He’d been around too long not to know that lightning could strike twice. That the one kiss they’d shared wasn’t just some random fluke.

Kissing Kimi Taka—no matter how many times—was like lassoing lightning. Intoxicating, exhilarating and dangerous as hell.

Even knowing that, it took him too damn long to tear his mouth from hers, and when he did, he found his hands were wrapped around those long, silky skeins of dark hair. “Dammit to hell.”

She pressed her lips together as if savouring the taste of him. Her voice was husky when she finally spoke. “Sorry.”

Greg let out a strangled groan. “You’re not really sorry?”

Kimi sucked in an audible breath. “No.” Her fingers fluttered over the loosened knot of his tie. “Does it help if I take all responsibility? I kissed you. It is not as if you were an interested participant.”

His gaze fastened on her face. “If you think I’m not interested, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Allison Leigh started early by writing a Halloween play that her school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

She has been a finalist for a RITA® Award and the Holt Medallion. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.

Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighbourhood church, and currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

The Boss’s Christmas Proposal
Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Once again, I owe my thanks to others for sharing with

me some of their personal experiences with Japan.

Thank you, CJ, Brian and Karen.

The errors belong to me.

Thanks, also, to the fine authors I had the privilege of

working with on this series.

Not only were there some great laughs, but I always

learn something valuable along the way.

Lastly, to my very own Greg

(for whom Mr Sherman was not named,

despite the rumours otherwise!) who makes it easy,

indeed, to write with some knowledge about the way

a man can hold a woman’s heart.

Prologue

“You have decided to what?”

Kimiko Taka managed not to cringe at her father’s very cool, very controlled question. Mori Taka rarely lost his temper, but she knew if he were going to, she would probably be the cause of it. A quick glance at her stepmother, Helen, told her that even she was looking somewhat distressed.

Kimi moistened her lips and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. “I have decided not to go back to school,” she repeated.

Her father’s eyes could not be a darker brown. She knew that, because when she looked in the mirror each morning, she saw that very same near-obsidian looking back at her. But at that moment, she felt quite certain that his eyes turned from brown to cold shards of jet.

“Is that so?” His tone became even milder. “Am I supposed to be more pleased by this decision of yours than I was when you last left school—because of expulsion? What do you plan to do with your time? Shop? Attend movie premieres with unsuitable escorts? Be photographed on topless beaches?”

Her hands curled. It had been one beach, and she had not been topless, exactly, but arguing the point would not earn her any points.

“Mori.” Helen had been sitting next to Kimi’s father since Kimi had entered the study of their lavish Chicago home. As always, Kimi’s stepmother was the perfectly beautiful blond foil for her dark, powerfully built husband, and now she slid her slender hand over Mori’s shoulder.

There had been a time—a time that Kimi could still remember—when her most intimidating father would not have allowed such familiarity. Not even from a loved one. More to the point, maybe, no one would have dared such familiarity.

Helen had changed all of that, though. She had changed Mori’s life. And Kimi’s. She was the only mother that Kimi had known, since her own had died when she was a baby.

“Perhaps we should let Kimi explain,” Helen finished calmly. But the green gaze she focused on Kimi held a plea that the explanation had better be good.

Kimi managed not to wring her hands. The truth was, she hated worrying Helen just as much as she did her father. “I—I want to work for the corporation,” she said, in more of a rush than she would have liked. She really, really hated feeling defensive.

Perhaps she had inherited that trait from her father.

His expression was inscrutable, though she detected a faint thinning of his lips.

She moistened her lips again. “I believe I will receive a more important education in the real world, Papa. My professors—” She broke off, aware that her father probably did not want to hear another rehashing of her low opinion of her professors.

What was it about even the most educated of individuals that they could be so preoccupied by a person’s pedigree? Even when she had tried to fail a course, she had not been allowed to. Her professors had always found some reason to make allowances for her. Some reason to change a well-deserved failing grade into a passing one. Anything to honor the family name.

Mori was not looking any more convinced. Even the faintly encouraging expression on Helen’s face was looking strained.

If Kimi were not careful, she was either going to start crying or stomp her foot with temper and prove that she was the child everyone believed her to be.

She rose from the couch facing her parents. “Everyone in this family has been able to contribute in some way to TAKA-Hanson. Everyone except me. I am asking for an opportunity. Let me start somewhere. I will learn. I will work hard.”

“Like you worked hard at those mediocre grades you managed to earn?”

She winced. Mediocre indeed, but still passing, when she had intentionally tried to fail. “Working for the family business will be different. You have my promise. If I fail you—” she swallowed, thinking about the numerous times she had already done that “—or disgrace you, I will never ask for another favor.”

Mori’s lips compressed. His gaze flicked to his wife, then back to Kimi. She knew it had to be her imagination that there was a trace of humor in his eyes. Her father had very little reason to feel humorous where she was concerned, and she knew it. She knew that his reaction was deserved.

“I will follow whatever direction you set for me,” she added, feeling decidedly desperate.

“Even if that means agreeing to a suitable marriage?”

She barely kept her jaw from dropping. She looked at Helen. “Um…”

“Mori,” Helen chided softly. “You’re beginning to sound like your father.” Mori looked irritated, but Helen did not seem to let that bother her as she turned again to Kimi. “Perhaps Kimi should be given this opportunity. I’ll find someplace for her in our new hospitality division. The Taka Kyoto still has openings.”

Kimi’s lips parted, but she managed to contain the protest that had immediately sprung to life. She was Japanese by birth. Had been raised in Japan for much of her childhood. But the United States was the country of her heart. She had rather hoped to stay here—maybe even be part of the Taka Chicago, which was scheduled to open the following year. She had never thought she would be shuttled off to Japan.

“What does Kimi know about hotels?” Mori asked, as if she were not even present. “Other than staying in one?”

She was glad he didn’t add some caustic comment about the reasons she had supposedly been caught in some of those hotels.

Helen was ever positive, though. “She was studying business administration, Mori. Plus she’s bright, she’s capable and she’s energetic. As she said, she can learn.”

“She is a child.”

“She is twenty-one,” Kimi inserted, trying not to be too sarcastic, knowing that it would not help her cause.

Mori and Helen both looked back at her. “The development and opening of Taka Hotels has been a major undertaking,” Helen said, her soft voice serious. “I—we’ve—courted the finest people in the world to bring it about. It’s not a playground for you, darling.”

“I am not looking for a playground.”

“What are you looking for, Kimi-chan?”

Kimi eyed her father. She wanted to prove herself on her own merits. Just for once. “I want to be a credit to the Taka name.” That was also true and probably more in line with her father’s desires. “I believe I can do that better in the real world than I can in the academic one.” The only proof she had been finding in school was that she was never treated impartially.

He made a low “hmm,” clearly unconvinced.

But it was Helen who spoke. “I’ll speak with our general manager in Kyoto. See if there’s anything suitable.”

Kimi curtailed the urge to leap across the cocktail table to hug her stepmother. Kyoto or not, at least it was a chance. “Thank you. I will not disappoint you.”

But her inward grin faltered when her father pinned her with his hard gaze. “See that you do not, Kimiko. See that you do not.”

Chapter One

“There’s nothing like the smell of sawdust and paint in the morning, is there?”

Greg Sherman smiled faintly and looked past Shin Endo, his hand-picked director of security for the Taka Kyoto. “As long as the smell is gone before we open for guests.” His practiced gaze traveled over the soaring lobby space. In just a few weeks’ time, it would need to be a spotless showcase, fit for bearing the esteemed name of Taka, as it welcomed the celebrated and the wealthy into its comfort.

Right now, there was still concrete underfoot where wood floors would be inlaid among gleaming marble, the walls were bare of paint and paper, there was enough visible wiring that it looked as if rats had been at work and laborers and hotel staff were fairly crawling all over.

But beyond the chaos, Greg saw the order.

More importantly, he saw the future.

“Speaking of guests,” Shin said. “When’s the pampered heiress supposed to arrive?”

Greg absently flipped his hand down his silk tie and stepped around a pallet of shrink-wrapped banquet chairs. He caught the eye of Marco, one of his maintenance crew, and gestured at the pallet. “Get this moved down to storage.”

“Right away, Mr. Sherman.”

He didn’t wait to see that Marco followed words with action. “Next Monday,” he answered Shin. He continued walking through the mess toward the offices behind reception, Shin keeping stride. At thirty-five, the other man was three years older than Greg, and about a half-foot shorter.

As far as Greg was concerned, there wasn’t a better man in the field and fortunately, Helen Taka-Hanson hadn’t quibbled over the price that it had taken to lure Shin away from his previous employer. One thing Greg could say about his boss was that she was willing to pay for the best. She was also willing to put her own efforts into a project. Since she’d hired Greg to be the general manager of the Taka Kyoto, she’d proven to be hands-on while still managing to let Greg and his crew do the work they’d been hired to do without undue interference.

Until now.

“You think she’ll actually show up for work?”

“Kimiko Taka?” Greg shrugged. “I wouldn’t take bets on it. She’s a kid.” A wild child, from all reports, whose social activities were often regaled by the press. Greg still wasn’t pleased that Helen had stuck him with her stepdaughter. “Officially, she’ll only be Grace’s very junior sales associate.” Grace Ishida ran the sales and catering department, which had responsibility for everything from banquets to full-scale conventions and everything in between. “I doubt being a peon will appeal to the girl too much.” At which time, Kimi Taka would surely take herself right back out of his hair.

“And Boss-lady agreed to that position for her stepdaughter?”

“She suggested it,” Greg admitted. He understood Shin’s surprise, considering he’d shared it. Helen could have ordered her stepdaughter to be put into a management position—no matter how unqualified the girl would have been—and he’d have been powerless to stop her. But Helen hadn’t. She’d asked for entry level, and that was all.

So Greg would just have to tolerate Helen’s small measure of interference. Given everything on his plate, it would be only a minor nuisance until the reputably spoiled Kimiko became bored and moved on to her next escapade. It couldn’t come soon enough for him. The fewer hitches they had, the better he liked it.

Nothing was more important than proving he had what it took to helm this place.

And after this place…his own.

“Here.” He handed over a thick, stapled report. “The latest guest list for the New Year’s Eve gala.”

Shin took the report, grimacing. “When are the computers supposed to be online?”

“Last week. Lyle Donahue’s got his entire department working on it. You’ll see that we’ll need extra security for the event.” The list contained not only the expected Hanson and Taka faces, but government officials, several celebrities from a half dozen countries and a handful of crowned royals.

Shin was perusing the pages. “You got it. Where’s Bridget, anyway?” Bridget McElroy was Greg’s secretary.

“Called in sick.”

Shin’s dark eyebrows rose a little. “That’s a first.” He turned to leave the office. “I’ll get back to you on the numbers for the extra security.”

Already turning his mind to the dozen other matters needing his attention, Greg barely heard him. With Bridget out and their computer network still dysfunctional, it was proving to be a trying day.

He grabbed the folder of items he still needed copied for the staff meeting he’d be holding in another hour and left the office. He’d take the materials down to Grace’s office. She’d loan him a body who could put together the packets for him.

But he stopped short at the sight that met him.

The pallet of chairs was still sitting in the middle of the lobby floor. Almost eclipsing it, however, was a stack of luggage.

A growing stack of luggage, thanks to the diminutive female directing Marco and a half-dozen other eager helpers. “Please do be careful with that one.” The luggage owner darted forward and took a small case from a guy who, ten minutes earlier, had been on a scaffold twenty feet off the ground painting trim work. “Rather fragile, you see.” Her smile was impish.

The painter didn’t look offended when she took the case. Probably too busy looking at the legs displayed between her over-the-knee white boots and one of the briefest skirts Greg had seen outside of a fashion runway.

All around them, it was as if everyone—the laborers, the staff—had decided it was time to stop whatever it was they were supposed to be doing so they could witness the moment.

The pampered heiress had arrived.

Early.

“Here.” Shin appeared, pushing a luggage cart that Greg knew he’d had to retrieve from the mezzanine level, where they were all being stored until the hotel opened for guests. “This might be useful.” He shot Greg an amused glance as he stopped beside Kimiko Taka.

The girl swept a slender, ivory hand over her shoulder, pushing aside her thick tumble of deep brown hair. She turned, not even needing to beckon before Marco hurried into action, deftly stacking her luggage onto the cart, and treated Greg to her rear view.

The hair—he’d seen it photographed in newspapers and gossip rags looking any number of ways from straight and nauseatingly pink, to black and rainwater slick—was now swirling down the back of her white fur jacket in a mass of ringlets that almost reached her waist. But it was the minuscule skirt beneath the hiplength jacket that damnably caught even Greg’s attention.

Tasty.

The word was printed right across her derriere, outlined in sparkling pink stitching.

He felt a pain settle between his eyebrows. Taka hotels were all about taste. Good taste. “Ms. Taka.”

The girl whirled on her impossibly high heels to face him. “Yes?”

“Dōzo yoroshiku.” Despite his misgivings about her, he greeted her with the faint bow that had become automatic for him in the month since he’d been at the Taka. “I am Greg Sherman, the—”

“—the general manager here at the Taka,” she finished in slightly accented English. “Yes. My parents speak most highly of you.” Despite the fact that she was the Japanese-born one here, she eschewed the usual practice of returning his circumspect bow and stuck out her hand instead in a thoroughly Western greeting. “How do you do?”

“You’ve taken us by surprise, actually.” He clasped her hand briefly. Long enough to feel how slender her fingers were, how cool her hands were and how electricity shot up his arm at the contact. He released her and reached for the strap of the rescued case that she’d looped over her shoulder. “We didn’t expect you until next week.”

Her hand brushed against his again as she released the strap. Her deep brown eyes were sparkling. “Better early than late, surely?” In a smooth move, she slid her jacket off her shoulders to reveal a shimmering white, silk blouse through which a pink, lacy bra was plainly visible. Before she could toss the jacket on the mountain of geometrically stacked luggage, half a dozen hands reached out to catch it, earning a seemingly delighted little laugh from her. “In any case, this is quite a welcoming committee.”

“Who have other matters to attend to,” Greg said pointedly. Looking over her head was easy because, even with the stilettoheeled boots, the top of those bouncing brown curls didn’t reach his shoulder. He gave Marco a look, but the young man was evidently not ready to give up his impromptu bellman duty.

“I can take these to Ms. Taka’s room,” he offered.

Kimiko looked over at Marco. “Oh, would you mind?” She gave him a smile that could have melted a glacier. On Marco, it was devastating. Greg could practically see the maintenance worker dissolve into a puddle.

His annoyance deepened. “Focus that attention on the pallet, Marco. I expected it to be moved the first time I told you.”

The young man flushed at the rebuke. “Sorry, Mr. Sherman.” He moved from hoarding the gleaming-bronze luggage cart to the pallet jack. He ducked his chin as he maneuvered the pallet away from them. “Ms. Taka.”

Kimi smiled gently at the remorseful man. For pity’s sake, it was just a stack of chairs amid a thoroughly chaotic and unfinished hotel lobby. “It was very nice meeting you, Marco.”

His smile was sudden and beaming. “You, too, Miss Taka.” He pushed the contraption bearing several high stacks of chairs across the concrete.

The construction noise around her suddenly seemed loud, and Kimi sucked in a quick breath before turning back to Greg Sherman.

He did not look anywhere near as kind as the departing Marco. Even though she had done her research about the man in her few weeks before leaving Chicago, she was unaccountably nervous now that they were face-to-face.

Sadly, the black-and-white head shot that had accompanied his vitae in Helen’s files had done little to prepare her for the real thing. The photo had only shown a severely conservative man with darkish hair and light eyes who looked as if he rarely smiled.

Helen had told Kimi that she had hand-picked Greg Sherman to be the general manager of the Kyoto location, and Kimi had been surprised, because her stepmother usually liked people with a little more…life…to them.

But Greg Sherman, in the flesh, was definitely fuller of life than that bland photo had been. Oh, his hair was conservatively short, but the medium brown waves looked like they would escape over his brow given the least provocation. The deep brown suit he wore was well-tailored if not exactly cutting the edge of male fashion, but she supposed it was the ideal choice for a man helming a new first-class hotel.

Then there was the fact that just the brief graze of his hand had left her skin tingling.

She reminded herself that this was her boss. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I am sorry to have caused a distraction,” she said sincerely. “It is good to be here.”

The light eyes of the photograph were actually a very distinctive, very pale shade of green. No bluish tinge. No hint of brown. Just a pale green surrounded by a defining black ring that made them all the more startling, and they were looking her over without a single hint of expression.

He did not even acknowledge her sentiment. Instead, he eyed the cart. “Is this all of your luggage?”

She was not certain if he had stressed the all or not. But she was absurdly grateful that she had decided to leave a few things back in Chicago, or there would have been more. Still, she might as well admit to the obvious. “I never did learn the art of packing light. And yes, this is all.”

He did not return her smile. “Mrs. Taka-Hanson told me that you’ve asked to stay on-site. You’ll want to settle in.”

She would not lose her good humor just because the man had the personality of a plank of oak. A very tall, very broad in the shoulder plank of oak. “Yes, if only to get this stuff out of the lobby.”

He seemed to let out a faint sigh. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll get your room key.”

Kimi looked past him to the wide, curving sweep of the reception desk. She imagined that beneath the thick plastic and protective paper covering nearly every surface, it would be as spectacular as the one at the Taka San Francisco. She had heard that things were a little behind here, but she had expected the hotel interior to look a little more…finished. “Is the rest of the hotel in such—” she hesitated for a moment, trying to find a suitable word that would not sound as if she were being judgmental.

“—chaos? Today seems somewhat more so than usual.” For an infinitesimal second—so brief that she would later wonder if she had imagined it—his gaze dropped from her face to her toes, hitting all points in between. “Our computer network isn’t operational yet,” he added. “It adds a fresh dimension to the challenges our team’s already facing.”

The explanation was smooth. Almost smooth enough that she could brush away the idea that she was a contributing factor to his chaos. Almost.

So, Mr. Sherman figured he had her number, did he?

She swept away the sinking disappointment and lifted her chin a little, giving him the same kind of direct look that she had learned at her father’s knee. “Well, I appreciate the opportunity to be here.” She rested her hand on the cool bronze of the luggage cart and smiled with as much good humor and grace as she had learned from her stepmother. “As you can see, I come hoping to be prepared for anything.”

He remained unimpressed. “Shin.”

The slender man who had brought the luggage cart snapped to attention.

“Arrange for Ms. Taka’s things to be taken up to the Mahogany Suite.”

“Right away.”

Kimi retrieved her jacket and draped it over her arm, smiling at the man as he guided the cart across the concrete, before it was handed off to two other younger men. She was not surprised. She recognized Shin Endo from his photo, too, and it seemed unlikely that the security director for Taka Kyoto would concern himself with bellman duties.

Speaking of which. She hurriedly fell into step behind Greg, who was striding toward the reception area. “Have all the staff positions been filled now?” Three weeks ago, when she had pretty much begged her father not to have her drawn and quartered for dropping out of school, the staff roster here had been only partially filled.

“No.” His answer did not invite further inquiry and she did not know whether to be delighted or aggravated. Yes, she knew she was coming in at a very junior level. Helen had made that more than clear when she had told Kimi what she could expect once arriving in Kyoto. But did that mean he could not discuss even some basic matters with an interested staff member, junior or not?

He slapped a thick folder down on the long, curving desk and walked around where it very nearly met the opposite and inner curve of an open staircase. Even behind the chest-high reception desk, Greg looked ridiculously tall. More like an American quarterback than an urbane hotel manager. That detail also had not shown through Helen’s black-and-white photo.

Kimi dropped her jacket onto the desk and the thick plastic covering the wood crinkled. “How many employees live here on-site?”

He did not look up from whatever it was he was focusing on behind the desk. “Not many. Will you need more than one key?”

For what? All the wild parties he assumed she would be having? She kept the thought to herself and smiled demurely when he looked up at her. “Not unless I lose it.”

With a faint snap, he pushed a traditional brass key into a small padded portfolio. But when she expected him to hand it to her, he held on to the small square and rounded the desk again. Her tote containing the only items that Kimi considered truly essential—her laptop and her few framed family photographs—was still hanging from his shoulder. “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to your room.” He extended his hand in a smooth, indicating gesture. “Our main elevators are through the lobby and beyond the fountain.”

Aggravation was edging out delight. “I am sure you have more important things to do.” He was treating her as if she were a guest. A not particularly welcomed one, at that. “I can find my way on my own.”

“Not at all.” Olympic ice-skating could have been performed on that deeply smooth voice.

Learning how to mimic Mori Taka’s direct and intimidating stare was one thing. Maintaining it against those stained-glass eyes of Greg Sherman’s was another.

She looked away, busying herself with the jacket and sailed across the lobby passing what she assumed would be the fountain once it received the advent of water. Greg still beat her to the elevator bank, his long stride easily eclipsing hers. He pressed the call button and the wood-paneled doors of the nearest car opened.

She stepped inside. The floor of the elevator was carpeted in a taupe, tonal stripe that still smelled new. He pressed the button for the twenty-first floor and the doors sighed closed. Kimi knew that she was successful in keeping a pleasant expression on her face, because she could see their faint reflections in the mottled, mirrored interior.

Above the elevator doors, a beautiful, old-fashioned clock face showed the progress of their ascent. Unfortunately, that progress seemed dauntingly slow. If he were any other hotel manager, he would have been falling over himself to please her.

That was something she was not interested in, she reminded herself. She was here to work, not to be fawned over. She had had enough of that at college.

“Is there someone in particular I should see about my duties?”

“Human Resources is located on the lower level. I’ll tell them to expect you in the morning.”

That had not exactly answered her question. She rather doubted it was because he was unaware of the particular details of her assignment there. But she did not question him further. Her gaze rose to the floor indicator again. One floor to go.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. She probably should not have spent the morning before shopping in New York with a friend. Lana Sheffield was a friend from years ago who now worked for a fashion magazine. But she had her eye on being a designer, and Kimi had gone along with being Lana’s “practice” project. As a result, Kimi had stepped onto the plane in New York—having nearly missed the flight in the first place—looking exactly the way she had looked after Lana had finished having her fun.

Kimi had spent more than half a day in the air, trying to sleep and mostly failing. Now here in Kyoto, the workday was nearly done. She had never enjoyed the time difference between Japan and the States. It always left her feeling dim.

The elevator slid to a seamless halt, emitting a soft, mellow chime the moment before the doors opened. She stepped past her new boss onto more new carpet—champagne-colored this time and stretching across the wide corridor so perfectly it looked as if no human foot had ever trod on it. This level was as beautifully finished as the lobby was decidedly unfinished. She wondered if the twenty-second floor—the top floor—was finished, as well.

“At the end on your right.” Greg’s voice seemed even deeper there in the hushed silence.

Kimi headed down the hall, looking curiously at the spaciously separated guest-room doors they passed. All were closed. The room numbers were displayed on small metal origami sculptures affixed to the wall beside each door. She had no way of knowing for certain if any of the rooms were occupied. Given the state of the lobby, she did not imagine that they were, but who knew? Maybe Greg’s room was on this floor, too.

A faint shiver drifted down her spine at the thought.

Dread or excitement? A draft, she thought, quelling the debate inside her head.

He had reached the door ahead of her and unlocked it. “We’ve been using this suite for some advance photos, which is why it has a lock at all. The access control won’t be activated until later next week. After we’d expected you.” He gave her a glance.

She refused to apologize again for being early. So she just kept her smile in place.

A smile he did not return. “You’ll be issued a key card at that point. Until then, you’ll have to use the old-fashioned method.” He tucked the metal door key into the portfolio and handed it to her as he pushed open the door and waited for her to enter. “Security monitors for the suite will be up next week, also. The phones are operational now, of course,” he said, following her through the short foyer to where the suite opened up into a gloriously spacious living area.

She could appreciate why the space had been used for photos. It was magnificently appointed.

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.

If he wasn’t mistaken, the high heel of her boot actually moved back a few inches. But that hesitation was brief before she strode straight for him. She didn’t look quite like a runway model—for one thing, she was far too short. But she definitely had all of the attitude.

She stopped a good yard away from him. “Would you mind pointing me toward Human Resources?”

He touched the discreet bronze plaque hanging on the wall beside them on which the locations for the various departments were inscribed. “Go right at the end of this corridor.”

An unexpected hint of pink rose in her cheeks, but her wideset gaze didn’t falter from his. In that, he had to give her credit. The girl knew how to look a person dead-on.

“Thank you.” She stepped sideways, veering around him.

“Ms. Taka.”

She stopped, slowly turning around to face him. “Yes?”

Her dark gaze followed his hand as he pulled the hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and the pink in her cheeks became even brighter. She brushed those pinup-girl ringlets off her shoulder again. “I suppose I should apologize.”

Supposing and actually doing were two different things, but he had no interest in debating the point. He held out the folded bill and after a brief hesitation, she reached out to take it.

But he didn’t release it. “The next time I see you on the premises in a staff-related capacity, I expect you to dress appropriately.”

“Yes—” she tugged harder on the bill “—sir.”

“And by appropriate, I mean by my standards. Presumably one of those two dozen pieces of luggage that you brought contains a skirt longer than four inches and a blouse that buttons above your cleavage?” A surprisingly full cleavage, hugged by pink lace.

He jerked his gaze upward, realizing he was nearly staring.

Her glossy lips had compressed, and her long lashes had swept down. But when she spoke again, there was no hint of temper in her lilting voice. “Mr. Sherman, I can look like a nun if you’d like.”

Even a full-scale nun’s habit wouldn’t dim the girl’s undeniable beauty. The fact that he recognized that beauty wasn’t bothersome.

What was aggravating was his damnable response to it. He was too old to be going dry-mouthed around a woman. Particularly the boss’s daughter.

He released the bill. “Exercise some judgment, Ms. Taka. That’s all I ask.”

“Of course.” Her lips stretched into a smile he was positive she didn’t mean as she slipped the folded bill down into that cleavage. “Is there anything else, sir?”

He could have told her that the HR office was empty. He should have. But that smile, that sir, got under his skin. “No.”

She lifted her chin and turned around again, striding to the end of the hall.

His teeth clenched when he realized he was watching the faint sway of Tasty until she turned out of sight.

He went into his office and shut the door. The last thing he needed was to see Kimiko Taka strutting her way back to the elevator once she discovered that every person in Human Resources had already left for the staff meeting.

Insufferable man.

Walking away from Mr. Plank-o’-Wood, it was all Kimi could do not to tug self-consciously at her skirt. That was more than four inches long, thank you very much. It reached a very respectable length, in fact, hitting her midthigh.

She could practically feel his gaze burning a hole in her spine before she reached the end of the hallway and turned out of his sight. Only then did she let herself exhale shakily. So much for the pep talk she had given herself twenty-some floors up in her suite.

She wanted to kick herself for not changing her clothes. But the truth was, she was so dog-tired that she had been afraid if she slowed down enough to change, she would just collapse in a heap.

Before finding her way to this lower level, all she had taken time to do was send a few text messages back home to let everyone know of her safe arrival and hook up her computer to transmit the Economics paper she had finished writing during the flight.

She may have dropped out of school to her parents’ dismay, but that didn’t mean after she had done so that she had not recognized the prudence of obtaining her degree anyway.

She had wanted just to do it on her own terms. In her own way. Finishing the classes online was a lot more tolerable to her than endless study groups and crowded lecture halls. It had even been worth having to prevail upon the dean’s good graces where the Taka family name was concerned to be quietly reinstated.

None of which would matter a bit to Greg Sherman.

He was overreacting where her clothing was concerned anyway. The hotel was not yet open for guests, and the only people she had encountered were other employees.

Like her.

For now, though, the reminder that she was an employee—for the very first time in her life—was enough to have excitement dissolving her irritation, and she quickened her pace along the empty, carpeted corridor until she found the Human Resources department. It, too, was marked by a tastefully engraved metal sign, and she pushed through the double doors, entering a small lobby furnished with a half dozen chairs and a glass-topped reception desk.

All unoccupied.

“Hello?” She peered down the hallway behind the desk, but heard no response.

More unfilled staff positions?

She wondered if Helen knew just how bare some of the holes were here, but Kimi supposed she must. According to everything Kimi had learned, Helen and her father were satisfied that after a rocky beginning plagued by financial misdealings and construction delays, the hotel was firmly back on course under the guiding hands of Greg Sherman and continuing on its path to the height of its class.

She walked around the desk and down the hall, glancing in the half dozen offices that opened off of it. “Hello?” She reached the last office door. Closed and locked.

She exhaled and turned on her heel, striding out of the empty suite.

Greg could have told her that she was wasting her time. Probably the man needed to have some sort of amusements, though she found it hard to believe he had ever cracked a real smile.

She returned to the elevator but grew impatient when the call button she pressed remained lit and the doors remained closed. She could hear the faint swoosh of the car moving in the shaft, but it never seemed to make it far enough to stop there at the basement level. She tapped her toe and watched the minute hand on her wristwatch slowly move and then nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a soft footfall behind her.

“Might as well take the service stairs, my dear. That elevator’s already busy running back and forth to the fifth.” A tall Nordic blonde wearing a deep blue running suit approached. “That’s where the training room is, and that’s where all the staff is supposed to be as of five minutes ago for a staff meeting. Grace Ishida.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Director of Sales and Catering. And you must be Kimiko Taka.”

“Yes, but make it Kimi, please.” She shook the older woman’s hand.

Grace was nodding. She pulled a folded piece of fabric out of her pocket. “Tell me. What color is this?”

She hesitated for a moment, feeling abruptly in the middle of a pop quiz. “Scarlet.”

The other woman’s eyes narrowed. “Not just a simple red?”

“I think it has too much orange in it to be a true red.”

“Yes. It does.” The fabric disappeared back in Grace’s pocket, and looking satisfied, the other woman gestured Kimi past the unresponsive elevator. “You were born in Japan, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I lived mostly in Tokyo until I was a teenager.” Around another corner, and through a doorway, they entered the stairwell. Kimi had to nearly jog to keep up with the woman’s long legs. The stairwell echoed with the sound of Grace’s athletic shoes and Kimi’s thin heels as they hurried up the steps. “But even before we moved there, I was enthralled with the United States.”

“And now you’re back in Japan.”

Kimi managed a noncommittal agreement. She was there, yes, but not entirely by choice. It was just where her parents were allowing her to sink or swim.

Once they realized that she was not going under, she fully intended on returning to the country she loved.

They reached the main level, and Grace pulled open the door there, letting them out into another hallway, through which she led a circuitous way to the lobby. In comparison to the busyness there when Kimi had arrived, now the soaring, unfinished space was eerily silent. Fortunately, the bank of elevators beyond the dry fountain were responsive, a door opening the moment Grace called for it.

Inside, Grace leaned against the wall and studied Kimi. “Were you downstairs to look for Mr. Sherman?”

Kimi had seen Mr. Sherman, who had knowingly sent her on a wild goose chase. Seemingly, she imagined, to keep her away from his sanctified staff meeting. “I was trying to check in with Human Resources. I arrived earlier than they were expecting, but I thought it would be good to get started right away.”

“We need all the hands we can get,” Grace agreed. “But you found everyone already had gone. Hate it when that happens, don’t you?” The melodious chime sounded and they left the elevator. “I assume you haven’t had a proper tour of our facilities, yet? No. Well, through there is where the fitness center and the spa are located.” She pointed toward the smoked-glass doors that blocked off the elevator banks. “There’s also one of the indoor pools. It will be open for all guests of the hotel, whereas the pool that’s up on seventeen has an age restriction of sixteen years and up. This way, though, are our training rooms.” She headed in the opposite direction through a hidden doorway that was indistinguishable from the wooden-paneled wall around it. “Ordinarily, staff would only use the service elevators for access, of course. But there’s no harm in using the main elevators for today. There are several floors in the hotel that are not available to the guest elevators at all, of course. The engine floors, laundry, et cetera. Before long, you’ll have it all down pat.”

Kimi was not so sure. Yes, she knew there were hundreds of things that went on behind the scenes of a hotel. She had just never before been part of it.

Their footsteps were silent on the carpet as they approached the opened entrance to the training room through which Kimi could see the backs of dozens of people already sitting at the narrow rows of tables facing the front of the room.

Facing Greg Sherman, who was witnessing their noticeably tardy arrival.

His gaze barely paused on Kimi and Grace as he continued speaking to the crowd, his deep voice easily carrying throughout the large room.

There were a few empty chairs there at the back of the room, and Kimi slipped into one as silently as possible while Grace headed toward the front of the room to take up a standing position near Shin Endo and another man whose face Kimi did not recognize from her research in Helen’s files. A ponytailed Asian girl sitting to Kimi’s right was busy taking notes in a three-ring binder. To Kimi’s left, a dark-skinned young man was holding a microcassette recorder.

For a moment, she felt as if she were back in a lecture hall where every student was focused on the professor who could make or break their academic career with a swipe of his red pen.

“You’ve all been issued your security codes,” Greg was saying. “Beginning Monday morning, you’ll be required to use them when entering or leaving through the staff entrance. Some of you who’ve been here longer than a week have had plenty of time getting used to moving around without them. As of now, that ends.” His gaze settled on Kimi’s face as the order was met with a few groans. “The crews working on the lobby interior are being stepped up. Our first guests arrive December 15. That’s fourteen days, people.”

His gaze moved on, touching on nearly everyone and disproving her suspicion that he had been singling her out. “That’s not a lot of time, and it will take all of us working together to ensure that when those guests do arrive, they’re welcomed with every bit of luxury and excellence we want them to expect from the Taka brand. If you have a concern or a problem, you take it to your manager or to me. Remember that a hotel staff is a family. What happens in one department matters to all departments.”

Kimi glanced around. Unless they were busy scribbling notes on the stapled packets that were at each seat, or on something else, the employees sitting at the narrow tables were giving Greg their rapt attention. Even she had to admit there was something mesmerizing about the way he spoke to them; as if they were all part of the conversation, rather than merely observant listeners.

He went on, talking about upcoming training schedules and staff rotations and project meetings.

Kimi leaned closer to the ponytail. “Do you have a spare pen?”

Without taking her pinpointed attention away from Greg, the girl pulled a dark gold ballpoint pen printed with a navy-blue TAKA logo on it and slid it to Kimi.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She quickly jotted down the points that Greg was making on the back side of the packet in front of her and had started on another page before he turned the meeting over to Shin, who gave them an update on the closed-circuit security system.

“Our main concern is, of course, guest security,” the man said. “We’re not trying to police people’s normal behavior. But we will act when there’s a situation that seems to be developing. All points of entry and exit, the guest corridors and elevators, reception, will be on the circuit, which a team of security specialists will be monitoring 24/7. So any of you planning to catch a forbidden smoke outside on a fire escape be warned.” He looked around the room, his expression seeming far too good-natured for the tough-as-nails expert he was reputed to be. “You’ll be caught, and we’ll have your walking papers ready before you blow out your light.” There was a twittering of laughter around the room.

Kimi watched Greg to see if he showed some amusement. Of course, he did not. Then, as if he had sensed her attention, he looked her way again. She felt her cheeks warm and hurriedly focused on her notes. Through sheer effort she refrained from looking at him again for the rest of the hour-long meeting.

When the meeting concluded, a dozen of the women who had watched him adoringly throughout the meeting leapt from their seats to surround him with questions.

She hid a smile at the idea that he had his very own set of hotel groupies and returned the pen to the ponytail—Sue, according to the distinctive, engraved name badge the girl wore. “I’m Kimi. Are you from Kyoto?”

Sue shook her head. “San Francisco. From what I understand, there are only a few working here who are from Kyoto. The head of Housekeeping and a few men in Maintenance, I think. Other than that, we’re sort of a United Nations when it comes to ethnicities of the staff.”

“It’s quite a leap from San Francisco to Kyoto.”

“Not really. I started out at Taka San Francisco when it opened earlier this year but transferred here when I found out that he was the GM here.”

Kimi glanced toward the “he” in question. Still surrounded by groupies. “You came to Japan because of Gr—Mr. Sherman?”

Sue didn’t seem to see a single thing odd in that. “Of course.” She closed her binder and stood. Around them, those that were not clamoring for Greg Sherman’s attention were filing out of the room. “I’ll be in reception once we open, but for now am working in reservations. You?”

“I don’t yet know, actually.” Helen had not offered that much detail. She would have, if she had known exactly what position Kimi would be filling.

“What hotel do you come from?”

“Well, none,” Kimi admitted with a smile. “This is my first assignment in a hotel.”

Sue’s finely drawn eyebrows rose. “It’s Mr. Sherman’s policy that all staff members have at least three years’ previous experience in a first-class hotel. You must have been born under a lucky star.”

“I don’t know about luck,” she demurred, inching toward the door. Her stomach was growling and her head was pounding from lack of sleep. “It was nice meeting you, Sue. I am sure I will see you around.”

“Maybe you’ll be in reception.” The other girl smiled. “They expect pretty women at the front desk.”

Somehow, Kimi doubted that Greg Sherman intended for her to be registering guests. More likely, he would stick her in a housekeeping uniform and arm her with rubber gloves and a toilet brush for having the audacity of wanting to work there at all.

“Ms. Taka.”

She wanted to groan when he spoke her name. Already she was coming to expect that not-quite-identifiable tone in Greg’s voice when he addressed her.

Longing thoughts of the wide bed in her suite were swept aside, replaced by the reminder that he had deliberately withheld from her the fact that he had even scheduled this meeting.

She looked over at him. “Yes?”

Sue was giving her a reassessing look. “Oh. It was that star.” The open, friendly expression on her face was gone. In its place was that odd combination of deference and suspicious fascination that Kimi had come to recognize when people discovered she was a Taka. Before she could respond, Sue quickly excused herself and disappeared out the door along with the dispatched groupies.

The only other people remaining in the training room were Grace Ishida, Shin Endo and a few others, who had their heads bent in quiet discussion at the head of the room.

Greg stopped in front of her. “Do you intend to disregard my authority at every turn?”

Her lips parted, insult digging through her. “Do you intend to exclude me from all staff functions?”

“You’re not officially on the staff until you’ve completed your paperwork with Human Resources.”

“Which I thought I would be doing until I discovered you had directed me to a completely unoccupied—” she realized her voice had risen, and hurriedly lowered it again “—an unoccupied department. If you had intended for me to learn about the staff meeting, you would have told me so yourself. You had plenty of opportunity, after all, but you would rather instruct me on the finer points of a television remote control. I am here to work, Mr. Sherman, and I would like the opportunity to be allowed to do so. Despite your obvious belief otherwise, I am not incompetent.”

Annoyance tightened the already hard line of his jaw. “My apologies if it seemed that I implied any such thing. My point is merely that your presence here will be distracting enough without you looking—” his gaze raked down her body, scorching her skin “—like this. If you felt such compulsion to attend this meeting, you could have taken the time to change out of this unsuitable getup.”

She was overtired. That was the only reason there was a deep sting behind her eyes. Yes, her outfit was somewhat less than conservative, but she was hardly dressed like a prostitute. Nevertheless, she could eat crow if she had to. She had already gotten plenty of practice while getting herself reinstated with the university, after all.

She made herself dip her head in a slight bow. “An error in my judgment for which I apologize. I thought it better not to be any tardier than I already was.” She pressed her lips together for a moment and swallowed the constriction in her throat. “I am not here to be a distraction to anyone. I am here to be part of Taka Kyoto.” How had he put it? “To be part of the family.”

His slashing eyebrows quirked together over his blade-sharp nose. “And therein rests the problem, Ms. Taka. You’re part of the family. Do you really think that anyone within these walls is ever going to be able to forget that?”

Kimi brushed the palms of her cold hands down the sleeves of her blouse. Disappointment coursed through her, sharp and deep. “I had hoped so, Mr. Sherman,” she finally admitted huskily. “But that does not mean that I will tuck my tail and run back home to Mommy and Daddy. As I said, I am here to work. Once I begin, if you find me so unsatisfactory, you will undoubtedly treat me to a set of those walking papers Mr. Endo was talking about. But I am not walking away before I have even begun.”

With her words still settling around them, she turned and did walk away because there was another thing she had learned from Helen. And that was the graceful art of making an exit.

Helen had just never warned Kimi that after said exit, a woman had to lean against a wall where she would not be seen, so her knees could stop shaking.

Chapter Three

“No, Bridget, don’t worry about it. Last thing we need is a flu bug being spread around the hotel. Stay home, and take care of yourself.” Greg disconnected the call and stared at the mess that had accumulated in only one day without his assistant.

God knew what shape the desk would be in by the time Bridget recovered.

He exhaled roughly and picked up the hotel phone to dial Human Resources. They’d have to assign someone temporarily since it now appeared that Bridget would, at the very least, be away for several days. “I need a body who can manage to answer basic correspondence and can keep me on schedule without requiring my constant babysitting,” he told the girl who answered. “And I need them immediately.”

“We’ll send someone over to your office right away, sir.”

“Thank you—” What was the girl’s name? She’d come on board yesterday. Before Kimiko had set her sexy booted toe on the property. He grimaced. Focused harder. A redhead from Australia. “—Sheila.” He nearly pounced on the name, feeling oddly victorious.

“My pleasure, sir.”

He hung up again and went into the bathroom adjoining his office to finish shaving, which he’d been doing before Bridget’s call interrupted him. Then he grabbed a fresh tie from the spares he kept in the closet and flipped it around the collar of his unfastened shirt. If he hadn’t spent the entire night working in his office, he’d be taking care of these matters in his room.

From the small television in his office he listened to the international news. His phone buzzed again, and because he had no Bridget and no fill-in for her yet, he went out to answer it. “Sherman.”

“Don’t you sound so intimidating, honey.” The female voice was bright and cheerful and sounded as if she were right next door rather than back in Berkeley, California, where his mother lived in the house he’d bought her two years earlier. “How’s my little boy?”

He hit the speaker button and turned down the volume on the television. “All grown up, Mona.” Which was more than he could say for his mother. “What’s wrong?”

She laughed a little too heartily for a little too long. “Nothing has to be wrong for me to call my son.”

Theoretically that was true, Greg knew, but experience told a different tale. “Okay, so how are you? You’re taking your blood pressure medicine like you’re supposed to?” He started buttoning up his shirt.

Through the speaker her exaggerated sigh sounded even more false. “I’m fine. Actually, I have good news.”

He paused. Looked at the phone warily. “Oh?”

“Now, don’t go sounding like that,” she warned in a rush. “I’m just going on a little vacation, and I wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t call and worry when I wasn’t home. Europe! Isn’t that the most exciting thing? You know how much trouble it was last year to get my passport—my goodness, it never would have come through if not for you—and now I’m getting to use it.”

The passport had been needed because she’d insisted on visiting him in Düsseldorf, where he’d been managing an aging grande dame of a hotel. But once there, she’d hated Germany and had flown home early. He hadn’t been sorry to see her go. She was his mother, and he wanted her well. But close they were not.

He flipped up his collar and worked on the last two buttons. “Where in Europe?”

“Oh, we’ll go where the spirit moves us.”

He sat down on the corner of his desk. “We?” he prompted cautiously.

“I’m not very likely to go alone, am I?”

He rolled his head around on his suddenly tight neck. “Who is he?”

“Who says it’s a he?”

Because it always was. He kept the thought to himself and waited. Fortunately, it didn’t take long. His mother was a flighty creature who couldn’t keep two cents in her pocket at any one time, but she was at least pretty honest about it.

“His name is Ralph,” she finally said in a rush. “Can you believe that I’ve fallen in love with a man named Ralph? Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s a perfectly fine name, just a hair old fashioned. Which is a good description of him, you know. Old fashioned, I mean. We met at the grocery store. He caught my grapefruit. They’d dropped through the bottom of my bag. He rescued my fruit and then, oh, honey, he just rescued my heart. What can I say?”

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. “When is this vacation supposed to occur? What about your job?” Her latest was as a clerk in a bookstore. Not that she needed the money, considering that Greg had been supporting her for years. But her history had proven that when she was working, Mona had a much easier time staying clean and sober. “You haven’t been there long enough to merit vacation time.”

“Oh, them,” she dismissed airily. “Stuffed shirts. I should have known it when they told me what to wear to work.”

His brain flashed back to Kimiko Taka. Something it had been doing too often in the past twenty-four hours.

Just because he’d told Kimiko what to wear didn’t mean he was a stuffed shirt. He was the general manager, for God’s sake. He was responsible for the image they presented. As a Taka, she ought to appreciate that fact. It was his problem he couldn’t get the girl out of his head.

He focused on his mother. “In other words, you’ve already quit your job.”

“No matter,” she said swiftly. “I’ll find another.You know that.”

That was true enough. Mona Sherman had never had difficulty finding jobs. She could charm employment out of anyone. It was keeping them that had always been her challenge. He knew he could spend an hour arguing with his mother about the wisdom of her actions, or he could save himself the breath, since his arguments had never had any impact in the past. It was just always his job to clean up the mess afterward.

“What’s Ralph’s full name?” He wrote it on the pad next to his phone. “Does he have an address?” He was somewhat surprised when she provided one. He’d half expected her to blithely impart that Ralph had already moved in with her since the grapefruit rescue. “Take your cell phone in case something happens. I’ll call the company and make certain you’re covered for international calls.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart, Greggie. Now, I love you. Be sure you’re taking those herbs I sent you. They’ll keep your sex drive healthy.”

He rolled his eyes. He lectured his living-in-the-sixties mother on taking her blood pressure medication.

She worried about him being able to get it up.

“Call and check in,” he reminded, ignoring the herbal advice, much as he’d ignored the package. It might have made it through customs, but the box had been relegated, unopened, to the bottom of Greg’s closet.

“I’ll try,” she said before hanging up. Which, in Mona-speak, meant don’t count on it.

A soft sound behind him had him looking around.

Kimiko Taka stood in the open doorway of his office.

Yesterday she’d been the picture of brassy American boldness. Today she was the epitome of professionalism. Couture professionalism, anyway, he allowed, giving the cut of her closely tailored ice-blue suit an experienced eye. The just-from-bed tousled ringlets had been replaced by a sleek knot behind her head. Even her makeup was subdued. Her full bowshaped lips looked soft and pink and unadorned, but that just made her wide, almond-shaped eyes stand out even more.

Unfortunately, she was no less attractive today than she had been yesterday. If his mother could see into his head, she’d realize that he needed no help from some damn herbs.

As for what Kimiko Taka was doing standing in his doorway? He had a sinking feeling in his gut. “Don’t tell me HR sent you.”

She looked genuinely puzzled. “Um, okay. I will not tell you.” She lifted a folder at her side. “Grace asked me to come and have you sign off on these orders.”

He let out a breath. God. He was losing it. Of course HR wouldn’t have assigned Kimiko Taka to be his temporary assistant when he’d already told them to put her in sales. He waved her forward and took the folder from her to scrawl his signature where she indicated, then eyed her from across his cluttered desk. She wore a small hand-printed name badge on her lapel—a far cry from the engraved ones the rest of the staff already possessed. “You’ve obviously had your personnel orientation.”

“This morning.” She took the folder back from him. “It was very informative.”

He glanced at his watch. “You’ve already toured the hotel?”

“Well, no. We did not get that done yet. I will return there during my lunch break for the tour. Grace was anxious for me to start. Evidently two people in her department called in this morning with the flu.”

That made three staff members to bite the bug. Great. “You needn’t give up your lunch break for a tour.” Though he gave her points for being willing to do so. That is, if she’d actually follow through. Despite her impassioned speech after the staff meeting the evening before, he still questioned her commitment.

What did the girl want to work for, anyway? She was an heiress, for Christ’s sake. She should be a guest in hotels like this, not some junior underling.

“I do not have any other plans for my lunch break,” she said reasonably.

“How about eating?”

She looked at the tray sitting on one side of his desk that held the Western-style scrambled eggs and bacon that he’d never really gotten to. “Like you are doing?” She lifted the folder a little. “Thank you for the signatures.” She turned as if to go, but paused. “I hesitate to tell you this, but—”

He was a fair-minded manager, he reminded himself. Or he was supposed to be despite his desire for some space from the disturbing young woman. “What is it, Ms. Taka?”

She moistened her lips. “Your shirt is misbuttoned.” She smiled faintly and hurried out of his office. The hem of her skirt swayed slightly above her knees. Perfectly circumspect. Perfectly…perfect.

He forced himself to look away from the view she presented and looked down at his shirt and tie that he’d managed to forget all about.

She was right.

With a sigh, he began reworking the buttons.

Too bad he couldn’t seem to realign his unwanted reaction to her just as easily.

Kimi was still smiling when she made it back to the sales and catering department. Aside from the office that Grace used, there were two others; one set up as a consultation room, and the other—far more spacious—housed several desks in an open area. It was to one of these desks that Grace had assigned Kimi. It had started out as empty as Mother Hubbard’s cupboards, but, after just an hour, was now piled high with project files that Grace wanted her to quickly review so she was up to speed with the rest of the department members.

She left the folder on Grace’s desk and headed to her own considerable pile of work. There were three other associates in the room, though, huddled over a round table spread with charts. They looked over at Kimi when she entered, barely returning her smiling hello, and she stifled a sigh, making herself approach them anyway. “Hi. I am Kimi Taka.”

It was regrettably obvious that they already knew and had formed their opinions about her, too. It seemed that Greg’s expectations about her fitting in with the rest of the staff members were all too accurate.

One of the group, a young dark-skinned woman who looked around Kimi’s age, started to smile, but faltered at the fast looks she got from the others. But she still provided her name. “Tanya Wilson. Welcome to Kyoto,” she added in a slightly southern-sounding rush.

Kimi’s smile warmed a little in response. “Thank you.” She looked at the other two—a natty blond guy in a beige suit who looked about her stepbrother Andrew’s age, and a stylish woman who had probably been perfecting the art of looking down her nose in front of a mirror since she was five. Kimi stuck her hand out toward the snooty woman. “And you are…?” She lifted her eyebrows slightly.

The other woman did not quite have the nerve to ignore Kimi, though it looked like she wanted to. The handshake she gave, however, was limp. “Charity Smythe,” she supplied with a bored clip. “And this is Nigel Winters.” She spoke for the man, as if she did not trust him to speak for himself. “And as you can see, we’re in the middle of a discussion.”

Kimi wanted to swipe her hand down her skirt to wipe away the memory of that cold-fish handshake. Instead, she looked curiously at the charts on the table. Grace had already told her that the department worked as an ensemble regardless of who the lead person on a project might be. “Is this the Nguyen wedding?” She had been familiarizing herself with the details of the four-hundred-guest wedding to be held before Christmas when Grace had sent her to Greg’s office.

Tanya nodded. “The problem is—”

“—there is no problem,” Charity cut her off. “We’re just finalizing some minor details.” She swept up the floor charts and strode to the door. “Come along, Nigel. Tanya. We don’t have time to sit around all morning twiddling our thumbs.”

“Delightful meeting you,” Nigel said quickly, as if sneaking it in before Charity could stop him. Then like two scurrying rabbits, he and Tanya sped after the departing woman.

As far as Kimi could tell, Charity seemed rather misnamed.

Kimi went to her desk and pulled the top file closer. An hour later, she had read through everything. If the quantity of special events on the department’s plate were anything to go by, the Taka Kyoto was already proving to be a success.

Charity and crew had yet to return. She pushed away from the desk and started toward the coffee urn situated on a long counter that ran the back length of the room when Grace called her name. Kimi changed course and walked over to Grace’s door. “Yes?”

“I suppose your coat is up in your room?” She barely waited for Kimi’s surprised nod. “Run up and get it and meet me in the lobby. A car will take us to Osaka. I’d like you to sit in on a tour operator’s meeting with me. Bring the mayoral luncheon and the Nguyen wedding files along. We’ll review them on the drive.”

Pleased, Kimi quickly sifted through the files on her desk, found the appropriate ones and took the service elevator up to her floor though it was less conveniently located than the lobby elevators were. The twenty-first floor was as still and silent as it had been since she had arrived, though a slender, elegantly decorated Christmas tree had appeared just across from the elevator bank. She had not verified it, but she was certain that she was the only one on the floor. By placing her in a completely different location than any other staff members who lived on site, Mr. Misbuttoned Sherman was following true to form by pointing out that she really was not one of them.

And unfortunately, that particular sentiment was evidently more widely shared than Kimi had anticipated.

Within minutes, she had retrieved her coat, exchanged the project folders for her laptop inside her briefcase and was heading back down again. She hurried back to the lobby only to slow her pace decorously when she spotted Grace in conversation with Greg.

Not that she had expected otherwise, but his starched white shirt now looked very correctly buttoned beneath the dovegray tie he wore. She kept her gaze lowered deferentially as she stopped beside Grace; no one else need know that in doing so, her gaze was free to roam the undeniably perfect fit of Greg’s dark gray trousers. The only thing marring the lines was the hand he had shoved in one pocket.

Or perhaps mar was the wrong term.

She moistened her lips and looked away from the way the fine wool tightened across his hips.

“Mark my words, Greg,” Grace was saying. “The president of Kobayashi Media will find some reason to blow off the mayoral luncheon. Oh, there’ll be plenty of perfectly offered apologies and excuses, but I’ll bet you a week’s salary that he’s a no-show.”

“Excuse me.” Kimi interrupted the breath that Grace had stopped to draw. “Shall I see if the driver is ready?”

“Thank you, dear.” Grace did not look twice at Kimi.

The speculative glance that Greg gave her as she moved away, however, stuck in her mind throughout the drive to nearby Osaka, through Grace’s meeting and through the return trip back again.

By the time their driver left them at the hotel once more, Kimi still was not certain why Grace had wanted to include her in the tour operator’s meeting. But at the very least, it had been an interesting way to spend the morning, and it had been well away from the disturbing Mr. Sherman.

“I never realized how resorts and hotels vied for that sort of business,” she admitted to Grace as they returned to their offices.

“We’re all in it for a buck. Or, a yen—” Grace smiled “—as the case may be. Tourism is alive and well, even among—or particularly among—the high-end consumer that we court. The president of the local tour association is full of complaints that the Taka Kyoto is too cosmopolitan. Of course, he’s related by marriage to a local official who bitterly opposed the building of the Taka in the first place. Your presence there this morning was a not-so subtle reminder to them that while the Taka is cosmopolitan and international, its roots are nonetheless of Japan. Taka is an important name in this country, and not just because of the TAKA-Hanson corporation.” Grace patted Kimi’s shoulder and pulled open the door to the stairwell. “Don’t look so disappointed, dear.”

“I am not disappointed,” Kimi lied.

But Grace wasn’t fooled. “Of course you are.” Her voice echoed along with their footsteps. “You’d probably like everyone to forget who you are. To accept you purely based on your strengths and abilities.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Grace smiled slightly. “Maybe not obvious, but perfectly understandable. Everyone wants to be loved unconditionally.”

Kimi had never felt unloved by anyone who mattered to her. “Well-earned respect is what interests me,” she admitted.

They had reached the lower level. Kimi couldn’t help but look toward Greg’s office, but the door was closed.

“The fact that you realize respect has to be earned is to your credit,” Grace was saying, oblivious to Kimi’s furtive glances down the hall. “Whether I told you my reasons for wanting you with me or not, you represented the Taka name admirably this morning.”

Kimi skipped a little to catch up to her supervisor. “But I barely said a word.”

“You didn’t have to, my dear. They were all watching every move you did or did not make. How you greeted the other attendees, whether you were appropriately modest and deferential, whether you held to their highest ideals of good manners. And you did. You are a Japanese woman bearing a venerable name. They can find in you a suitable ‘face’ for the hotel, something that, for some, has been lacking.”

“My father would be surprised to hear that. He finds me distressingly Americanized.” She trailed after Grace into her office.

Grace’s smile widened. “Then perhaps you combine the best of both worlds. The drive was useful, as well. I’m confident that you know the details of these two events inside and out. And since Charity’s Japanese is still considerably less than perfect, I’m going to make you the point person for the Nguyen wedding.” Her gaze skipped past Kimi’s suddenly slack jaw. “Oh, good. Greg. I was hoping to catch you.”

Kimi barely kept herself from whirling around.

“What’s this about the Nguyen wedding?” he asked.

“I’m making Kimi the point person.”

Kimi wanted to cringe. Even after just those few minutes with Charity, she could well imagine the other woman’s reaction at being replaced at all, much less by Kimi. “Grace, I appreciate the confidence, but I have never—”

“Stop.” Grace waved her hand. “We’ll discuss it later. Just trust me when I warn you that, like Charity, you’ll spend most of your time answering a dozen inane phone calls from their wedding coordinator. A truly impossible man named Anton. He’s not French, however. He’s wholly American, and from all accounts, excruciatingly tiresome. Now go on. I need to bend Greg’s ear for a moment.”

Kimi half-expected Greg to voice his protest that she would be given any level of responsibility—even one merely to field a fussy wedding coordinator’s calls. But he didn’t, and she headed back to her desk. Tanya was on the telephone and looked to be taking copious notes, and Nigel was at the wide whiteboard that hung on one wall, writing entries in the calendar-style grid.

Kimi had no messages waiting for her, and she scrawled a note that she was taking a lunch break and placed it in front of Tanya, who glanced at it before giving an absent wave.

Kimi didn’t need lunch, however. She needed to finish her employee orientation. Namely, she needed to tour the entire facility. And now that she was point person on an actual event, it seemed even more important.

She took the wedding file with her, just in case she needed to make notes for herself, and went back to Human Resources. Unfortunately, the girl who was supposed to conduct the tour had gone home sick. Instead, Kimi was handed a detailed map with instructions to visit all the highlighted areas and sent on her solitary way.

With no better idea where to begin, Kimi decided to start from the ground floor and go up. Or, as the case was, two floors below ground level, where the soaring exhibition space sat hollow and silent except for the muted sound of power tools coming from somewhere nearby. She skipped the office floor since she had already seen most of it, as well as the main lobby level, and went up to the third floor where the first of the ballrooms were. There were two here, with a combined reception capacity of nearly six hundred. It was pleasing to see that the interiors looked fully completed.

She was standing beneath the enormous crystal chandeliers that hung from the grand ballroom’s ceiling when she felt the back of her neck prickle.

It was enough warning that she managed not to startle when Greg spoke. “They’re stunning. Ally Rogers had the chandeliers specially designed for the space. She was here last week overseeing their installation.”

Kimi’s grip tightened on the project folder, afraid he just might yank it out of her grasp. “All of the interiors that have been completed are stunning,” she agreed. She had never personally met Ally Rogers, but knew that the interior designer had stepped in to finish the San Francisco site when there had been problems with the original designer. She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth for half a second but still could not refrain from asking. “Are you following me?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Is that what it seems like?”

“Do you ever answer a question directly?”

“I’m in Kyoto now.” The corners of his mouth kicked up ever so slightly, but it was still enough to make Kimi’s breath catch. “Where all direct answers are often distinctly…indirect. But to answer your question, yes. I am following you. I heard you were here on your own.”

Kimi waved the folded map. “Even I can follow a floor plan.”

He let her acerbic tone pass. “Your…Mrs. Taka-Hanson called me while you were out with Grace.”

“Checking up on me?” She might have expected that from her father but not necessarily Helen.

“She does have business with me here that doesn’t concern you.” His voice was mild, but Kimi still felt a flush burn through her skin.

She refrained, however, from asking why he had bothered to even tell Kimi about the call at all.

“I assured her that we were all doing our best to assimilate you into the fold as quickly as possible.” His voice was inscrutably smooth.

“I am sure she was greatly comforted.”

“Are you always sarcastic?”

She lowered her chin slightly. “My most humble apologies if you have found this to be true.”

“I think I prefer the Kimiko Taka who stares me in the face when she has something to say.”

She peered up at him through her lashes.

He made a muffled sound she could not interpret, and then he did slide the thick project file right out from her grasp.

Her lips parted, dismayed. “Please do not take it away from me, Greg—Mr. Sherman. I know the wedding budget is substantial and that I have no real experience with—”

He lifted his hand. “It is up to Grace to distribute her projects. I trust she knows what she’s doing.” Even though he did not sound entirely confident of it. “I was merely intending to carry it for you.”

“Oh.” Her lips slowly closed but suspicion quickly reared. “Like you would do for a guest?”

His lips twisted slightly. “I’d like to think it’s just habit to carry a lady’s books.” He nodded at the map. “What else is on the agenda?”

Bemused, she looked from him to the glossy page. “Um, the rest of the meeting rooms, I guess.”

“Let’s go, then. You can lead the way since you’re such an experienced floor-plan reader.”

“You’re coming with me?”

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