Saving Cinderella!. Myrna Mackenzie
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People are staring. But she told me that if you were upset she would handle you—just as cool as you please.”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. Because of his height and his high expectations of himself and others he had a tendency to intimidate. Women—people—didn’t offer to handle him, as a rule. The fact that this one had made her…interesting.
As he watched, a woman in a flowered blouse started toward the empty registration desk, frowned, and turned in his direction. But after one look at Wyatt, and at Randy’s scowl, she headed toward the woman with Belinda. The still smiling, calm woman, Wyatt couldn’t help noting.
He should step in. Help. It was what he would have normally done, but…not yet. The EMTs were questioning Belinda, and the woman taking her place…He had to see what happened. If necessary, he would do damage control.
As he watched, the guest in the flowered blouse began to apologize profusely, explaining how she had overflowed the bathtub, but the dark-haired woman smiled sweetly, took one fleeting look at Belinda and picked up the phone.
“Please don’t worry,” she told the woman, writing down her room number. “It’s being taken care of. Please let us know if you have any other problems.”
The woman with the plumbing problem clutched her savior’s hand, thanking the dark-haired beauty.
Correction, he thought. Beauty wasn’t the right word, exactly. The woman wasn’t classically pretty, but there was something in her manner that gave the illusion of beauty. Despite this odd situation, she acted as if she did this kind of thing every day. And when Belinda moaned, she offered soothing words with what seemed like genuine concern.
Belinda’s moan had an effect on him, too. She was too pale, suffering. He had to help. “Call the main office and have them send anyone who can spare a few minutes to help during their breaks,” he told Randy. “I will, of course, pay them double time for the minutes they give up. We’ll manage to cover. For today, anyway,” he said, striding toward Belinda.
“Wyatt, I’m sorry,” Belinda said as he reached her, and took her hand.
“For creating a life? Nothing to be sorry for.”
“But my replace—” A long, anguished moan escaped her.
Wyatt’s whole body reacted to her pain. “She’s all right?” he asked one of the EMTs.
“She’s having a baby, man, but everything looks good,” the man said. “Pain’s part of the process.”
“Do not think about McKendrick’s,” he told Belinda. “That’s an order. I found a replacement this morning.”
At his words Belinda smiled weakly. “You found someone? Good. I can go now,” she told the EMT. Then she turned to the dark-haired woman. “Thank you for keeping me sane.”
“Thank you” the woman said. “It’s not every day I get to do something so satisfying.”
As the EMTs pushed Belinda away, the woman started toward the elevators.
Wyatt reached her in three long strides. “Excuse me, but who in blazes are you?”
She stopped, staring up at him with eyes the color of sky. With her full attention concentrated on him, he felt as if a great big fist of awareness had hit him square in the chest. Who on earth had eyes that blue?
“No one,” she said.
For a moment Wyatt thought she was answering his question about her eyes…until he realized that she was telling him who she was. “I’m just a guest who was in the lobby when Belinda’s labor pains started. No big deal.” She started to leave.
“No big deal? Sorry, but…no. I own this place, and it was a very big deal to me. Whoever you are, you’re not ‘no one’. You handled a woman in labor, a very flustered Randy, the concierge desk of an unfamiliar hotel, and you managed to soothe a nervous guest all at the same time. No guests were harmed or inconvenienced, and the flow of the hotel was largely uninterrupted. Tell me, Miss…no one, do you do this kind of thing often?”
For some reason that finally seemed to fluster her. “Not exactly this kind of thing, this baby thing, but unfortunately, yes, I have a tendency to jump into these kinds of situations. I once tried to give someone CPR, only to discover that the victim was part of a group of amateur filmmakers making a movie. It was embarrassing for me and frustrating for them.”
Her voice was low. She frowned. “I don’t regret helping Belinda. The worst kind of ogre would have stepped in. But that other stuff…interfering with your customers…I really didn’t even stop to think. I may have given out some incorrect information, and you probably already have some emergency system set up. Some protocol that should have been followed. No wonder that guy at the desk was so irritable.”
She looked up at him, those sky eyes looking slightly vulnerable. An intense awareness of her as an attractive woman, not just as a woman who had helped his employee and his hotel, swept through Wyatt. He frowned. Guests were off-limits.
He shook his head. “I’m glad you didn’t hesitate. You kept things running and helped Belinda cope. From what I could see, and what Randy said, you took charge of a difficult situation with calm efficiency.” His tone brooked no argument.
She gave a low, delicious laugh. “Do you think I could get that in writing? I know I got rather bossy with Randy, and other than getting medical help for Belinda, some people would call what I did sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong. Did I really act as if it was perfectly normal for me to field a question about plumbing? I hope that problem got taken care of by the right people. If it did, then I’m just glad that things worked out and nothing too terrible happened. Anyway, now you can get back to making your guests happy,” she said with a smile. “It really is a beautiful hotel.”
She patted his arm, as if he was another guest who needed soothing. For some reason that bothered him. Which was ridiculous. What this woman thought of him was immaterial. He never let others’ opinions of him matter. Except where McKendrick’s reputation was concerned.
Which brought him full circle to what was really important. This woman had kept things from getting out of control. She’d impressed him in a way none of the temps he’d interviewed had been able to. How had she managed it so effortlessly?
Wyatt didn’t know, but he intended to find out. With Belinda’s departure, the time for contemplation had passed. In his line of work, the difference between a good businessman and a mediocre one was knowing when to be bold. The door opportunity had opened could suddenly slam shut.
“Excuse me, Miss…?”
“Lowell. Alexandra Lowell. But almost everyone calls me Alex.”
Almost everyone. For half a second he wondered if those who didn’t fall into that category were men. No matter. He cleared his throat. “Alex. All right. If you don’t mind my asking, what do you do for a living?”
Those big blue eyes blinked. “I work the front desk of a chain hotel and run a Web site promoting the sights and sounds of San Diego.”
“Ah.” That explained things a little. She already had some of the skills a good concierge possessed. While he, he reminded himself, had an empty concierge desk and no prospects in sight.
That was a problem. McKendrick’s was known for its opulence, its attention to detail and, above all, its service. This hotel was the project that had saved Wyatt’s life. He’d built it from the ground up and poured his soul into it during the dark days, when he’d come to a fork in the road and realized that if he didn’t channel his anger into a meaningful goal, he would destroy himself.
These days the resort was a well-oiled machine, but even well-oiled machines could break down without care. A few customers without access to a competent concierge to pamper them could flood the review Web sites and do a lot of damage. Losing Belinda left a hole in customer service that needed to be