De Witt. Byron - "
"No, no, don't bother to grovel. You're on your own." He pocketed his card, the receipt, then tore off his copy of the shipping form himself. "See you around, kid."
He strolled toward the door. The sound of "Miss, could you show me these earrings?" was music to his soul.
Chapter Six
Byron didn't like to interfere with his department heads, but he knew - and wanted them to know - that at Templeton problems rose to the top. His interest in hotels and all their crosshatched inner workings had begun during a summer stint at Atlanta's Doubletree. Three months as a bellman had taught him more than the proper way to handle a guest's luggage and had earned him more than enough cash to buy his first vintage car.
He'd learned there were dramas and tragedies playing out daily, not just behind the closed doors of rooms and suites, but behind the front desk, in sales and marketing, in housekeeping and engineering. In fact, everywhere within the buzzing hive of a busy hotel.
It had fascinated him, had pushed him toward sampling other aspects, from desk clerk to concierge. His curiosity about people, who they were, what they expected, what they dreamed of, had given him a career.
He wasn't the doctor his parents had not so secretly hoped he would be. Nor had he been the travel-weary trust-fund kid his circumstances could have made him. He had a career he enjoyed, and the constant variety of life in a big hotel continually intrigued him.
He was a problem solver, one who considered the individual as well as the big picture. His choice of moving into the Templeton organization had been a simple one. He'd spent a great deal of time studying hotels - the luxurious, the opulent, the small and tidy, the chains with their brisk pace, the old Europeans with their quiet charm, the Las Vegas ones with their flash and gaudiness.
Templeton had appealed to him because it was family-run, traditional without being stodgy, efficient without sacrificing charm, and above all, personable.
He didn't have to make it his business to know the names of the people who worked with and under him. It was simply a part of his makeup to take an interest, to retain information. So when he smiled at the woman currently checking in a guest, called out a casual, "Good morning, Linda," he wasn't aware that her pulse picked up several beats or that her fingers fumbled on the keyboard as she watched him pass through on his way to the offices.
Another section of the beehive was here. Ringing phones, clicking faxes, humming copiers, the clack of keyboards. He passed stacks of boxes, crowded desks. He exchanged a few greetings as he went, causing several pairs of shoulders to straighten and more than a few female employees to wish they'd checked their lipstick.
The door to his destination was open, and he found Laura Templeton with a phone to her ear. She offered him a harried smile and gestured to a chair.
"I'm sure we can arrange that. Mr. Hubble in Catering... Yes, yes, I understand how important it is. Mr. Hubble - " She broke off, rolled her eyes at Byron. "How many extra chairs would you like, Ms. Bingham?" She listened patiently, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "No, of course not. And I'm sure you'll have plenty of room if you make use of the terrace. No, I don't believe it's calling for rain. It should be a lovely evening, and I'm sure your reception will be elegant. Mr. Hubble - " Now she gritted her teeth. "Why don't I talk to Mr. Hubble for you and get back to you? Yes, by noon. I will. Absolutely. You're welcome, Ms. Bingham." She hung up. "Ms. Bingham is insane."
"Is she the orthodontist convention or the interior decorating?"
"Decorating. She has decided, at the last minute, that she simply must give a reception tonight for sixty of her closest friends and associates. For reasons I can't explain, she doesn't trust Bob Hubble to pull it off."
"Templeton," Byron said and smiled at her. "The trouble is, your name is Templeton. Which puts you in a lofty position."
You wouldn't know it from her office, he thought. It was tiny, cramped and windowless. He knew she'd chosen the position and the work space herself when she had decided to squeeze out time for a part-time job at the hotel.
Byron didn't know how she managed - her