Page 4 of Miss Taken Identity

“If the real Ms. De Laurent is stranded without her purse or even a phone, then who’s in our hotel?” I ask Mark aloud, making my way to the door.

He gives me a puzzled look and is relieved when I don’t press him for an actual answer.

I know that there’s only one way to find out in a situation like this. And that’s going to see for myself just who this woman is.

If the right person’s waiting, no skin off my nose. If it’s an imposter of some sort, someone sent by our competition maybe?

Well. That could make this stressful week just a little bit more fun, I guess.

I shake my head as I wait for the elevator doors to close, giving Mark a farewell salute which is his cue to breathe finally.

The whole building seems to sag with relief as I watch it disappear under the rising bridge of the freeway from the reflective privacy glass in my limo.

I already want today out of the way so I can have the weekend with nothing else to think about, as we hurtle toward the newest Condor Hotel in the city.

Tomorrow as Condor’s newest head of accounting, Ms. De Laurent, whoever she might be, should have time to relax for the last time before I get to the hotel today.

Almost halfway there and my driver’s intercom tones gently before he speaks, letting me know the hotel has confirmed her arrival.

Interesting.

“Okay, thanks,” I murmur, wondering why I’m still so touchy.

Edgy even.

It’s not as if I have anything or anyone to race home to either, plus the job’s already hers if the old buzzard Condor says so….

I don’t know why he didn’t just call her himself, save me the trip. But then again, the man has better things to do, like struggling for his next breath, most likely.

But my task’s a simple one. It’ll be “Hi, how are you? You’re hired. See you first thing Monday.”

Slide in, then slide out, Xander.

Take this weekend to find something you enjoy doing for a change instead of just work, work, and more work.

Unless she actually is someone else pretending to be our new accountant…but who would do that?

Anyone bold enough to do that deserves a job at Condor under me.

I feel a little like old man Condor himself by the time I get to the hotel, which is still only 99% finished, making my tongue click as it looms into view.

There’s a line of what must be half the staff waiting out front, smiling despite the blazing afternoon heat.

The not-too-unexpected visit from their highest ranking manager is the perfect excuse to show their stripes. How shiny they’ve made the brass. How crisp, spotless and fresh everything is.

How unfinished it still looks.

I’m not here to lop heads, though. The project’s been a massive success, all things considered, and the building is already sixty percent booked for the next twelve months and growing.

Not too shabby for a city that needs another luxury hotel like it needs the other six Condor Hotels it has already.

Making a speedy survey of the staff, I congratulate everyone on a job well done. And suggest they get back to them instead of lining up in the heat, kissing my ass.

“Our special guest is waiting in the executive suite,” the hotel’s manager assures me, tagging along to the point of almost tripping over himself as I find my way through the cut-and-paste design of the building.

If you’ve been in one Condor Hotel, you’ve been in all of them.

Once we reach the elevator, I signal to him with a blank stare that I’m quite capable of taking things from here.

The smell of new paint and freshly laid carpet as the elevator shoots silently up is nauseating, but some people like that. Some people like ‘new’ and ‘being first.’

I’d like to be the first one out of here and dive into my pool when I get home to my top-floor suite.

Home for me is…you guessed.

It's a Condor Hotel suite, but I get the entire floor to myself, which makes it feel like I have some privacy.

And even after I retire or even if I quit, it’s still mine.

Condor drives a mean bargain in some ways, but he rewards excellence with cash and prizes where it’s due. And up until a few years ago, it was a case of Condor burning money to try and match how much he was making.

Reaching the top floor, I’m painfully aware of some unfinished plastering and builder’s equipment that almost trips me up as soon as I step out of the elevator.

My ingrained habit as boss threatens to overtake me. My urge to call the manager and tear shreds off him is almost automatic, which scares me a little.

I’ve been doing this shit for too long.

She’s only here a few nights… It’s not as if she’s a real guest anyway. Plus, they’ll be finished with all the work next week. Don’t stress about it.

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