other, the tip of her tongue caught between her lips. Another jolt of pure lust shot through him. He picked up the pace, which meant he wound up virtually carrying Gracie.
"Whoa," she murmured, a pleading note in her voice.
"Too fast?"
"Uh-huh."
"Gracie, if you have to get drunk to face Max, that should tell you something, don't you think?"
She lifted her gaze to his. "What?" she inquired dreamily.
Obviously this was not the time to try to make a point, he concluded. "Never mind."
"Kevin?"
"Yes, Gracie."
"You're a nice man," she said. She patted his cheek. "Very nice man."
"Thank you."
"You won't go away when Max comes back, will you?"
"No, Gracie, I won't go away."
She nodded. "Good."
Kevin didn't see anything good about it. She was testing the limits of his control.
"Don't want to go back to France," she said.
"Nobody's going to make you go back to France."
"Max could," she said, her head bobbing up and down.
"No, he can't. Not unless it's what you want."
"He'll offer me lots and lots of money."
Kevin had never before considered what Gracie's financial situation might be. She'd certainly seemed to be getting along okay. She was thinking about buying a very expensive waterfront house. She couldn't be flat broke.
Still, perhaps she did need to get a job. He supposed she couldn't live forever on whatever she'd saved. No wonder she was so anxious to get her hands on Aunt Delia's house in a hurry. She probably needed to get a business up and running before she ran out of cash.
"Don't worry about the money, Gracie. We'll figure something out," Kevin promised.
There were plenty of other choice properties available that might serve Gracie's purpose. He'd check them out himself first thing in the morning, then steer her toward one of those if she was determined to stay here and open a bed-and-breakfast.
If all else failed and Delia agreed, he'd have to reconsider selling her the Victorian that had been in his mother's family for generations. It was his one direct link to the side of the family that had never made any real demands on him. He hated the thought of giving it up, of seeing it turned into a commercial venture.
He glanced over and noted that Gracie seemed to be walking with a little less difficulty staying upright. By the time they had circled the block, she was almost steady on her feet. She still clung to him, though, which made him wonder. Was she as confused by her feelings for him as he was by his for her? The possibility offered some comfort.
As they turned toward her house, her steps slowed. Kevin glanced ahead and saw that Helen's car was parked in front of the house.
"Uh-oh," Gracie said softly. "They're back."
Kevin folded her hand in his. "Don't worry about a thing, darlin'. I'm right here beside you."
Gracie had only a dim recollection of the first meeting between Kevin and Max. Despite the walk that Kevin had dragged her on, she'd been surprisingly muddle-headed from her two glasses of wine. Maybe she'd just wanted to get drunk and willed it. She had noted that Max and Helen were getting along nicely, noted Kevin and Max were shooting daggers at each other, then politely excused herself and wandered off to bed.
Okay, it was the coward's way out, but no one had objected too violently. In fact, judging from the tension in the air, she wasn't so sure anyone had even noticed.
She'd slept straight through until morning, then awakened with just enough of a hangover, to make her wonder if it had been two bottles, not two glasses of wine. She vowed never to touch another glass of anything stronger than water. Obviously she did not have a head for alcohol. Apparently she'd sipped a lot less wine in France than she'd recalled.
Suddenly she could see a little girl with Kevin's sun-streaked hair lounging in a hammock with a book. She could see a little boy with her eyes bounding up the stairs and onto the roof in the blink of an eye. Keeping them safe, encouraging them to grow up with their father's sense of family and commitment would be challenge enough for any woman. And Kevin had promised to take her anywhere, anytime, if wanderlust set in again.
"Where's Kevin?" she asked abruptly.
"Repairing the widow's walk last time I saw him. He was scared to death you were going to be tempted out there and wind up going straight through those rotting railings."
Sure of herself at last, Gracie bolted to the top of the house. Inside her office, she paused for a moment, long enough to observe a shirtless Kevin leaning against the just repaired railing of the widow's walk, sipping an icy glass of lemonade. He had the portable radio turned to an oldies station at top volume. He was at ease with himself and life, as near as she could tell, two traits she wouldn't mind learning.
"Kevin?"
At the sound of her voice, she saw him go still. He lowered the sound on the radio. Blinded by the brilliant sun, his gaze sought her in the room's shadows. "Yo, darlin'. What's up?"
"Maybe you ought to come inside for this," she suggested.
"Am I likely to be so shocked I'll jump?"
"I don't think I'm capable of stunning you that badly."
"Don't be so sure. Now if you were to stroll out here buck naked, for example, I might lose my concentration."
She laughed. "Don't hold your breath."
He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Too bad. I was kinda looking forward to that."
"I'll bet you were."
"Well, since just about anything else you could do pales in comparison, I think it's safe enough for you to come on out."
Gracie stepped out onto the narrow widow's walk which was barely big enough for one, much less two, when one of them was Kevin's size. The heat and scent of him was all around her.
"What's on your mind?" he asked, offering her a sip of his drink.
Getting it out wasn't half as easy as she'd hoped. She stumbled over the words, tried to gather her thoughts and tried again. After half a dozen tries, Kevin grinned.
"Are you by any chance trying to tell me that you've changed your mind about marrying me?" he asked.
Gracie beamed at him. "Yes. That's it exactly."
Kevin whooped, then scooped her into his arms and twirled her around. "You won't regret it. We're going to have an amazing life, Gracie."
The DJ on the radio chose that precise moment to play something slow and sexy and romantic, a counterpoint to the fast-paced rock 'n roll that had been playing.
"Guess those two are getting married after all," Henrietta said.
"More than likely," Laura Lee agreed.
"Ought to be interesting, don't you think?" Florence said.
"What I think is, we'd better change our walking route to go past there," Henrietta said. "We don't want to miss any more of the really good stuff going on in this town and it seems to me those two are bound to be at the center of it."