The Boss's Christmas Proposal

Speaking of which. She hurriedly fell into step behind Greg, who was striding toward the reception area. “Have all the staff positions been filled now?” Three weeks ago, when she had pretty much begged her father not to have her drawn and quartered for dropping out of school, the staff roster here had been only partially filled.

“No.” His answer did not invite further inquiry and she did not know whether to be delighted or aggravated. Yes, she knew she was coming in at a very junior level. Helen had made that more than clear when she had told Kimi what she could expect once arriving in Kyoto. But did that mean he could not discuss even some basic matters with an interested staff member, junior or not?

He slapped a thick folder down on the long, curving desk and walked around where it very nearly met the opposite and inner curve of an open staircase. Even behind the chest-high reception desk, Greg looked ridiculously tall. More like an American quarterback than an urbane hotel manager. That detail also had not shown through Helen’s black-and-white photo.

Kimi dropped her jacket onto the desk and the thick plastic covering the wood crinkled. “How many employees live here on-site?”

He did not look up from whatever it was he was focusing on behind the desk. “Not many. Will you need more than one key?”

For what? All the wild parties he assumed she would be having? She kept the thought to herself and smiled demurely when he looked up at her. “Not unless I lose it.”

With a faint snap, he pushed a traditional brass key into a small padded portfolio. But when she expected him to hand it to her, he held on to the small square and rounded the desk again. Her tote containing the only items that Kimi considered truly essential—her laptop and her few framed family photographs—was still hanging from his shoulder. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to your room.” He extended his hand in a smooth, indicating gesture. “Our main elevators are through the lobby and beyond the fountain.”

Aggravation was edging out delight. “I am sure you have more important things to do.” He was treating her as if she were a guest. A not particularly welcomed one, at that. “I can find my way on my own.”

“Not at all.” Olympic ice-skating could have been performed on that deeply smooth voice.

Learning how to mimic Mori Taka’s direct and intimidating stare was one thing. Maintaining it against those stained-glass eyes of Greg Sherman’s was another.

She looked away, busying herself with the jacket and sailed across the lobby passing what she assumed would be the fountain once it received the advent of water. Greg still beat her to the elevator bank, his long stride easily eclipsing hers. He pressed the call button and the wood-paneled doors of the nearest car opened.

She stepped inside. The floor of the elevator was carpeted in a taupe, tonal stripe that still smelled new. He pressed the button for the twenty-first floor and the doors sighed closed. Kimi knew that she was successful in keeping a pleasant expression on her face, because she could see their faint reflections in the mottled, mirrored interior.

Above the elevator doors, a beautiful, old-fashioned clock face showed the progress of their ascent. Unfortunately, that progress seemed dauntingly slow. If he were any other hotel manager, he would have been falling over himself to please her.

That was something she was not interested in, she reminded herself. She was here to work, not to be fawned over. She had had enough of that at college.

“Is there someone in particular I should see about my duties?”

“Human Resources is located on the lower level. I’ll tell them to expect you in the morning.”

That had not exactly answered her question. She rather doubted it was because he was unaware of the particular details of her assignment there. But she did not question him further. Her gaze rose to the floor indicator again. One floor to go.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. She probably should not have spent the morning before shopping in New York with a friend. Lana Sheffield was a friend from years ago who now worked for a fashion magazine. But she had her eye on being a designer, and Kimi had gone along with being Lana’s “practice” project. As a result, Kimi had stepped onto the plane in New York—having nearly missed the flight in the first place—looking exactly the way she had looked after Lana had finished having her fun.

Kimi had spent more than half a day in the air, trying to sleep and mostly failing. Now here in Kyoto, the workday was nearly done. She had never enjoyed the time difference between Japan and the States. It always left her feeling dim.

The elevator slid to a seamless halt, emitting a soft, mellow chime the moment before the doors opened. She stepped past her new boss onto more new carpet—champagne-colored this time and stretching across the wide corridor so perfectly it looked as if no human foot had ever trod on it. This level was as beautifully finished as the lobby was decidedly unfinished. She wondered if the twenty-second floor—the top floor—was finished, as well.

“At the end on your right.” Greg’s voice seemed even deeper there in the hushed silence.

Kimi headed down the hall, looking curiously at the spaciously separated guest-room doors they passed. All were closed. The room numbers were displayed on small metal origami sculptures affixed to the wall beside each door. She had no way of knowing for certain if any of the rooms were occupied. Given the state of the lobby, she did not imagine that they were, but who knew? Maybe Greg’s room was on this floor, too.

A faint shiver drifted down her spine at the thought.

Dread or excitement? A draft, she thought, quelling the debate inside her head.

He had reached the door ahead of her and unlocked it. “We’ve been using this suite for some advance photos, which is why it has a lock at all. The access control won’t be activated until later next week. After we’d expected you.” He gave her a glance.

She refused to apologize again for being early. So she just kept her smile in place.

A smile he did not return. “You’ll be issued a key card at that point. Until then, you’ll have to use the old-fashioned method.” He tucked the metal door key into the portfolio and handed it to her as he pushed open the door and waited for her to enter. “Security monitors for the suite will be up next week, also. The phones are operational now, of course,” he said, following her through the short foyer to where the suite opened up into a gloriously spacious living area.

She could appreciate why the space had been used for photos. It was magnificently appointed.

He set her tote bag on the spotless surface of a mahogany dining-room table, complete with eight chairs upholstered in a beautiful deep sienna silk. “You have three lines. More can be arranged if necessary. Wireless internet is available here in your suite and throughout the facility.” He waved at the beautifully polished desk. “Printer and fax machine are located behind the drawer on the lower right. It slides out.” He crossed to the bank of windows and drew open the bronze-colored silk drapes, leaving the pale oyster translucent sheers beneath in place. She could not tell for certain, but she suspected the view beyond would be as lovely as the view inside.

“Three of our five restaurants are already open on a limited basis,” he continued blandly. “But Chef Lorenzo will make certain that all of your needs are met, no matter the time of day. The spa isn’t yet open, but it, too, will be available for use in the next week.”

“I’m here to work, not idle away my time in a spa.”

He lifted an eyebrow and continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “You can access the fitness center now, if you’re not bothered by the interior finishing that’s still being done. Otherwise, Michel St. Jacques—our concierge—can arrange any services you desire with another establishment.”

He was not finished, though, as he introduced her to the individually controlled climate systems—one for the living area, one each for the two bedrooms and the three bathrooms—and showed her how to operate the safe hidden inside the walk-in dressing room, how to program the plasma televisions and on and on.

Kimi heard his smooth spiel but did not listen.

How could she, when her temper was rumbling inside her ears? She was not a guest.

But at last he finished extolling the virtues of the Mahogany Suite.

She was somewhat surprised that he did not actually say he hoped she enjoyed her stay at the Taka Kyoto as he ended near the door once more.

She gave him a practiced smile—the one that she had learned how to use when she was barely a teenager to combat the shyness that had plagued her—and slid a folded bill into his hand even as she opened the door herself for his exit. “Thank you so much, Mr. Sherman. I am sure I will be very comfortable.”

Then, because it pleased her immensely to see the discomfited surprise cross his unrelentingly handsome face as he realized he had just been tipped, she closed the door on him.

Chapter Two

“She actually tipped you?” Shin was laughing at Greg as they watched a mattress delivery at the loading dock a short while later. “Was she generous, at least?”

Greg held up the U.S. currency between two fingers. Benjamin Franklin’s face peered out from the folded hundred.

Shin just laughed harder.

Greg shoved the bill back into his pocket and rolled his shoulders against the itchy irritation that had tightened them from the moment he’d seen the pampered heiress’s “tasty” behind.

He scratched his name on the paperwork the truck driver presented him and handed back the clipboard, already turning away. Shin kept pace, and they entered the echoing, vast exhibition space that occupied most of the lowest level of the hotel. In comparison to the rest of the establishment, the space, which was thankfully finished, looked almost industrial. Greg knew, however, the magic that could be done with the concrete and metal. All it took was imagination. And come the beginning of the year, the space was steadily booked for nearly two years out with everything from luxury automobile shows to wine auctions.

They went up the rear service stairs to the next floor where the bulk of the hotel offices were located. Concrete gave way to carpet, metal was replaced by wood. Even the staff who worked within the walls of the Taka were treated to excellent conditions. He’d managed a number of houses in his career, and he could truthfully say that wasn’t always the case. For some hoteliers, the only thing that mattered was the front-end appearance. But Taka was first-class from front to back, bottom to top.

When Greg made a success of this hotel, he’d be able to command any position anywhere he chose. Gone would be the days of never feeling quite part of the exclusive world in which he lived and worked.

But first, he had to get this hotel operational. So far, there’d been more than a few setbacks. By the time Helen had brought him on board little more than a month ago, he’d definitely had his work cut out for him.

“Don’t spend all that Franklin in one place,” Shin said before disappearing into his office as they passed it. “I might want to win it at poker Friday night. Unless you’re going to blow us off again to see Sondra Fleming.”

“I’ll be at the game,” Greg assured drily. “So keep on dreaming about the hundred.”

“Cards beating out the charms of the lady lawyer?”

He’d met Sondra shortly after arriving in Kyoto. They’d shared some entertaining time, but that was as far as it went. “She’s looking for serious.”

Shin grinned. “And you don’t do serious.”

“Only when it comes to work, my friend.” Greg continued on until he reached Sales and Catering where he found Grace in her office, frowning over the table linens draped over her conference table. “What’s wrong now?”

She pushed her hands through the long, blond hair that was courtesy of her Swedish mother. “Obviously, the color.”

He eyed the linens. “They’re red.”

She sighed mightily. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’d think that by now you would have learned the difference between scarlet and red.”

“I don’t need to know the difference. You do. That’s why I stole you from that shack in Tokyo.”

She smiled. That “shack” was one of the most famous, premier hotels in all the world. “And I came because you do amuse me. This,” she flipped out a napkin and dropped it atop the cloth already spread on the table, “is scarlet silk damask.”

He could barely discern the difference between the two. “And that is what the others are supposed to be?”

“Exactly. We’re using scarlet silk when we host the luncheon next week for the mayor, not red linen. At this rate, I’m going to have to make a trip I don’t have time to make to Tokyo to beg, borrow and steal the right linens.”

As far as he was concerned, the red ought to be fine. But he knew better than to step into Grace’s decisions. Her acumen couldn’t be topped. If she needed scarlet-colored whatever for some reason, then she needed it. “You’ve got staff,” he reminded. “Send them on the hunt for you.”

“Speaking of staff, Tanya did your packets. She’s already taken them up to the training room.”

“Thanks. Incidentally, you’ll have one more soul to boss around tomorrow. If it’s capable of being bossed.”

Grace leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms. “Kimiko Taka’s in the house. I heard.”

Not surprising, since the only thing that ran more swiftly than gossip in a hotel was the water in the pipes. “Send her on your scarlet-colored errand,” he advised, not entirely joking. “Rumor has it that shopping is one area where she really shines.”

Grace’s phone rang, and she picked it up, waving him out of her office. He gave a tap on the oversized wall clock she’d hung alongside an enormous project board, reminding her to keep track of the time, before he left. He didn’t want anyone missing this meeting. They had too much business to cover in too little time as it was.

He rounded the corner that would lead him back to his primary office—not the one located on the lobby level behind reception—and stopped short at the sight of Kimiko Taka exiting the elevator. She looked right then left, and spotted him.

If he wasn’t mistaken, the high heel of her boot actually moved back a few inches. But that hesitation was brief before she strode straight for him. She didn’t look quite like a runway model—for one thing, she was far too short. But she definitely had all of the attitude.

She stopped a good yard away from him. “Would you mind pointing me toward Human Resources?”

He touched the discreet bronze plaque hanging on the wall beside them on which the locations for the various departments were inscribed. “Go right at the end of this corridor.”

An unexpected hint of pink rose in her cheeks, but her wideset gaze didn’t falter from his. In that, he had to give her credit. The girl knew how to look a person dead-on.

“Thank you.” She stepped sideways, veering around him.

“Ms. Taka.”

She stopped, slowly turning around to face him. “Yes?”

Her dark gaze followed his hand as he pulled the hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and the pink in her cheeks became even brighter. She brushed those pinup-girl ringlets off her shoulder again. “I suppose I should apologize.”

Supposing and actually doing were two different things, but he had no interest in debating the point. He held out the folded bill and after a brief hesitation, she reached out to take it.

But he didn’t release it. “The next time I see you on the premises in a staff-related capacity, I expect you to dress appropriately.”

“Yes—” she tugged harder on the bill “—sir.”

“And by appropriate, I mean by my standards. Presumably one of those two dozen pieces of luggage that you brought contains a skirt longer than four inches and a blouse that buttons above your cleavage?” A surprisingly full cleavage, hugged by pink lace.

He jerked his gaze upward, realizing he was nearly staring.

Her glossy lips had compressed, and her long lashes had swept down. But when she spoke again, there was no hint of temper in her lilting voice. “Mr. Sherman, I can look like a nun if you’d like.”

Even a full-scale nun’s habit wouldn’t dim the girl’s undeniable beauty. The fact that he recognized that beauty wasn’t bothersome.

What was aggravating was his damnable response to it. He was too old to be going dry-mouthed around a woman. Particularly the boss’s daughter.

He released the bill. “Exercise some judgment, Ms. Taka. That’s all I ask.”

“Of course.” Her lips stretched into a smile he was positive she didn’t mean as she slipped the folded bill down into that cleavage. “Is there anything else, sir?”

He could have told her that the HR office was empty. He should have. But that smile, that sir, got under his skin. “No.”

She lifted her chin and turned around again, striding to the end of the hall.

His teeth clenched when he realized he was watching the faint sway of Tasty until she turned out of sight.

He went into his office and shut the door. The last thing he needed was to see Kimiko Taka strutting her way back to the elevator once she discovered that every person in Human Resources had already left for the staff meeting.

Insufferable man.

Walking away from Mr. Plank-o’-Wood, it was all Kimi could do not to tug self-consciously at her skirt. That was more than four inches long, thank you very much. It reached a very respectable length, in fact, hitting her midthigh.

She could practically feel his gaze burning a hole in her spine before she reached the end of the hallway and turned out of his sight. Only then did she let herself exhale shakily. So much for the pep talk she had given herself twenty-some floors up in her suite.

She wanted to kick herself for not changing her clothes. But the truth was, she was so dog-tired that she had been afraid if she slowed down enough to change, she would just collapse in a heap.

Before finding her way to this lower level, all she had taken time to do was send a few text messages back home to let everyone know of her safe arrival and hook up her computer to transmit the Economics paper she had finished writing during the flight.

She may have dropped out of school to her parents’ dismay, but that didn’t mean after she had done so that she had not recognized the prudence of obtaining her degree anyway.

She had wanted just to do it on her own terms. In her own way. Finishing the classes online was a lot more tolerable to her than endless study groups and crowded lecture halls. It had even been worth having to prevail upon the dean’s good graces where the Taka family name was concerned to be quietly reinstated.

None of which would matter a bit to Greg Sherman.

He was overreacting where her clothing was concerned anyway. The hotel was not yet open for guests, and the only people she had encountered were other employees.

Like her.

For now, though, the reminder that she was an employee—for the very first time in her life—was enough to have excitement dissolving her irritation, and she quickened her pace along the empty, carpeted corridor until she found the Human Resources department. It, too, was marked by a tastefully engraved metal sign, and she pushed through the double doors, entering a small lobby furnished with a half dozen chairs and a glass-topped reception desk.

All unoccupied.

“Hello?” She peered down the hallway behind the desk, but heard no response.

More unfilled staff positions?

She wondered if Helen knew just how bare some of the holes were here, but Kimi supposed she must. According to everything Kimi had learned, Helen and her father were satisfied that after a rocky beginning plagued by financial misdealings and construction delays, the hotel was firmly back on course under the guiding hands of Greg Sherman and continuing on its path to the height of its class.

She walked around the desk and down the hall, glancing in the half dozen offices that opened off of it. “Hello?” She reached the last office door. Closed and locked.

She exhaled and turned on her heel, striding out of the empty suite.

Greg could have told her that she was wasting her time. Probably the man needed to have some sort of amusements, though she found it hard to believe he had ever cracked a real smile.

She returned to the elevator but grew impatient when the call button she pressed remained lit and the doors remained closed. She could hear the faint swoosh of the car moving in the shaft, but it never seemed to make it far enough to stop there at the basement level. She tapped her toe and watched the minute hand on her wristwatch slowly move and then nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a soft footfall behind her.

“Might as well take the service stairs, my dear. That elevator’s already busy running back and forth to the fifth.” A tall Nordic blonde wearing a deep blue running suit approached. “That’s where the training room is, and that’s where all the staff is supposed to be as of five minutes ago for a staff meeting. Grace Ishida.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Director of Sales and Catering. And you must be Kimiko Taka.”

“Yes, but make it Kimi, please.” She shook the older woman’s hand.

Grace was nodding. She pulled a folded piece of fabric out of her pocket. “Tell me. What color is this?”

She hesitated for a moment, feeling abruptly in the middle of a pop quiz. “Scarlet.”

The other woman’s eyes narrowed. “Not just a simple red?”

“I think it has too much orange in it to be a true red.”

“Yes. It does.” The fabric disappeared back in Grace’s pocket, and looking satisfied, the other woman gestured Kimi past the unresponsive elevator. “You were born in Japan, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I lived mostly in Tokyo until I was a teenager.” Around another corner, and through a doorway, they entered the stairwell. Kimi had to nearly jog to keep up with the woman’s long legs. The stairwell echoed with the sound of Grace’s athletic shoes and Kimi’s thin heels as they hurried up the steps. “But even before we moved there, I was enthralled with the United States.”

“And now you’re back in Japan.”

Kimi managed a noncommittal agreement. She was there, yes, but not entirely by choice. It was just where her parents were allowing her to sink or swim.

Once they realized that she was not going under, she fully intended on returning to the country she loved.

They reached the main level, and Grace pulled open the door there, letting them out into another hallway, through which she led a circuitous way to the lobby. In comparison to the busyness there when Kimi had arrived, now the soaring, unfinished space was eerily silent. Fortunately, the bank of elevators beyond the dry fountain were responsive, a door opening the moment Grace called for it.

Inside, Grace leaned against the wall and studied Kimi. “Were you downstairs to look for Mr. Sherman?”

Kimi had seen Mr. Sherman, who had knowingly sent her on a wild goose chase. Seemingly, she imagined, to keep her away from his sanctified staff meeting. “I was trying to check in with Human Resources. I arrived earlier than they were expecting, but I thought it would be good to get started right away.”

“We need all the hands we can get,” Grace agreed. “But you found everyone already had gone. Hate it when that happens, don’t you?” The melodious chime sounded and they left the elevator. “I assume you haven’t had a proper tour of our facilities, yet? No. Well, through there is where the fitness center and the spa are located.” She pointed toward the smoked-glass doors that blocked off the elevator banks. “There’s also one of the indoor pools. It will be open for all guests of the hotel, whereas the pool that’s up on seventeen has an age restriction of sixteen years and up. This way, though, are our training rooms.” She headed in the opposite direction through a hidden doorway that was indistinguishable from the wooden-paneled wall around it. “Ordinarily, staff would only use the service elevators for access, of course. But there’s no harm in using the main elevators for today. There are several floors in the hotel that are not available to the guest elevators at all, of course. The engine floors, laundry, et cetera. Before long, you’ll have it all down pat.”