Best of My Love (Fool's Gold, #20)(91)

Joyce Yates looked at Courtney and smiled. “I’m ready.”

“The new linen company is working out well. The towels are very clean and the sheets aren’t scratchy at all. Ramona thinks she’s going to last until right before she gives birth, but honestly, it hurts just to look at her. That could just be me, though. She’s so tiny and the baby is so big. What on earth was God thinking? Last night I met with Mr. Ford of the California Organization of Organic Soap Manufacturers. Bees have invaded the Anderson House, and he wants to book everything here. I didn’t mock him, although he deserved it. So now we’re hosting all their events, along with meals. I talked him into crab salad.”

Courtney paused for breath. “I think that’s everything.”

Joyce sipped her coffee. “A full night.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Sure.”

At least six hours, Courtney thought, doing the math in her head. She’d stayed in the lobby area until Ramona’s shift had ended at ten, had done a quick circuit of the hotel grounds until ten thirty, studied until one and then been up at six thirty to start it all again.

Okay, make that five hours.

“I’ll sleep in my forties,” she said.

“I doubt that.” Joyce’s voice was friendly enough, but her gaze was sharp. “You do too much.”

Not words most bosses bothered to utter, Courtney thought, but Joyce wasn’t like other bosses.

Joyce Yates had started working at the Los Lobos Hotel in 1958. She’d been seventeen and hired as a maid. Within two weeks, the owner of the hotel, a handsome, thirtysomething confirmed bachelor, had fallen head over heels for his new employee. They’d married three weeks later and lived blissfully together for five years, until he’d unexpectedly died of a heart attack.

Joyce, then all of twenty-two and with a toddler to raise, had taken over the hotel. Everyone was certain she would fail, but under her management, the business had thrived. Decades later she still saw to every detail and knew the life story of everyone who worked for her. She was both boss and mentor for most of her staff and had always been a second mother to Courtney.

Joyce’s kindness was as legendary as her white hair and classic pantsuits. She was fair, determined and just eccentric enough to be interesting.

Courtney had known her all her life. When Courtney had been a baby, her father had also died unexpectedly. Maggie, Courtney’s mother, had been left with three daughters and a business. Joyce had morphed from client to friend in a matter of weeks. Probably because she’d once been a young widow with a child, herself.

“How’s your marketing project coming along?” Joyce asked.

“Good. I got the notes back from my instructor, so I’m ready to move on to the final presentation.” Once she finished her marketing class, she was only two semesters away from graduation with her bachelor’s degree. Hallelujah.

Joyce refilled her coffee cup from the carafe left at the table. “Quinn’s arriving this week.”

Courtney grinned. “Really? Because you’ve only mentioned it every morning for the past two weeks. I wasn’t completely sure when he was getting here. You’re sure it’s this week? Because I couldn’t remember.”

“I’m old. I get to be excited about my grandson’s arrival if I want to.”

“Yes, you do. We’re all quivering.”

Joyce’s mouth twitched. “You have a little attitude this morning, young lady.”

“I know. It’s the Drunken Red-nosed Honeybees. I always get attitude when they take over the Anderson House. Gratitude attitude.”

“Quinn’s still single.”

Courtney didn’t know if she should laugh or snort. “That’s subtle. I appreciate the vote of confidence, Joyce, but let’s be honest. We both know I’d have a better shot at marrying Prince Harry than getting Quinn Yates to notice me.” She held up a hand. “Not that I’m interested in him. Yes, he’s gorgeous. But the man is way too sophisticated for the likes of me. I’m a small-town girl. Besides, I’m focused on college and my work. I have no free boy time.” She wanted her degree within the next year, then a great job and then men. Or a man. Definitely just one. The one. But that was for later.

“You’ll date when you’re forty?” Joyce asked humorously.

“I’m hoping it won’t take that long, but you get the idea.”

“I do. It’s too bad. Quinn needs to be married.”

“Then you should find him someone who isn’t me.”

Not that Quinn wasn’t impressive, but jeez. Her? Not happening.

She’d met him a handful of times when he’d come to visit his grandmother. The man was wildly successful. He was in the music business—a producer, maybe. She’d never paid attention. On his visits, he hung out with Joyce and her dogs, otherwise kept to himself, then left without making a fuss. Of course the fuss happened without his doing a single thing other than show up.

The man was good-looking. No, that wasn’t right. Words like good-looking, or handsome, should be used on ordinary people with extraordinary looks. Quinn was on a whole other plane of existence. She’d seen happily married middle-aged women actually simper in his presence. And to her mind, simpering had gone out of style decades ago.