Amazing Gracie

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

1

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. André was one of her best, most dutiful employees. They’d become friends. Someday, she was sure, he’d replace her.

“André, 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, André. 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…”

“What?” André 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…What is it they say in America, a suit?”

Gracie fought a chuckle and lost. “That he is, André. 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.

“There is no need to change them daily. We’ve discussed that. Every three days will be sufficient and will cut the flower budget by two-thirds.”

“And our guests will find wilted flowers in the lobby and assume that if we no longer care about appearances in such a public area, we will be even more careless in places they don’t see, such as the kitchen. Details like this make a lasting impression. If you doubt it, check the reservation book.”

“We’re booked solid for the next month.”

“And this time last year we were booked solid for six months in advance,” she countered. “At this rate, we’ll have rooms available for every Tom, Dick and Harry who forgot to book a reservation before leaving the States.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Gracie.”

“It’s true.” She studied Max intently. “You really don’t see it, do you? You don’t see what you’re doing to this hotel, to this entire chain.”

“Have dinner with me tonight and explain it,” he suggested.

This time she was the one who sighed in exasperation. The man was relentless, when it came down to something he wanted, namely her. On paper, she and Max Devereaux were a perfect match. They were both tall—even at five eight, she barely reached his chin. Max had dashing, Cary Grant looks. Gracie prided herself on her polished, classic appearance. Max’s intelligence, his quick rise in the international hotel industry paralleled hers.

But the man had no real passion for it. It was all numbers to him. Gracie cared about the guests and their comfort, the lasting impression they would take home with them. Max worried only about the size of their bill.

No, she concluded. It would never have worked. He was certainly bright enough to have figured that out for himself, but his masculine ego kept him in the game. With another man, the unwanted attention might have bordered on harassment, but there’d never once, in any way, been a hint that Gracie’s job hinged on whether she said yes or no. Asking was just something Max did, pretty much like breathing.

“Max, I will not have dinner with you,” she told him for the umpteenth time. “Not tonight, not ever. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Not even to save your precious flower budget?”

“No, Max. It’s a very bad idea. You’re my boss. Socializing would only complicate things. Besides, you and I don’t see eye to eye on anything. We’d just ruin our digestion.”

He shrugged as he always did after she’d rejected one of his invitations. “Suit yourself.” He returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him, dismissing Gracie as clearly as if he’d gestured toward the door.

Maybe it was because she was tired or frustrated or angry or all three, but Gracie stared at Max’s down-turned head for several minutes, then reached a decision that had been several weeks in the making.

“I quit,” she said softly but firmly.

That brought his head up. “What?” For an instant, shock registered in his usually cool gray eyes.

“You heard me. I quit.”

“Now, Gracie—”

“Don’t you now-Gracie me,” she snapped back. “You won’t listen to a thing I say. You’re determined to run this chain as if it were a string of economy hotels. Obviously, I am no longer of any value to Worldwide, so I might as well take my expertise to another hotel chain where they care about appearances and service and comfort.”

There was the faintest hint of worry in Max’s expression, but once again he shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”

Stunned by his indifference, Gracie paused long enough to sweep that blasted daffodil up and drop it into the trash can before leaving. Tempted as she was to slam the door, she didn’t want to disturb the guests by creating a scene. Even now, old habits died hard.

Back in her small suite of rooms off the hotel lobby, fighting tears, she began methodically packing. Because she moved frequently from hotel to hotel to troubleshoot problems, there was very little to pack, nothing personal needing to be shipped. She could be on a plane back to the States tonight…if only she had someplace to go.