Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,8
I will not tolerate dissention within the ranks.”
Dissention within the ranks? Her reawakening pulse ricocheted through every disbelieving cell, while his grim expression, intense and hard where before it had been warm, made icy fear clutch within her chest.
“I am willing to listen to your concerns and consider your input, but I advise you to prepare yourselves for change. The Renaissance must be brought back into profitability if it is to survive the next decade. We will have to work together to make updates in a timely fashion. If we do not, Masters’ legacy will fail.”
A corner of her brain registered that Henri had tugged on her arm, trying to reclaim her attention. But she remained ensnared in the web of Stephen’s gaze, unable to move while he continued.
“Toward that end, I will maintain an open door policy so that we can build a working relationship as we move forward together.”
She needed to escape. Now. Except with Emma in tow where would she go? Her stomach seized in denial, her throat closed up, and a tremor claimed her hands.
His eyes narrowed to slits of glinting blue. “Do you have a question?” he asked her, an edge of ice underlying the velvet smoothness of his tone.
A murmur of curiosity rippled through the seated staff and they turned as one to stare at Colette. Suddenly aware that she was still standing, she dropped like a guillotine into her chair, her limbs too numb to check her descent.
“Colette?” whispered Henri as he gripped her forearm. His warm brown eyes darkened with concern. “What is it? You are pale as un fantôme.“
“I’m fine,” she managed to say. Her pulse careened as her thoughts raced frantically. Did Stephen know about Emma yet? Did he suspect the truth? Bill was such a gossip, he’d probably told Stephen about her status as a single mother. What if Stephen tried to take Emma away? Feeling trapped, she closed her eyes and hauled in a steadying breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anything. She had to be calm. She had to think.
Maybe she was overreacting. Stephen wasn’t the type to be interested in his staff’s lives outside of work. He might not have even recognized her across the crowded conference room. She wore her hair up now. Motherhood, sleepless nights and worry had stripped her of her youthful blush. And it had been five years since he’d seen her.
Besides, even if he had learned about Emma, he had no reason to suspect she was his daughter. They’d used protection every time without fail. He’d seen to that. He’d made it very, very clear that he never intended to have children.
She didn’t need to worry, she told herself while struggling to calm her thudding pulse.
He wouldn’t want her again. And he certainly wouldn’t want Emma.
Wasn’t that why she’d left in the first place?
The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Stephen’s speech, outlining the schedule of pending renovations and his vision for the future of the Renaissance, barely penetrated the turmoil of her thoughts. But when he announced the schedule for supervisor meetings the following day, her panic kicked back into gear.
“I’ll meet with the lobby supervisors at eight a.m.” he said, “followed by housekeeping at nine, Doux Rêves and dessert management at ten, guest services at eleven, maintenance at noon, and La Tour d’Or management at one. If you cannot attend for any reason, please notify me as soon as possible so that I can make alternative arrangements.” He closed his binder and scanned his seated employees a final time before thanking Bill and adjourning the meeting.
Everyone stood to leave, their low murmurs rising like the hum of bees moving to a new hive. Colette joined them, grappling with her reaction to his announcement regarding personal meetings. Blending in with an anonymous crowd of employees was doable. But maintaining her poise in a face-to-face interview would prove far more difficult, especially when she didn’t know how much he knew.
“Do you think he’d want to renovate me?” whispered one of the new girls from the front desk as they congregated in the aisle.
“If you’re lucky,” giggled her friend as she fanned her face and stole another covert look over her shoulder. “Did you see his eyes?”
“Eyes?” commiserated yet another. “I was too busy fantasizing about those shoulders, that hair, and those big, strong hands.” Two of the students shared a joint sigh of agreement while the third girl continued, “Can you imagine how a specimen like that would perform in bed?”
“Tiffany!”