Page 23 of A Man for Amanda
Still puzzled, Amanda handed the card over.
“With my appreciation. William Livingston.Whew.” Karen tossed back her long, dark hair. “What did you have to do to deserve this kind of gratitude?”
“I got him a fax machine.”
“You got him a fax machine,” Karen repeated, handing the card back to Amanda. “Last Sunday I cooked a pot roast with all the trimmings and all I got was a bottle of cheap wine.”
Amanda continued to frown and tapped the card on the edge of her desk. “I guess I’d better thank him.”
“I guess you’d better.” Karen picked up one of the roses and sniffed. “Unless you’d rather delegate. I’d be glad to go up and express your appreciation to Mr. Eyes-To-Die-For Livingston.”
“Thanks, but I’ll handle it.” She picked up the phone, then sent Karen an arch look. “Scram.”
“Spoilsport.” Laughing, she went out, discreetly shutting the door at her back as Amanda dialed the extension for the Island Suite.
“Livingston.”
“Mr. Livingston, this is Amanda Calhoun.”
“Ah, the efficient Miss Calhoun.” There was a laugh in his voice, a pleasant and flattering one. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. It was very thoughtful of you.”
“Just a small way of showing you that I appreciate your help, and the quick work.”
“That’s my job. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance during your stay.”
“As a matter of fact, there is something you could help me with.”
“Of course.” Automatically she picked up a pen and prepared to write.
“I’d like you to have dinner with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d like to take you to dinner. Eating alone is unappetizing.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Livingston, it’s against hotel policy for the staff to socialize with the guests. It’s kind of you to ask.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it. Can I ask if you’d consider it if hotel policy could be... bent?”
There was no chance of that, Amanda thought. Not with Stenerson. “I’d be happy to consider it,” she said tactfully. “Unfortunately, as long as you’re a guest at the BayWatch—”
“Yes, yes. I’ll get back to you shortly.”
Amanda blinked at the dead receiver, shrugged, then replaced it to get back to work. Ten minutes later, Stenerson was opening her door.
“Miss Calhoun, Mr. Livingston would like to have dinner with you.” His mouth primmed up even more than usual. “You’re free to go. Naturally, I’ll expect you to conduct yourself in a manner that will reflect properly on the hotel.”
“But—”
“Don’t make a habit of it.”
“I—” But he was already shutting the door. Amanda was still staring at it when her phone rang. “Miss Calhoun.”
“Shall we say eight o’clock?”
On a long breath, she sat back in her chair. She was on the point of refusing when she caught herself stroking the single rosebud Sloan had given her. Amanda snatched back her hand and balled it in her lap.
