This hotel was her home. Its staff was a family to her. She loved...all of them. Now, possibly because of her—because she’d accidentally pushed ornery Mr. Turner into making a rash and foolhardy decision—the hotel’s operations were threatened.
Queasily, Olivia remembered her earlier, unfortunate reaction to Mr. Turner’s threat about closing The Lorndorff.
You’ve had too much Old Orchard, Mr. Fancypants.
Her flippancy had been unwise, to be true. Still, that didn’t explain who this man was or how this was happening to the hotel. Only one of her father’s wealthy investors could have...
Oh, dear. Mr. Turner was one of her father’s wealthy investors, Olivia realized, and she’d offended him. Why had she let her father convince her to step away from the hotel’s day-to-day business? If she’d been aware of Mr. Turner’s identity—and less incensed at his treatment of Annie—she might have avoided this. She might have placated him instead of riling him.
“You do realize that you must make a choice today,” the stranger called out when the staff remained in their places, muttering unhappily among themselves. “You can’t have it both ways. Mr. Mouton no longer runs The Lorndorff. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better things will be for you.”
A swell of fresh dissent met his announcement. One of the bellmen grumbled. A maid wrung her handkerchief in her hands, staring up at the stranger through disbelieving, defiant eyes.
Olivia didn’t know who this man was, but he’d have to go through her before assuming control of her family’s hotel.
“Excuse me!” She made her way to the front, then came to stand directly at the foot of the staircase. She stared up at him as determinedly as she could. “I am Olivia Mouton. My family owns this hotel. I don’t know who you think you are, but—”
“I am Palmer Grant.” He extended his hand. “Mr. Turner’s associate.” A smile creased his youthful face, making him appear far more likable than he deserved to, under the circumstances. “I was expecting to see you earlier in the proceedings, Miss Mouton. Given what Mr. Turner told me about you, I’d thought you’d be in the fray straightaway. He said you’re a fighter.”
“He doesn’t know me.” Baffled, Olivia rejected the very idea. As far as she’d been aware, Mr. Turner hadn’t even known her name. Yet in the space of a few hours, he’d learned her name and accomplished much more, besides. Resolutely, she clutched her parasol. “But he’s right about one thing—I am a fighter. And I’ll fight to keep this hotel in my family, where it belongs.”
The staff gathered around her, nodding and murmuring among themselves. They seemed to realize that Olivia knew something about this dire situation that they did not. Annie, in particular, sidled nearer. She stood staunchly beside Olivia.
“I’m afraid it’s too late for fighting,” Mr. Grant informed the crowd. “Mr. Turner owns a very large share of The Lorndorff Hotel. Furthermore, he owns one hundred percent of the land it’s built on and the neighboring properties. The management of the hotel is his decision. It’s my job to make that decision clear.”
“Is he incapable of doing that himself?” Olivia asked. “Why doesn’t he come downstairs to attempt this coup on his own?”
At her questions, the crowd of staff members shifted in anticipation. But Palmer Grant merely gave a knowing grin.
“Mr. Turner is more than capable of doing...whatever he wishes, in whatever fashion he wishes, to whomever he wishes.” Mr. Grant gave her an unnervingly perceptive look. “You, of all people, must realize that by now, Miss Mouton.”
Olivia lifted her chin. “And my father? What about him?”
A shrug. “He disappeared into his office an hour ago.”
Olivia felt her heart turn over. She cast a worried glance at Annie. Had her father given up on the hotel, just like that?
She knew he could be...retiring at times. Despite having founded The Lorndorff, Henry Mouton had never been the most aggressive of men. At heart, he was a genial host—a friend to everyone. He wasn’t overly ambitious, but Olivia didn’t mind that. She considered her father easygoing and loved him for it.
But surely even he wouldn’t have surrendered the management of his hotel—his pride and joy—to Griffin Turner. Would he?
Exactly how formidable was Mr. Turner anyway? He hadn’t earned all those nefarious nicknames for nothing. In this instance, at least, he really was behaving like a beast.
There was only one manner in which to handle this, Olivia decided. Courageously. And quickly. She turned to the staff.
“Everyone, I’m sorry about this confusion.” Nervously, she stared out at their expectant, hopeful faces. “Clearly, there’s been some sort of gross misunderstanding here. If you’ll all just be patient, I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“It’s not a misunderstanding,” Mr. Grant objected easily. “The Lorndorff Hotel is under new management. From now on, Griffin Turner’s word is law. The sooner you fall in line with that, the happier you’ll all be.” He cast an amused look at Olivia. “Or you can allow a woman whose greatest achievement is having her likeness appear on a nostrum bottle to ‘lead’ you.”
As one, the gathered staff members turned to Olivia. She had never felt stronger—or more ready to take on a challenge and win. For her father’s sake. For her friends’ sake. For her home’s sake. For the sake of what was the right thing to do.
The desk clerk cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose Mr. Turner has asked you to marry him yet, has he? If he has, well...then we might have us a fighting chance of winning.”
Everyone seemed plumb perked up by the possibility. Olivia almost hated to disabuse them. “No. He hasn’t.” In fact, he’d seemed unaccountably unmoved by her looks overall. “But I—”
“That’s it, then. We’re done for!” the bellman moaned. “If he ain’t able to see how marriageable Miss Mouton is, I reckon he ain’t right in the head, anyhow. There’s no winnin’ that.”
A general murmur of assent rippled through the crowd.
Aghast, Olivia looked out at them. These were her friends and neighbors. They were practically her family. Yet even they didn’t believe she could take on Mr. Turner and win...at least not on the merits of her intelligence and ingenuity and fortitude.
Dismayed, she shifted her gaze to Mr. Grant. He had obviously read the situation as astutely as she had, because he’d already withdrawn a stack of pay envelopes from his valise.
“Do you all quit?” Mr. Grant asked, raising the envelopes. “Or will you get back to work under Mr. Turner’s management?”
Breath held, Olivia waited. But it was no contest at all. One by one, all the staff members made their way dispiritedly back to their posts. They began dealing with guests, carrying baggage and refilling oil lamps...in the new Lorndorff Hotel.
The one that didn’t feel like Olivia’s home anymore.
Left alone with Palmer Grant, she watched him return the pay envelopes securely to his valise, his head tactfully bowed.
“For a man who just won,” she said as she glanced at him, “you don’t seem particularly happy about your triumph.”
But Mr. Grant only shook his head. “This wasn’t a triumph.”
“Not for you, perhaps, but for Mr. Turner—”
“Not for him, either.” Mr. Grant lifted his solemn face to hers, then mustered a halfhearted smile. “But if you’re really as special as Griffin seems to think you are, you’ll find that out for yourself soon enough.” With surprising