Simon Says...

by Donna Kauffman

  Everything past the name “Tolliver” landed on deaf ears. The fact that he was wanting to deposit something into the safe meant that Simon hadn’t retrieved anything yet, because what were the chances he had some other priceless piece he wanted to stash?

  She had prayed that whenever whatever shit was going to hit the fan, indeed did hit the fan, that it would happen on the day shift. She supposed it was karmic justice that it was happening at night, during her shift. It didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “What, exactly, is the beef?” she asked, feeling the complete lack of sleep for the past three days taking its toll all at once.

  “The key word there being ‘beef,’ believe you me. Mr. Tolliver wants to post private security in the form of two men the size of the Roman Coliseum in the general vicinity of the hotel safe. Now, if only they could be persuaded to wear togas, I might be more enthusiastic about the endeavor, but—”

  “And what, precisely, does he want these two pillars of Rome to do?”

  “Observe anyone going in and out of the safe, and make certain that no one enters the safe that hasn’t followed protocol with the front-desk security.”

  Which was why her security guys were pissed. Men, in general, didn’t like to be made to feel as if they were inadequate at…well, anything. But they especially didn’t like their supposed vulnerabilities exposed in such a public and emasculating way. “They cannot interact with the guests, and they cannot impede the entrance or exit of anyone into the safe. If there are any concerns, whatsoever, in that regard, they can report either to their boss, who can contact security or the manager on duty, or they can simply report to either of those resources directly.” Mick started to interrupt, but she lifted her hand to stall him. “If, at any time, those rules are not followed, Mr. Tolliver’s security detail will be detained immediately by security and turned over to the local authorities, if whatever infractions they committed are deemed necessary of that particular treatment, and Mr. Tolliver will be asked to remove his valuables from the safe and check out immediately.”

  “But—”

  “Please relay that message to both Mr. Tolliver and security, the latter of which is free to contact me directly. I’m sure Mr. Tolliver will be tolerant of my concerns in this manner, especially as he’s getting, more or less, what he’s asked for.” She looked back down at her work, thankful her concierge couldn’t see the way her legs still shook under her desk.

  Mick just stood in the doorway, staring, until she looked up again.

  “Is there anything else?”

  He sighed. “You know, some days I hate my job.”

  She smiled wearily. “Join the club. And, Mick,” she said, calling him back when he resolutely turned to leave. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in this situation. I understand Mr. Tolliver can be something of a tyrant, and we both know what security can be like. I don’t envy you, but I’d appreciate it if you could make this go away. I’m really rather deep in the swamp here.” She motioned to the stacks on her desk.

  Mick smiled at her. “I’ll do my best for you, my sweet.”

  “I know you will. And I’ll owe you.”

  He winked. “Oh, and I’ll collect.”

  She smiled back, and waited until he’d closed the door to do a face-plant on her desk. She groaned, then drummed her feet hard on the floor. Neither made her feel particularly better.

  What would make her feel better—much, much better—was to see Simon again.

  No. No, no, no, no. That would be bad, she schooled herself. On a Delia-impulsive-decision-making level of bad. She’d done the smart thing. She’d realized she was in over her head, in more ways than one, and she’d immediately extricated herself from the situation. If her life was a movie, surely the women in the audience would be cheering her smart heroine behavior in that moment.

  Either that, or rooting for her and the sexy, handsome New Zealander to somehow make things work out.

  “Seriously. No more afternoon movies on Lifetime for you.”

  She forced herself upright, but there was no way she was going to be able to concentrate on a single detail on her desk until she found out how things had shaken down with Tolliver and security. And with the velvet box presumably in the hotel safe, she couldn’t help but wonder what Simon’s plans would be now. Not that she could in any way involve herself. To do so not only put herself at risk, but could also put Simon in harm’s way. Something had prodded Tolliver to use the hotel safe. Simon said he was paranoid and a control freak—hence the henchmen on hotel safe duty—but she doubted he’d just suddenly decided to do that after initially choosing to keep it with him at all times.

  She stiffened. What if Tolliver had caught Simon trying to steal—retrieve—it? What if, right now, Simon was in some kind of trouble? Security hadn’t been alerted to any potential thefts, and the last time the cops had been called was last week with that frat party fiasco. She might have been home for the past two shifts, but had anything happened on that level, she’d have known within five minutes of reporting for work.

  So she forced her brain to stop the roller-coaster ride it was about to embark on, before it left the launch pad and picked up too much speed. She was out of the Simon-Tolliver situation, professionally and personally. Well, other than her moral obligation to the hotel as an employee. As a manager, she was supposed to be vigilant if any news came to her attention regarding a potential problem that could arise between a guest and the staff, or a guest and another guest, and take immediate action if deemed necessary.

  Of course, she’d also learned in her college hotel management courses that effective, successful managers were creative in solving problems, using whatever tools they might have at their disposal to rectify a potential crisis as swiftly and cleanly as possible, mitigating potential fallout to the best of their ability.

  And hadn’t that been what she was doing, helping Simon retrieve an item that did not rightfully belong to another guest? She’d used her key tag in a professional, if slightly rule-bending manner, and done her best to assess the situation and resolve it in a way that would lessen the possibility of greater damage if left in the hands of the guests.

  Which was so much bullshit, but it made her feel better, at least momentarily, to think of it that way. Yes, she’d failed, much as she’d failed in her attempt to help Delia. Clearly, a life of criminal behavior was not something she should pursue any further. But she’d been trying. Truly. Trying to mitigate fallout between Delia and Adam, and the rest of the Wingate clan. Trying to mitigate the chances of Simon and Tolliver coming to blows, or worse, if he’d tried to retrieve the velvet case. If she’d been successful in either endeavor, her best friend wouldn’t be so miserable, and Simon could be on a plane back to England, leaving Tolliver to handle his loss—hopefully—privately.

  Instead, Delia was an emotional wreck, so different now from the woman she’d been when the two had become friends, that Sophie was truly worried for her as she approached what should have been the happiest day of her life, and Simon was possibly even further away from achieving his goal of righting a wrong and restoring a family heirloom to its rightful owner. And, somehow, Tolliver had been alerted to the fact that something wasn’t entirely kosher with his current plan of security, which meant he wasn’t a happy Wingate guest. And an unhappy guest was a potential problem guest. And someone of Tolliver’s magnitude could prove quite problematic.

  So much for her mitigation skills.

  She shoved back from her desk and got up to pace. She hated being stuck in here, not knowing what was going on, but didn’t dare show her face until she was certain Tolliver was tucked safely back in his suite. She briefly debated heading over to security to watch the monitors and see for herself what was happening at the safe, as well as take a peek at any activity in the hallway outside Tolliver’s rooms. She could use the recent contretemps as her excuse to enter security’s inner sanctum, but that would still mean dealing with them and listening to their litany of all the r
easons why guests should not interfere with hotel security staff.

  She wouldn’t be at all surprised if they waited for the day shift to start and took up their argument again with the general manager, who was several decades Sophie’s senior, professionally and chronologically. It was likely they’d win the argument, but by then she’d be at home, and out of the direct line of sight of Tolliver, when the issue was resolved one way or the other. She might get a call, or a command performance to come in early tomorrow for a meeting with her supervisor to discuss her decision, but that still kept her out of Tolliver’s direct path.

  There was another knock on her door, making her jump, but she took a breath and reflexively smoothed a hand over her shirt before responding. “Come in.”

  Mick stuck his head in the door, then realized she was standing away from her desk and swung the door open wider.

  Sophie slid a step to her right so as not to be seen through the open doorway. “And?”

  “Tolliver is mollified, security is livid. I heard them discussing taking the matter to Gretchen in the morning.”

  Gretchen was the general manager, known privately amongst the rest of the staff as Frau Dourface.

  “I’m sorry,” he added.

  “That’s okay, I assumed as much. At least it’s under control for now.”

  “Also, Delia asked me to tell you she was going to drop in after she closes De Trop.” He leaned farther into the room and whispered, “Our darling bride-to-be appears quite distressed.”

  Sophie swallowed a sigh of her own. As worried about Delia as she was, she really wasn’t up to dealing with her best friend’s latest round of concerns, but it beat dealing directly with Tolliver, and it would get her mind off Simon, and where he was at that exact moment. And what he was doing. What he was thinking. And were any of his thoughts about her.

  “Yes, well, the wedding is this weekend and things are not lovely in lovebird land.”

  “So I hear.” He glanced over his shoulder and stepped a bit more into the room. “But, frankly, not all that surprised.”

  Mick was one of the best concierges in Chicago for a reason. He was discreet, he was dedicated, and he knew when to reach out, and when to take care of business on his own so the hotel remained above any less-than-legitimate dealings when it came to making their guests happy. She knew Mick was loyal to the Wingates, but that his concern for Delia was sincere, and that anything said here would remain between them.

  “Why do you say that?” Sophie asked. Not that it was a big secret that things between Delia and Adam were rather…tense. But that was something only the Wingate family, and the closest of hotel employees, knew. To the public, and more importantly, the media, they were still the Cinderella couple. The wedding was marketing gold for the hotel magnate family and they weren’t about to let a minor internal squabble get in the way of all the free publicity raining down on the happy couple, and, hence, the hotel itself.

  But she wanted to know what Mick was thinking, which was a reflection of what the staff was thinking. Just hopefully not saying. Every employee had to sign a confidentiality agreement as per course of employment, but this was the biggest event to happen in the history of the Chicago Wingate, and she knew the media and tabloids were waving around significant sums, sniffing for anything they could exploit for higher circulation numbers. So far, no one had caved, but that was mostly due to the public face Delia was putting on her private pain.

  Mick glanced over his shoulder again, then looked back to Sophie. “Of course, everyone knows what a controlling, egomaniacal bitch Adam can be. Remember, those of us who have been here for a while had to deal with him as general manager back when Daddy Wingate made him earn his stripes the hard way. Trust me, those days will never be forgotten. Gretchen is like Glinda the Good Witch, comparatively.”

  Hard as that was to believe but Sophie had heard the stories. More and more of them since Adam had taken up with Delia.

  “We were all stunned when he started his relationship with Delia,” Mick went on. “He’d never once dated outside his trust fund pool before, much less anyone his family wouldn’t approve of. We thought it was a short-term rebellion kind of thing, but then it seemed to grow legs and we began to harbor hopes that our sweet Miss Delia would be the one to smooth out his, shall we say, less than generous edges.”

  “And what is the general consensus now?”

  “That whatever reason he got together with her—and who knows, maybe he really did care for her at some point—his family has gotten too intrusive, quelle surprise, and, well, once a controlling son of a bitch, always a controlling son of a bitch. If it’s between making Delia happy, or making Mommy Dearest happy, we all know where his fealty lies. We all feel sorry for her. She’s a shadow of the happy girl we knew and loved. I just wish there was something I could do to help her defend herself better. I appreciate the Wingates, they’ve been very good to me, but it’s no secret they can be barracudas. It’s what got them to the top of their food chain. I’m just afraid our Delia hasn’t grown a tough enough skin to handle the constant nipping.”

  Sophie nodded. “I know, and I worry, too, Mick.” She was relieved that his concerns were still the general ones they’d all expressed to Delia, in some way or another, as her relationship with Adam had progressed and the engagement was announced. Apparently, and thank God, word hadn’t gotten out about her friend’s unplanned drunken sleepover with a hotel guest. Mick would have been discreet in making Sophie aware of any rumors, but he’d have made it known to her, if, for no other reason, so she could protect her friend. “You’re a good friend, Mick. I’ll let her know you’re there for her. She can use all the support she can get.”

  He nodded and started to back out the door, then paused. “It’s a shame, you know, that there isn’t any way to end the engagement without destroying herself professionally, or even socially.”

  Sophie eyed the concierge and wondered just what he knew about that night, but he hadn’t spoken of it and Sophie certainly wouldn’t question him. It was the thing about him she loved. And she knew, without doubt, he would have protected her just the same. “With the wedding less than a week away?” Sophie snorted. “Can you imagine the Wingates’ reaction to that?”

  Mick shuddered. “A nightmare of epic proportions.”

  The real shame, Sophie thought, was that the Wingates didn’t even want Delia as a member of the family. But once they’d thrown the entire weight of their legacy behind the wedding of the year, there was no way to gracefully withdraw.

  “Tell her I’m in my office trying to catch up unless dragged out by the evil forces of hotel management. She can come over whenever she gets done working.”

  “I’ll pass the word.” He smiled. “You really do need to take a gander at the pillars of steel when you get the chance. It’s quite the visual feast.”

  “I’ll girder my strength and treat myself later. Back to your post, you, before the hotel collapses without your vigilant caretaking.”

  “And it would, too,” he said, as he closed the door behind him.

  “Probably,” Sophie murmured, sitting once again at her desk, and picking up the phone slips and urgent messages.

  IT WAS CLOSE TO THREE in the morning by the time she’d plowed through the worst of it. She glanced at the clock, debating another cup of coffee. Her shift ended at six and she relished nothing more at the moment then the thought of going home and trying to sleep until her next shift, but Delia had called an hour earlier, saying she was delayed with some staffing issues that she needed to handle after the club closed, and would be over to see her when she got done, that she “really needed to talk.”

  Sophie sighed and got up to get another cup of coffee. Chances were she wasn’t going to get much sleep anyway. Delia had sounded…determined. Which was new, at least. Sophie snagged a few pieces of wrapped chocolate from the dish next to the coffeepot. Reinforcements were never a bad idea.

  She’d barely sat down when Delia rapped
once and stuck her head in the door. “Good time?”

  Sophie motioned her in.

  Her friend was, in more ways than just in personality, the exact opposite of Sophie. She was lean and trim, where Sophie was soft and curvy. She was tanned and blonde, where Sophie was red curls and freckles. She was tall and leggy, where Sophie was…not. Unless by leggy you meant she had strong English peasant stock running through her gene pool. Which was all to say she’d do better harvesting potatoes than walking the runway. Delia was also impulsive, endlessly optimistic, bubbly with a ready laugh, and had a much sharper mind than her Barbie doll appearance might suggest. Except when it came to Adam.

  Sophie was as an optimist, too, but perhaps one with a slightly more realistic outlook. She was a thinker, whereas Delia was a leaper. Which was why Sophie took a cautious breath, then popped another chocolate as her best friend paced inside her office.

  “So,” Sophie started, “you sounded like you’d made some decisions. Did the staffing situation work itself out?”

  “What? Oh, that. No, but it will. I had to fire one of my hostesses for fraternizing with one of the guests—”

  Sophie raised her eyebrows at that, given Delia’s own fraternizing situation, but Delia waved it away. “If she’d been discreet, I’d have just had a talk with her, but she was on duty at the time. And it was in the club. And she was in his lap.”

  “Ah.”

  “Right. That led to the discovery that a couple of the girls actually had a little side business going, leading some of our more…successful guests to believe there was perhaps more to be had at De Trop than drinks and dancing.”

  “Wow.”

  “Well, I didn’t have hard proof, or I’d have had them all arrested. I don’t think it was that well organized, but I had enough to fire them without references. Nobody said a word about unfair business practices, which leads me to believe I had it all right. And if I missed anybody, I’m sure they’ll think twice about continuing with their side gig.”