The All-Star Antes Up
Page 51
“Close the door,” Orin said from behind his desk as she entered his office.
That was ominous. She eased the door shut.
“What is this?” He slapped a folded tabloid newspaper down and jabbed his finger at a photo.
Miranda leaned over to see what looked like an amateur cell-phone picture of herself and Luke standing in front of a Van Gogh painting at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The headline read: QUARTERBACK CULTIVATES CULTURE WITH CONCIERGE CUTIE. Miranda relaxed and straightened. “It was just part of the tour I took Mr. Archer on.”
“You’re holding his hand.”
She bent again to see that the photographer had captured their hands in a way that highlighted how intertwined they were. A cold finger of concern drew a line down her spine. “I was escorting him to the next painting.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Orin jabbed at the photo again. “You’ve got your fingers knotted around his.”
Miranda thought fast. “It was camouflage. People were starting to notice Mr. Archer, and he said they were less likely to approach him if he looked like he was on a date.” She shrugged. “It worked for a while.”
Orin looked unconvinced. “How did the paper find out who you were?”
“Maybe they looked up his residence and checked out photos of the staff. We’re all on the website. They’re reporters—they know how to track down information.”
Orin’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Archer will be very upset.”
Now she was on more solid ground. “It was his idea. Do you want to speak with him about it? I’m certain he will reassure you.”
“Of course not. I don’t want to bother him any further than he already has been.” Orin was still huffing, but her confident tone had undermined some of his righteous indignation. “I want your assurance that there will be no further incidents of this nature.” He tapped his finger on his desk to emphasize each word. “We do not socialize with our clients.”
In fact, there was no rule, written or implied, stating that. “I understand,” Miranda said, as nerves squeezed at her throat.
What if Orin found out about tonight’s dinner with Luke? Her boss would go ballistic. Maybe she couldn’t afford this fling, after all.
“If I receive any complaint from Mr. Archer, we will discuss this further,” Orin said.
Luke wasn’t going to complain, so Miranda allowed herself a tiny smile. “Of course.”
Her boss gave her a look of such venom she nearly took a step backward. Then he turned to his computer. “You may go.”
Miranda’s knees felt like jelly as she left Orin’s office and walked across the lobby to her own. Dropping into her chair, she blew out a breath.
Her boss seemed unusually upset. Was it just envy that she got to spend time with someone famous? Or was it the tip he imagined she was getting?
She choked on a laugh devoid of humor. That would be the ultimate joke, since she had refused to let Luke tip her after their day together. She had to charge him for her hourly working time because it went to the concierge company, but she had stopped the clock when they left the ballet.
She needed to cancel dinner with the quarterback. The moment she thought it, every cell in her body screamed, No!
As Miranda’s sense of responsibility waged a battle with her desires, her phone rang.
“Hey, Miranda, it’s Erik at the Dartmouth.”
“Great to hear from you. What can I help you with?” Erik was the concierge at another luxury condo, and they swapped favors regularly.
“It goes the other way this time, sweetie. I just heard through the concierge grapevine that your evil genius of a boss is spreading nasty rumors about you getting involved with clients. He’s saying you’re behaving unprofessionally. He e-mailed Christine a photo of you and Luke Archer holding hands.” Erik gave a whistle of admiration. “Honey, if it’s true you’re dating him, I am green with envy.”
Miranda managed a shaky laugh. “I was giving him a tour of some museums at his request. The whole hand-holding thing was to keep people from bothering him for autographs.”
“The media is so irresponsible,” Erik said.
“At least they didn’t say I was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”
“Just let them get their hands on another picture of the two of you together and that will be the next headline.”
She rubbed her forehead in an attempt to ease the tension headache forming there. “I don’t understand why Orin’s so bent out of shape over this. Luke Archer just wanted a private tour guide.”
“I’ll get a little countercampaign going for you,” Erik said. “If I categorically deny his accusations, the opinion of the concierge community is going to come down on your side.”
Unshed tears clogged Miranda’s throat. Erik’s offer of support warmed her heart. But it also brought a stab of guilt. She couldn’t allow him to deny her involvement with Luke because she was involved, no matter how briefly. “You are the best, but I can’t ask you to do that for me.”
“You’re not asking, sweetie. I’m offering.”
“That makes it all the more special, but I need to fight this on my own.”
“I hate to let that nasty little worm Spindle get away with smearing your reputation.”
“He won’t.” Miranda tried to inject a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. “I’ll make sure of that.”
That was ominous. She eased the door shut.
“What is this?” He slapped a folded tabloid newspaper down and jabbed his finger at a photo.
Miranda leaned over to see what looked like an amateur cell-phone picture of herself and Luke standing in front of a Van Gogh painting at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The headline read: QUARTERBACK CULTIVATES CULTURE WITH CONCIERGE CUTIE. Miranda relaxed and straightened. “It was just part of the tour I took Mr. Archer on.”
“You’re holding his hand.”
She bent again to see that the photographer had captured their hands in a way that highlighted how intertwined they were. A cold finger of concern drew a line down her spine. “I was escorting him to the next painting.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Orin jabbed at the photo again. “You’ve got your fingers knotted around his.”
Miranda thought fast. “It was camouflage. People were starting to notice Mr. Archer, and he said they were less likely to approach him if he looked like he was on a date.” She shrugged. “It worked for a while.”
Orin looked unconvinced. “How did the paper find out who you were?”
“Maybe they looked up his residence and checked out photos of the staff. We’re all on the website. They’re reporters—they know how to track down information.”
Orin’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Archer will be very upset.”
Now she was on more solid ground. “It was his idea. Do you want to speak with him about it? I’m certain he will reassure you.”
“Of course not. I don’t want to bother him any further than he already has been.” Orin was still huffing, but her confident tone had undermined some of his righteous indignation. “I want your assurance that there will be no further incidents of this nature.” He tapped his finger on his desk to emphasize each word. “We do not socialize with our clients.”
In fact, there was no rule, written or implied, stating that. “I understand,” Miranda said, as nerves squeezed at her throat.
What if Orin found out about tonight’s dinner with Luke? Her boss would go ballistic. Maybe she couldn’t afford this fling, after all.
“If I receive any complaint from Mr. Archer, we will discuss this further,” Orin said.
Luke wasn’t going to complain, so Miranda allowed herself a tiny smile. “Of course.”
Her boss gave her a look of such venom she nearly took a step backward. Then he turned to his computer. “You may go.”
Miranda’s knees felt like jelly as she left Orin’s office and walked across the lobby to her own. Dropping into her chair, she blew out a breath.
Her boss seemed unusually upset. Was it just envy that she got to spend time with someone famous? Or was it the tip he imagined she was getting?
She choked on a laugh devoid of humor. That would be the ultimate joke, since she had refused to let Luke tip her after their day together. She had to charge him for her hourly working time because it went to the concierge company, but she had stopped the clock when they left the ballet.
She needed to cancel dinner with the quarterback. The moment she thought it, every cell in her body screamed, No!
As Miranda’s sense of responsibility waged a battle with her desires, her phone rang.
“Hey, Miranda, it’s Erik at the Dartmouth.”
“Great to hear from you. What can I help you with?” Erik was the concierge at another luxury condo, and they swapped favors regularly.
“It goes the other way this time, sweetie. I just heard through the concierge grapevine that your evil genius of a boss is spreading nasty rumors about you getting involved with clients. He’s saying you’re behaving unprofessionally. He e-mailed Christine a photo of you and Luke Archer holding hands.” Erik gave a whistle of admiration. “Honey, if it’s true you’re dating him, I am green with envy.”
Miranda managed a shaky laugh. “I was giving him a tour of some museums at his request. The whole hand-holding thing was to keep people from bothering him for autographs.”
“The media is so irresponsible,” Erik said.
“At least they didn’t say I was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”
“Just let them get their hands on another picture of the two of you together and that will be the next headline.”
She rubbed her forehead in an attempt to ease the tension headache forming there. “I don’t understand why Orin’s so bent out of shape over this. Luke Archer just wanted a private tour guide.”
“I’ll get a little countercampaign going for you,” Erik said. “If I categorically deny his accusations, the opinion of the concierge community is going to come down on your side.”
Unshed tears clogged Miranda’s throat. Erik’s offer of support warmed her heart. But it also brought a stab of guilt. She couldn’t allow him to deny her involvement with Luke because she was involved, no matter how briefly. “You are the best, but I can’t ask you to do that for me.”
“You’re not asking, sweetie. I’m offering.”
“That makes it all the more special, but I need to fight this on my own.”
“I hate to let that nasty little worm Spindle get away with smearing your reputation.”
“He won’t.” Miranda tried to inject a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. “I’ll make sure of that.”
