The Boss's Christmas Proposal. Allison Leigh

      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.