Page 2 of Sweeter than Honey
“I don’tcarewho this room was assigned to!” she snaps. “I’ve been staying here since-”
“Of course,” I reply, with a simpering note in my tone. “We’ll surely do our best to accommodate you. One moment, please, as I have a word with our other guests.”
I signal to Chelsie, and she hurries forward to distract Mrs. Harrigan. I turn around to face the couple.
They both look flustered, unsurprisingly. I would be too, if a screaming Mrs. Harrigan had rounded on me while I was enjoying a glass of champagne.
“My sincere apologies on behalf of the Respite hotel,” I tell them genuinely. “Mrs. Harrigan has been a guest for quite some time, and sometimes she forgets that this suite can be assigned to other guests in her absence.”
“We’ve had this reservation formonths,” says one member of the couple, her voice a little shaky. “It’s our honeymoon.”
“Congratulations!” I respond, my brain working fast. “But surely, there’s been some mistake. If this is your honeymoon, you shouldn’t be in this suite.”
The other member of the couple furrows his brow. “Well, this is the deluxe king room, right? That was the one we booked, it was in our budget…”
I flash a bright smile and lower my head, as though I’m letting them in on a special secret. “You must not have informed our concierge that this is your honeymoon. Allow me to upgrade your reservation. We have a gorgeous honeymoon suite. It’s twice the size of this one, with a hot tub, couples massage package, and a stunning lakeview. At no additional charge, of course. As my personal treat, I’d like to include a six-course dinner for both of you at our world-class restaurant lounge.”
Their faces both light up in surprise.
“That’s…that’s very generous,” they say, exchanging shocked but happy looks.
“It’s the least we can do,” I respond. “Consider it our congratulations, and our apology for this evening’s interruption. I’ll have the bellhop come to your room immediately to collect your luggage.”
“Thehoneymoonsuite,” whispers the couple excitedly, grasping hands as I turn back to Mrs. Harrigan, who’s arms are crossed over her chest. Her thin eyebrows are raised high on her forehead.
“Mrs. Harrigan, our deepest apologies again,” I say, nodding my head to the older woman. “I’ll make arrangements to have a quick turndown service, and your room will be prepared within the hour. In the meantime, I can arrange a complimentary bottle of Rémy Martin cognac to be waiting for you at the spa, where one of our pedicurists would be more than happy to take care of you until your room is ready.”
Mrs. Harrigan purses her lips. I can tell there’s a part of her that’s still in fight mode, that wants to find something lacking in my response so she can push further. I smile even wider, my dimples creasing my cheeks.
She uncrosses her arms with a sigh.
“Well, this evening has taken quite a toll on me, and it’s certainly theleastyou could do,” she concedes. “And Rémy Martin is my favourite brand of cognac…”
“It’s our pleasure,” I tell her.
Chelsie has already called a bellhop, and ordered the cognac on her phone. With a relieved sigh, we slip out of the room and onto an elevator, back down to the lobby of the hotel.
“Thank you so much, Lily!” Chelsie says. “You really saved me in there. You’re the only one who knows how to handle Mrs. Harrigan.”
“It’s no trouble,” I reply. “She’s a sucker for cognac, and she always gets a pedicure on her first night.”
We get back down to the lobby, and Chelsie takes her usual seat along the concierge desk.
“Who did the room assignments for today?” I ask.
“Um…” she logs into her computer and opens the booking program. “It was Ethan. He’s new, he might not have known to put it aside.”
“Send him an email, if you don’t mind,” I tell her. “And add a note to keep her room aside if there’s another deluxe king room available. She’s here often enough that it’s probably worth it.”
“Will do,” Chelsie responds. She lowers her voice. “I heard that she’s friends with Tudor Thornblade.”
“I heard the same thing.” Instinctively, my eyes drift to the large portrait of the hotel’s founder that hangs on the wall of the lobby. His image is as imposing as the hotel itself, but far less welcoming. He has a pale, almost drawn complexion, and supernatural violet eyes that seem to bore right into your soul.
“I think he’s kind of exciting,” Chelsie says, leaning forward over the desk. “Strange we haven’t seen much of him lately.”
I mumble something noncommittal in response. I know exactly why he hasn’t been around for the past six months, but I’m not at liberty to tell Chelsie. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to expect a response. She’s also gazing at the portrait of Tudor, with a dreamy expression on her face. I notice something on the desk by her elbow and see that it’s a novel, a worn paperback, with a bright cover. There’s an image of a curved mouth, with two sharp red fangs protruding from its lips. In red font the words “Bitten by Desire” are slashed across the cover.
I suppress a grin.