A Suite Geek (Suite Love Series Book 3)

by Sue Gibson

  She hadn’t been flirting with him. The back of his neck burned hot. He’d been way off-base, again. Christy was no more his type than he was hers.

  Using his shirttail to swipe splatters of pool water from the text, he refocused on his article. The relevance of the piece evaded him now and instead he allowed his eyes to close and the unread pages to flutter in the breeze. Add two weeks of twelve hour days to the steamy warmth of the patio and the battle to stay awake was all but lost. Fumbling for the lever, he dropped his chair to a horizontal position. A nap, yes, that was the thing.

  Out on the lake, boat engines droned, and closer, the children’s high-pitched squeals settled to a steady sustained chatter. He drifted deeper, to a place scented with chlorine and spruce gum.

  Christy touched his arm, her hands gently circling his forearm. The silky fabric of her dress flowed over her body in a waterfall of pink as she tugged him from his chair. Now they were twirling around an inky black dance floor lit by millions of stars. Sweet strains of a violin swept them around the room. His heart thudded in his chest. Their breath mingled until their lips meshed in a soft and lingering kiss….

  “What the…,” he yelled, and heaved his body upright in the recliner. Streams of pool water poured down over his ears and nose and soaked into his shirt. He swiped his face clear, blinking rapidly against the sting of the pool water.

  Clearly, he’d drifted off and the perky Christy Graham had played no actual part in the sun-induced dream. Naturally. But on either side of him stood two small boys wearing matching swimsuits, each holding dripping plastic pails. He heaved his second massive sigh of the day.

  “Sorry, mister,” the one on the right said, his voice trembling. “We didn’t aim for you—honest. I was aiming for him.” He pointed across the puddle of water darkening the patio stones beneath Edward’s chair toward his intended target.

  “Well, you missed,” Edward grumbled, as a large man in a Hawaiian print shirt and baggy shorts approached the scene.

  “These boys belong to you?” Edward said, peeling a magazine from his chest. He had a good mind to call his new boss, Bobby, and tell him that he’d had enough of relaxing.

  He shook his head. What kind name was Bobby for a boss anyway? Bobby had showed up in the boardroom in flip-flops and a T-shirt. Along with banishing suits and ties, he’d pushed a ridiculous option, “Flextime”, which included working from home. Bobby had mandated this unnecessary vacation too, convinced employees required refueling.

  Well, Bobby was wrong. He swiped at the trail of pool water snaking down his chest. First off, not everyone needed to relax. And secondly, his preference for a suit and tie for office attire did not mean he wasn’t creative—a ludicrous assumption.

  Charles, his previous boss, had appreciated the fact that he arrived neatly dressed and allowed his holidays to accumulate. He glanced at the cluster of barefooted men milling around the outdoor bar.

  Good old Charles, he missed his steely-eyed glare and iron fist.

  “Kyle! Kevin! What did I tell you? Now go back to your mother and sit there for ten minutes.” Small bare feet slapped against the tiles as the boys sped away.

  “It’s Stan Parker,” the boy’s father said, offering his hand in apology. “I’m really sorry, man. It’s their first day here—they’re excited. Let me buy you a drink or something.”

  Edward waved off his offer. “Not necessary. I’m heading back inside anyway.” The last thing he needed was a relationship with the “Griswold’s.”

  Stan pulled a card from his wallet and peered at the pile of soggy periodicals. “I’m from Ottawa too —real estate.” He placed his card on top of the stack. If you plan a move, call me. I owe you one, right?” He backed away, waving a finger back-and-forth between them. Apparently Stan felt they were somehow bonded by the unpleasant experience.

  He scanned the pool perimeter and beyond. He let out a long breath. Christy hadn’t witnessed the incident. It’d be real hard to come back from a thing like that—not that there was anything to come back from. In her eyes, he’d forever be the sun-blistered townie she’d played hide-and-seek with twenty years ago.

  He crammed his stuff back into the briefcase and escaped the patio in long strides, yanked open the thick glass door and headed for the bank of elevators. Plus, she’d have made a big deal out of the whole thing, ringing for a busboy, and cooing condolences while she dabbed his face with a towel. He stabbed the Penthouse button and shot a glance over his

  shoulder, through the glass, to his empty deck chair.

  No, he absolutely would not return to the pool. He ran his hand through his hair and re-examined his shirt. The sun had already dried the damp splotches, leaving nothing for the pretty Recreational Director to do anyway.

  Chapter Three

  Please be unlocked, Christy mouthed. She pressed her hands against the exercise room’s steel door handle. A rush of artificially cooled air bathed her face as the door swung open. Perfect.

  She slumped to the floor and sat cross-legged, her back resting against the wall. With the hotel booked to capacity, she’d been on her feet since 8:00 am.

  Miraculously, sandwiched between nature hikes and pool polo, she’d manage to track down and welcome forty-three new guests, including Edward Shillington.

  Much taller than she’d imagined and exuding an inexplicable awkward charm, he’d stayed in her head all afternoon. True to type, his polo shirt was buttoned to his neck and their conversation had bordered on painful. But over the years she’d successfully coaxed tougher cases from their rooms to the pool and beyond.

  Pulling in a breath of the cool air, she scrambled to her feet and headed to the short stacks of wooden chairs and began spreading them strategically around the perimeter of the room.

  In less than three weeks her seventies-inspired disco dance would transform the hotel’s opulent Starlight Room. And after tonight, at least some of the dancers would possess a few patented disco moves.

  Certainly no one would become proficient with only a couple of lessons. But the emails from former guests confirmed that a good first experience inspired many to continue with yoga or Tai Chi when home again.

  Clearly, management had taken note. Just months into her current contract she’d been encouraged to apply for the newly created position of Director of Guest Services, for the entire chain. She lifted her chin. Now that would prove to everyone that she was no ditzy blonde.

  Scrunching her hair into a messy pile, she secured it with a couple of bobby pins. She checked her watch and ran her pencil alongside the names on the sheet. Time to get to work, the new job wasn’t hers to accept or refuse yet.

  Edward’s name wasn’t on her list. She tapped her pencil against her bottom lip and tipped her head to the side.

  Reaching to her hip, she pulled her Nirvana issue cell phone from its holster. A push of a button connected her to the front desk. “It’s me, Cindy. Edward Shillington’s room please. He’s still up there, right?”

  “I think so, Christy. I haven’t seen him all afternoon. I think Room Service delivered dinner to his suite about an hour ago. I’ll put you through.”

  Formulating her plan on the fly, she cradled the phone against her shoulder and waited for Edward to pick up.

  “Hello.” The deep male voice that came on the line perfectly matched the man she’d met earlier, masculine, intelligent, a no-nonsense kind of guy. He’d not cracked a smile during their entire pool-side conversation. Although she’d put that down more to

  nervousness than hostility. She could work with that, if given a chance.

  His eyes told his story, of course. Green and intense, they revealed a sharp mind, but in their depths, a softness too. He was totally capable of falling in love—when he was ready. His mother had nothing to worry about. Eventually Edward would find love, all by himself.

  She smiled into the empty room. But he’d get there a lot faster without the shin-length socks and hefty brown sandals.

  The res
t of him was fine, really. His short, sand colored hair was neat and product free. She didn’t hate the look, although it certainly cemented her first impression of a polite and somewhat awkward academic. But he was fit, she’d noticed, with really great arms.

  Fairly certain he’d pass on her dance class, she prepared to defend her cause. “Edward. It’s Christy, just checking in, as promised. Did you have a chance to look at the brochure?”

  “No. Not yet. I’ve been working all afternoon.” She could hear papers rustling. “Hang on. Here it is.”

  “I know you’re booked for three weeks Edward, so you’ll be here for our July dance. It’s listed on the first page, right after ‘Trout Fishing at Dawn’.” Slowing to catch her breath, she carried on. “The hotel is offering a free disco lesson. Why don’t you come down and give it a try? The fun starts at eight.” Whew. Normally, she didn’t push this hard.

  “I don’t dance.”

  “Lots of people don’t. It’s all in good fun, Edward.” “I’m in the middle of something, Christy…”

  He wasn’t getting off that easy. “Most people think more clearly and work more effectively when they

  step away from their work for a bit. There are even studies.”

  Silence on the other end. She lifted her chin. She’d caught his attention with her academic reference.

  “You have a point, Christy. I worked on a hot tub campaign and that particular research was integral to the campaign.”

  “Then you’ll join me?”

  “You?” His voice raised a notch.

  “I’m the dance instructor. Didn’t I mention that?” “No.”

  “Tell you what. If you’ll try a dance lesson, I’ll leave you be. Either you’ll like it or you won’t.” If not the dancing, he might like one of the single women.

  The line hummed in her ear. “Eight, you said?” “On the dot.” She raised her fist in victory. One for

  the mothers!

  “Fine, Christy. I’ll consider it a test of the aforementioned theory.”

  Whatever. “Super. See you in a few minutes.” She clicked off the phone, blew on its tiny antenna and stuffed it, cowboy-style, back into its holster.

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later the room buzzed with nervous laughter. The crowd divided into two groups: the hotel guests and the area’s permanent residents. Edward Shillington’s tall frame appeared in neither.

  Christy clapped her hands for attention. “Okay. Let’s get started. I assume most of you are new to disco dancing.” Heads nodded everywhere. “Although I suspect that a few may have boogied-down in the seventies.” A wave of laughter eased the tension in the room.

  She’d start them off with some easy steps. A good

  recreational director planned her activities to be inclusive and entertaining. In her brochure, she’d listed something for everyone. From golfing, fishing and bowling right up to waterskiing and 5K hikes— and of course Tai Chi, her personal favorite.

  “Christy! I’m ready to boogie until I drop,” Flo Reading, a local real estate agent with a flamboyant personality and a caftan to match, called out. A second burst of laughter filled the room.

  She pressed “play” on the sound system just as the door swung open. Dressed casually in navy track pants and a white T-shirt, Edward entered, looking better, good almost, except for his footwear. She shot him a smile as he bee lined to the back row.

  Instructing them to form two lines and to shadow her movements, she turned her back to the dancers and faced the wall of mirrors. After a few minutes of stretches, she led them through the steps of the once popular dance, The Hustle. Even Edward pulled off a rather robotic version of the sexy dance.

  Monitoring their moves, she floated through group. Following the beat of ABBA’s Dancing Queen, she danced her way to the back row in search of Edward. A man uncomfortable in his own skin warranted a little extra instructor time.

  Surrounded by four flushed females, Edward stood motionless, the static center of a dancing frenzy. Two pretty sisters from the renowned party town of Winnipeg, both with glorious, bouncing red curls, were getting down to the beat, taking turns sidling up to Edward’s back before dancing away. The recently divorced Flo reached for his hand and pleaded with her green, eye-shadowed eyes for Edward to hustle her way. A tall, slim brunette—a chef, she recalled, just in from New York City—swayed provocatively to

  the music, waiting for her chance to engage Edward’s attention.

  Apparently social awkwardness in a man not only appealed to the maternal but also to the primal in the female species. She flicked her gaze to the ceiling and shook her head. Slowing her steps, she lingered behind a large man from Idaho. From there, she headed for the booming sound system, her mission accomplished.

  Edward had met a bevy of perky, outgoing, single women. For today anyway, her work was done.

  She turned the volume down. “Alright, that’s it!” she called out. “Please form a single line and walk the perimeter of the room for five minutes.”

  Edward’s ladies refused to abandon their positions, and stuck like burrs on a dog to a blushing Edward. Her fingers remained motionless against the volume button as she reassessed the unexpected situation.

  The main group, still laughing and wiping sweat from their faces, formed into a loose line and began to trek around the room. Surrounded on the open floor, Edward was forced to take short, stilted steps. The smile on his lips, upon closer scrutiny, was closer to a grimace.

  Initiation by fire rarely provided good results. She hurried across the hardwood. All her work could backfire if she didn’t run interference, and quickly.

  “Edward,” she called out, “would you mind helping me stack the chairs?”

  He broke from the bevy and jogged her way. “No problem, I’d be glad to help.” He grabbed a stack of five wooden chairs, hiked them above his waist and headed for the storeroom.

  Like a cat stalking a mouse, Flo’s eyes followed his

  movements. The others, demonstrating more restraint, joined the group still circling the room.

  “Thanks for coming everyone. I hope to see some of you at my Tai Chi class this week. Remember to dress in loose, comfortable clothing.”

  Edward snapped the folding table shut as the doors closed behind the last of the dancers and slid it along the floor to rest against the chairs. “Well, that was interesting,” he said in a foreboding tone. “Reminiscent of my dear mother’s handiwork. In fact, her fingerprints are all over it.” He didn’t look happy.

  “I’m sorry. Edward. She pressed her clipboard to her chest. “When I invited you to join the group tonight I had no idea the single women would be so…assertive.” She looked to his face, still an angry mask. “But they were all quite interesting and friendly, don’t you think?”

  “Friendly? I felt like a wounded fish surrounded by sharks.” He closed the storeroom door with a bang and walked toward her until there were only inches between them. His eyes flashed a hostile message. “No more of that, Christy. Don’t even try to deny it. You and my mother are in cahoots—trying to set me up—marry me off or something. I don’t know how she did it, but obviously you’ve been recruited as an accomplice in her pursuit of grandchildren.”

  Her arms dropped to her sides. “What can I say? She got to me through my mother,” she conceded, stepping back. The game was up and nothing to be gained from subterfuge. “It’s really hard to say no to my mother…or yours.” He nodded a grudging acquiescence.

  “By the way, I wasn’t trying to marry you off. I was only trying to get you out of your suite.” She glanced to his face. Even Edward couldn’t completely mask

  his emotions, she assumed. His grimace eased to a frown.

  There. She’d told him everything—spilled her guts. A spy or secret agent she’d never make. She stole another look. His jaw was set, but his hands were no longer clenched at his sides.

  “Alright. I appreciate your conundrum,” he paused for a second before adding, �
��problem.”

  Was he serious? He’d dumbed-down his vocabulary? Her hands curled into fists. “Thank you for appreciating my situation, Edward,” she said, digging deep for her most professional tone.

  “But that’s it, right? You promise to leave me be,” he said, catching her gaze and holding it. “No more matchmaking for the remainder of my stay.”

  Even ticked off, she knew that she’d feel the same way. Who wanted their mother manipulating their life?

  “I promise, Edward. No more matchmaking. But remember, I’m the Recreational Director of this hotel and it’s my job to encourage all guests to take part in the activities and entertainment.” In fact, it would be almost impossible to shield him from the information. And no matter what he said about interfering mothers, he was a big stick-in-the-mud who needed encouragement.

  “Agreed then? Don’t ever ask me to disco dance again and I’ll sign up for golf…and maybe some fishing.”

  His compromise left her with lots to work with.

  She’d settle for now.

  “Agreed.” Her hand disappeared into his as they shook to seal the deal, his grip stronger than she’d anticipated.

  In retrospect, disco dancing was an overzealous

  start. Tomorrow she’d back up a step, introduce him to downtime Christy style. She’d converted hardcore workaholics before.

  She forced a smile, receiving a somewhat conciliatory one in return. “I play golf. Let’s meet at the Pro Shop, say 6:15?” She came on duty at 8:00 and knew they’d complete the par-three course in an hour. “Most vacationers sleep in. We’ll have the golf course to ourselves.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Alright, I’m going to trust you on this one.”

  Walking away, he did a half turn. “Flo and company aren’t going to pop up on the ninth hole? No more surprises, right?”