Kristin Hardy - Under The Mistletoe

She could tell the first problem with the Hotel Mount Jefferson sight unseen—location. Skiers and hikers, the people most likely to go to the mountains for recreation, were not the kinds of people to pay a bundle for a glorified bed-and-breakfast. They were far more likely to camp out or, if they had the kind of money that the hotel hoped to attract, choose the stylish condos she’d passed a couple of miles back. How, then, was she supposed to meet her father’s astronomical expectations?

Hadley’s hands tightened on the wheel. Instead of running a division with seven locations, three business units and a head count of more than two thousand, she was now responsible for turning around a superannuated hotel with a few hundred employees, most of whom were probably missing teeth.

Evaluate, set a strategy and implement it, her father had directed her. Double the profit margin within six months, quadruple it within twelve.

If she had any sense, she’d tell him to go jump in a lake. After all, she had choices. She could update her résumé and shop it around. But who out there would hire her without worrying she was a mole for Stone Enterprises? And Robert Stone was a jealous god. When you left his world, he made sure the departure was permanent—home would be home to her no longer. Did she want that? Could she give that up?

Hadley sighed. She didn’t want to be in this car, on this road, heading for oblivion. But she didn’t really have a choice, not when she thought about it. No, her only real option was to do the job, give Robert what he wanted. So she kept driving to the Hotel Mount Jefferson, a place in all likelihood few people other than the misbegotten souls who worked there cared about, she was sure.

Misbegotten souls who were about to get a big surprise.

“You’re kidding.” Gabriel Trask stared at Mona Landry, his head of housekeeping. “No water in the entire laundry room?”

The stout woman glowered. “Burst pipe. Apparently laundry wasn’t a priority when they redid the plumbing last spring.”

“Burke?” Gabe turned to his head of facilities.

He spread his hands. “We only have so many months to work with. Guests come first. I was planning to run new pipe out to the facilities building this spring.”

“And what are the guests going to say when they don’t have any clean sheets or towels?” Mona asked tartly.

“Mona.” Gabe raised his hand. “We’ve got a problem to address. Let’s fix it. Burke, have you isolated the break?”

“I’ve dug a couple of sample holes. As near as I can tell, the pipe out to the laundry plant is split. Frost heaves.”

“As near as you can tell?”

“We’re still trying to dig down to it.”

Gabe frowned. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Frozen ground. Winter staffing levels. Plus it’s ten degrees out there and dropping. We can only keep the guys outside for short stretches.”

Gabe nodded. If he cursed a blue streak in his head, it was nobody’s business but his own. “How long?”

“We’re working on it. No later than tomorrow afternoon. I’d like to repair the whole line while we’re at it. Otherwise, it’s just a matter of time until this happens again.”

Not what Gabe wanted to hear at the start of a heavily booked weekend. “Mona, how’s our linen supply look?”

“Enough for today and maybe half of the rooms tomorrow. After that…” She shrugged. “I keep telling you we need more.”

New linens, new plumbing, new pillars to replace the rotting ones on the west porch, new carpeting in the ballroom.

Old budget. When his coal-dark hair eventually turned gray, he’d know where to place the blame. Gabe suppressed a sigh. “All right, we go to the laundry in Montpelier. Mona, get the number from Susan. One of the grounds guys can truck it over.”

“Not if you want that trench dug,” Burke reminded him. Gabe closed his eyes a second. “Right. Okay, find a bell hop but get on it now. We need the laundry to turn the job around by the end of the day.” Pulling from the bell staff would leave them short up front during checkout, but they’d manage.

If necessary, he’d drive the damn truck himself.

Trees, unending trees. Hadley yawned. No wonder she was in a bad mood. Taking the morning flight out had sounded good when she’d bought the ticket. It had only been when the alarm sounded at five that she’d realized she’d been out of her mind to book it. When she got to the hotel she could give them their first test—how they dealt with grumpy early arrivals.

She swung the sporty little rental car into another curve, and the line of trees fell away, revealing the valley ahead.

And her jaw dropped.

The Hotel Mount Jefferson perched on the hillside like a white castle, a sprawling fantasy of turrets and porticos. The roof glowed red under the rays of the winter sun. Flags atop the towers snapped in the breeze. Hadley could practically see women in pale Victorian gowns and parasols promenading along the veranda that ran the length of the building. A snow-covered hillside rolled away from the hotel. It would be green in summer, she thought, green and magical.

The pictures hadn’t done it justice. She’d done her homework, of course. She knew the financials by heart, understood that it wasn’t just a little mountain lodge. But she hadn’t been at all prepared for a place that looked as though stepping through the doors would be to walk back in time. For a place that instantly made her think of ball gowns and afternoon teas, of hot toddies sipped by a roaring fire.

She hadn’t been prepared to be enchanted.

This isn’t about enchantment, she could practically hear Robert saying. It’s about business.

And with that the enchantment dropped away. How did they heat that many rooms, no doubt drafty after withstanding nearly a hundred winters? Radiators, probably. Radiators installed by Civil War veterans. How often did the radiators break down? Hadley sighed. However enchanting the hotel was on the outside, she had to meet her numbers or else she’d be in exile a whole lot longer than she’d like. And even enchantment got old.

She considered her strategy. Come in like an ordinary guest and spend the weekend looking for ways to economize, ways to increase occupancy. Shameless romance was one angle to play, she mused as she drove past the white, Victorian-style lampposts that marched up the access road to the hotel. Hopefully, they had an in-house consultant for that part, because that one she was going to have to delegate.

At the pillared portico of the hotel, Hadley paused for a moment. Up close, the Hotel Mount Jefferson was all her first glimpse had promised. The front facade of the building gleamed with broad windows. Marble steps led up to a green-carpeted porch where a small fleet of shiny brass luggage racks held the bags of departing guests. To one side sat an antique sleigh, painted gleaming red. Christmas was drawing near and whoever ran the place was laying it on just right, she admitted.

The valet opened her door. “Welcome to the Hotel Mount Jefferson. May I get your bags?”

“In the trunk.”

“Very good.” He passed her a green ticket in trade for her keys. “If you’ll just call this number when you get to your room, we’ll have your bags brought right up for you.”

Hadley walked up the steps and over to the sleigh. The cut glass lamps reflected the daylight, the brass fittings gleamed. Someone at the hotel paid attention to detail, she thought, tracing the graceful curve of the front panel. Someone knew the little things counted.

A smiling doorman in a caped greatcoat opened the wide white front door with its curling brass handles. “Welcome, miss,” he said, tipping his cap. Hadley stepped through the door and straight back to the turn of the previous century.