Cooped Up for Christmas - Sabrina York Page 0,12

might not have done this job a decade, but I still remembered that the food had a tremendous amount to do with the size of the tip at the end of the Visit.

* * *

When the guests finally arrived, I was giving a lesson in Silver Service in the great room. No one had called, so we hadn’t expected them at 2:45.

They just appeared.

Oh, lordy, did they. They came in, in a herd. A cacophony of sounds, sights, and colors and outfits that only the super-rich could pull off with a straight face. I ignored the eccentricities—and the peacock feathers—threw back my shoulders, and extended my hand to Farley Weaver, who was listed as the primary client on my paperwork.

Her bio said she was nearly nineteen, but she seemed younger because she was so petite. Also, her outfit looked like it had been selected on a dare. And then there was the sullen expression on her face. It felt odd, approaching a kid while, in this flock of curious creatures, there were at least three other adults. But that’s the way it goes in Hospitality. Mine is not to question why. Mine is to grit mine teeth and smile. And later, cash mine checks.

“I’m Victoria Walker,” I said cheerily, “I’m your Visit Manager this week. My staff and I are pleased to be at your service. Welcome to Eden’s Mistletoe Lodge at Shannon Lake.”

The child did not seem inclined to take my hand, so I let it fall, and smiled even more brightly. “Would you like a tour?”

“I’m hungry,” someone said from the back.

Her highness made a face. “Yeah. What do you got to eat?”

Lovely. Farley was so…refined.

“Our chef has prepared a cold lunch.” He had prepared a warm one, but no one had been here to eat it. Except the staff, thank you very much.

“Whatever. Bring it in here.” Farley pulled on her headphones and pushed past me into the great room. Ignoring absolutely everybody else, she flopped onto one of the grand sofas, turned up the volume and closed her eyes.

I waved at Olivia and Wren, who were on point and ready to bring in the cold lunch and beverages. The teens in the party swarmed the platters, even before they’d set them down, but the adults remained in the foyer with Noel, Ken Nora, Coop, and me.

“Howdy.”

I blinked as a deep bass thrummed around me. Then I turned and locked gazes with a really hot cowboy.

“Howdy,” I said, responding as he offered to shake my hand. Imagine that. Civility. In this day and age. “How do you do?”

“I’m Whit,” he said in a tone that made clear he expected I’d heard of him.

“Of course. Of course. So nice to have you here.”

“I’m that one’s pa.” He squinted his eyes and pointed at Farley. “So, as a good old fashioned Southern gentleman, it’s incumbent upon me to apologize, in advance, for anything she might say or do.” He tipped his hat. “She’s still learning to tame the ego, you know?”

Oh yeah. I’d already figured that out. It must be hard to be a teen superstar and remember to be humble. “She’s young. She’ll come along.”

“I reckon she will. Well, let me do the introductions…” He went on to point at everyone in his party and call out their names and how they were all connected, even though they’d all scattered. I did a pretty good job of keeping up.

Boy howdy. Whit Weaver was a hot cowboy, from the top of his Stetson to the tip of his roach-killer boots. Of that, there was no doubt. But with the very sexy Mr. Weaver came his (also very sexy) girlfriend, Sabine. Girl being the operative word. She wasn’t Farley’s age, but barely. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been attracted to men who are attracted to way-too-young women. So yeah. No temptation there.

In addition to Whit and Sabine, the group consisted of three other adults—including Carmella Smith, Jamison’s mother; Tommy Astro, Farley’s manager; and Tommy’s executive secretary, Miranda Givens—as well as a bunch of late-model teenagers. As best I could tell, there was Farley and Jamison—the famous couple featured in every supermarket tabloid—and their posses. Jamison’s friends included two young trouble makers named Dion Hastings and Bobby Ebersol. Neither was old enough to drink, but I noticed them eyeing the liquor cabinet.

Farley had her royal court too—composed of princesses, I had to imagine, because they were both wearing tiaras. Judging from their entitled expressions, Tressa and Keiko would