Page 5 of Colorado Christmas Carol
They glared at each other while Mellie cleared her throat.
“Uh, Dad, didn’t you have a phone call to make?” she asked.
He blinked and glanced at her, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Phone call? Oh. Yes.” He glared at Essa. “Let’s go. And stay out of the kitchen. I don’t want the staff’s bad attitude rubbing off on you,” he told his daughter.
“It’s not rubbing off, it’s rubbing out,” Essa told him with furious eyes. “And you are so lucky that I don’t have a hit man who owes me a favor as a friend!”
“Good luck affording one on what you probably make working here,” he said insolently.
“Hit men come cheap if you look in the right places!”
“I wasn’t talking about hit men. I meant friends.” He smiled as he said it, and Essa could have thrown something at that smug expression. It was almost as if he knew she didn’t have friends.
She just glared. “Do be careful when you drink coffee at meals,” she said with poisonous sweetness.
“Poisoning guests will get you fired.”
“Extenuating circumstances,” she returned.
He ignored her. “Let’s go, Melinda.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She glanced back at her fuming new friend and made an apologetic face. The kitchen staff was doing its best to smother laughter. Their cool as a cucumber boss was flaming up.
* * *
Essa almost ruined the boeuf Bourbonnais. She was burning with fury; she’d never been so angry in her life. She hated Mellie’s dad. She absolutely hated him!
She finished her preparations for the next day with the help of the kitchen staff. They got everything ready for the next morning. She wished them a happy night, took off her apron, and moved warily out of the kitchen, searching to make sure she could avoid the big, blond barracuda who was ruining her life.
But all she saw was a slight, blond man in khaki slacks and a button-up shirt. He stared at her curiously.
She managed a smile and started to walk away.
“Excuse me,” he said in a soft tone, “but I seem to be lost.” He smiled apologetically. “It’s such a big hotel and I’m supposed to be in a meeting room . . .” He looked at a piece of paper in his hand. “The Martinique room . . . ?”
The manager had a wild sense of humor. He had three meeting rooms in the hotel for convention goers, and each one was named for one of his favorite islands. Talk about eccentric! The owner of the hotel was equally so, though, she recalled.
Essa laughed and her whole face lit up. “Our manager names rooms after islands,” she explained. “They aren’t numbered. That one is up that staircase”—she indicated it—“and immediately to the right. There’s a palm tree on the door.”
“Oh!” He laughed. “Thank you. You’re very helpful.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not used to women being polite,” he said, and then flushed, as if he thought he’d offended her.
She laughed, too. “I know what you mean! Common courtesy seems to have gone right out the door in our society. I’m frequently shocked at the way people will talk to total strangers. And online . . . !” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe the comment sections!”
“Me, too,” he said, warming to his subject. “Perfectly nice people turn into keyboard monsters online!”
“Exactly!”
He smiled warmly. “I’m Dean Sutter.”
“I’m Essa,” she replied, and shook the hand he held out.
He had an odd handshake, not limp but not assertive, and his palms were sweaty. He was only a little taller than she was, and of a slight built. But he seemed nice. She noticed the pin he was wearing on his collar, which had a karate symbol on it.
“Are you into martial arts? Sorry, if that sounds nosy,” she said.
He touched the pin. “Yes,” he said. “I do tae kwon do. Do you study martial arts?”
“Not anymore. I don’t have time,” she said sadly. “I did tai chi,” she added.
