Sherryl Woods - Amazing Gracie

But the man had no real passion for it. It was all numbers to him. Gracie cared about the guests and their comfort, the lasting impression they would take home with them. Max worried only about the size of their bill.

No, she concluded. It would never have worked. He was certainly bright enough to have figured that out for himself, but his masculine ego kept him in the game. With another man, the unwanted attention might have bordered on harassment, but there’d never once, in any way, been a hint that Gracie’s job hinged on whether she said yes or no. Asking was just something Max did, pretty much like breathing.

“Max, I will not have dinner with you,” she told him for the umpteenth time. “Not tonight, not ever. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Not even to save your precious flower budget?”

“No, Max. It’s a very bad idea. You’re my boss. Socializing would only complicate things. Besides, you and I don’t see eye to eye on anything. We’d just ruin our digestion.”

He shrugged as he always did after she’d rejected one of his invitations. “Suit yourself.” He returned his attention to the paperwork in front of him, dismissing Gracie as clearly as if he’d gestured toward the door.

Maybe it was because she was tired or frustrated or angry or all three, but Gracie stared at Max’s down-turned head for several minutes, then reached a decision that had been several weeks in the making.

“I quit,” she said softly but firmly.

That brought his head up. “What?” For an instant, shock registered in his usually cool gray eyes.

“You heard me. I quit.”

“Now, Gracie—”

“Don’t you now-Gracie me,” she snapped back. “You won’t listen to a thing I say. You’re determined to run this chain as if it were a string of economy hotels. Obviously, I am no longer of any value to Worldwide, so I might as well take my expertise to another hotel chain where they care about appearances and service and comfort.”

There was the faintest hint of worry in Max’s expression, but once again he shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”

Stunned by his indifference, Gracie paused long enough to sweep that blasted daffodil up and drop it into the trash can before leaving. Tempted as she was to slam the door, she didn’t want to disturb the guests by creating a scene. Even now, old habits died hard.

Back in her small suite of rooms off the hotel lobby, fighting tears, she began methodically packing. Because she moved frequently from hotel to hotel to troubleshoot problems, there was very little to pack, nothing personal needing to be shipped. She could be on a plane back to the States tonight…if only she had someplace to go.

Realizing that there was not one single destination in the entire world where someone would be waiting for her hit her like a blow. She sank to the edge of the bed.

“What now, Gracie?” she whispered.

Though her decision to quit had been far from impulsive, never once had she considered the next step. Now she had just abandoned the most exciting, rewarding, wonderful job she’d ever had, one she’d worked very hard to get. She was twenty-nine-going-on-thirty. Her last three relationships had been total disasters. All three men had ended up married to someone else—someone who stayed put—within days of breaking up with her.

The relationships weren’t worth talking about, but her career, well, that was not something she was quite so willing to walk away from without a fight. She had loved the hotel business from the day she first discovered room service. In Monopoly, hotels were always her primary objective. In her mind’s eye, they were always small, elegant and discreet.

Worldwide had always exemplified that image. At least until recently. Shifting gears to accommodate all of the executive changes had turned a dream job into a nightmare. She’d been right to quit, she consoled herself. It was a smart decision.

So why did she feel so lost and empty?

A knock on her door prevented her from having to come up with an answer for the inexplicable “Yes?”

“Gracie, it’s Max.”

“Go away.”

“I think we should talk.”

“I disagree.”

“Would you open the blasted door and let me in, please. Or do you want the entire hotel to hear our conversation?”

That caught her attention as nothing else might have. She opened the door. She did not move aside to let him in. Max was much too forceful a presence to allow herself to be alone with him while she was in such a vulnerable state. He’d tried too many times to turn business conversations into something personal for her to trust him—or herself, at the moment—in such intimate surroundings. She might not much like the man at the moment, but he had a very attractive shoulder she could cry on.

“Yes?” she said.

He peered past her to the row of suitcases. “You’re determined to leave, I see.”

“I told you I was going.”

“Where?”

Ah, she thought, that was the million-dollar question. Money wasn’t a problem. Her heart was the problem. The only place she wanted to be was at the center of a thriving hotel. Her parents were dead. There had been no brothers or sisters, not even an extended family of aunts and uncles she’d been close to. She’d made a few close friends in college, but over the years, thanks to so much job-related traveling, she’d lost touch with all of them.

“That’s none of your business,” she said, hedging.

“No place to go, huh?”

“Of course I have a place to go,” she snapped. “I’m going to…Virginia.” She seized the destination out of thin air, based solely on some distant, idyllic memory of a family vacation in a small beach town there twenty years before.

“Virginia?”

Max said it as if he weren’t quite familiar with the state or even the country it was in. He’d obviously been in Europe way too long. Maybe she had been, too.

“Yes,” she said, warming to the idea. “It’s lovely there this time of year.”

“How in hell do you know that?”

“It’s spring,” she said. “It’s lovely everywhere in spring.”

“Of course,” he said wryly. The worried frown was back between his brows. “You’ll stay in touch?”

“Why?”

“In case you decide you want to come back, of course.”

“I won’t,” she said with certainty. Whatever happened, whatever she decided to do with her life, she would not come back to Worldwide as long as it was in the hands of Maximillian Devereaux.

“You’ll always have a job with us,” he said anyway. “Remember that when you tire of watching the dogwood and the cherry blossoms bloom.”

“I’d keep the flower references out of the conversation, if I were you. Flowers are what brought us to this impasse, remember?”

“You’ll be back,” he said with arrogant confidence. “You and I have unfinished business.” His gaze settled on her and lingered. “Professional and personal.”

She refused to be shaken by the intensity of his gaze, but only because there was no responding, wild leap of her pulse. She stared straight into his eyes and slowly shook her head. “Don’t bet the wine cellar on it, Max.”

And then she slammed the door in his face. Forever after, she thought she would remember with a great deal of satisfaction his thoroughly stunned expression. She doubted Max could recall the last time a mere mortal, especially a woman, had ever said no to him and not left the door open for a yes.

Gracie checked her bank balance and gave herself five months—the rest of spring and the entire summer—to pull herself together. She made that decision on the plane. Then, exhausted and emotionally drained, she slept the rest of the way to Washington.