“I’ll see that he gets the message.”
He glanced around before nodding again. “Thank you.”
Scout watched as the man’s shoulders slumped as he turned around and strode out the door. Delilah had been right. He didn’t give second chances, but there was a part of him that wanted to offer Shepherd one—and he had no clue why.
After shutting down his computer, he picked up the stack of personnel files and made sure he had his phone and keys before heading to the outer office. Delilah looked up at him as he approached, then grinned and shook her head. “I’m still not used to you without the facial hair. You startle me every time I see you.”
“Startles me every time I look in the mirror too.” Two nights ago, he’d lost a bet with a friend and had to shave off the beard and mustache he’d been sporting for the past twelve years. While he’d always kept them short and neat, suddenly having bare skin on his face was disconcerting. His jaw and upper lip seemed ultra-sensitive to heat and cold, since losing the extra layer of protection, and it was a shock when he touched his face, having forgotten the coarse hair was gone. Unfortunately, the bet had also required him not to let the stubble grow back for one month, so he was stuck with shaving every freaking day, something he wasn’t looking forward to. Regardless of how much it sucked, Scout wasn’t one to renege on a bet or a deal he’d shaken on. But in the future, all wagers that required him to lose any hair on his body were out.
Delilah took the files from him and raised her eyebrows when he snatched the top one back. The wise woman hadn’t missed the name on the front of the folder. “You heard he showed up late?”
“Yup.”
“He’d like to reschedule.”
“So he said.” Scout had no idea why he was even contemplating giving the man the second chance he’d begged for, but he wasn’t going to make any rash decisions. “I’ll think about it. He was the most qualified of all the applicants, at least on paper.”
She held out her hand. “I’ll put it back on your desk. Let me know if you want me to call him in for another interview.”
After passing the file to her, he asked, “Anything else I need to know about before I leave?”
“Not a thing. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
“You—”
His automatic response was cut short by the ringing of the phone on Delilah’s desk. He waited a moment while she answered, to make sure nothing had come up that needed his attention before he went home for the night to unwind.
“Yes, Phillipe, he’s still here.” She glanced up at him as she spoke to the maître d' of the hotel’s five-star restaurant, Sapphire’s. “Okay, I’ll let him know.” She hung up the phone. “The mayor, his wife, and two guests just walked in for dinner. Phillipe thought you might want to swing by and say hello.”
“Personally? No. Professionally . . .” He rolled his eyes which caused her to laugh. Scout hated politics more than anything in the world, but to be successful in a business like his, concessions had to be made at times. “After I play nice with the mayor and his guests, I’m calling it a night. See you tomorrow.”
It wasn’t as if he had a long way to go to get home at the end of the day. His place was one of two penthouse residences in the building. The first three levels were where all the amenities were located, including Sapphire’s, a separate bar, the Ivy Bistro—which served breakfast and lunch—conference rooms, a gym, ballrooms, etc. The fourth floor was where all the business offices were, including Scout’s. The next twenty-four floors were guest rooms and suites. Above them were another twelve floors, each with four condos. The owners of those units had their own parking garage, storage space, entrance, and elevators. They also had access to all the hotel’s facilities, which were included in their common charges, if they wanted to use them. Each 2,000 square-foot condo had started with a base price of $700,000 while the place was being built and had been sold out within two months. The timing had allowed each buyer to customize their kitchens, bathrooms, and flooring with upgrades, which most had done. One of the original owners had recently sold his condo for a very nice profit at $1.3 million.
At the top of all that was the penthouse level, which only had two 4,000 square-foot units, one of which Scout lived in.
After stopping into the men’s lavatory and checking his appearance, Scout took the stairs to the lobby instead of riding the elevator down. On the weekends, Scout tended to wear a polo shirt, with the Paradox or Turner Continental logo on it, and a pair of dress pants. During the week, however, he always wore a suit. He had a fondness for designer clothes and loved when a suit was custom made for his six-foot, two-hundred-pound, muscular frame.
As he strode through the lobby and into the restaurant, Scout’s gaze took in his surroundings, making certain everything was the way it was supposed to be and everyone appeared content. He was a stickler for detail, and his staff was trained to be the same way. His guests and tenants, and their satisfaction, were his number one priority. Happy guests will come back and recommend the hotel to their friends and family.
It took a minute for Scout to realize most of his staff didn’t recognize him. A few had done double takes, when he’d nodded and said hello to them, before recognition kicked in. This was the first time he’d been on the main floor since he’d lost the bet, and none of his employees had ever seen him clean-shaven before, with the exception of two of his vice-presidents who’d known him since college.
Stopping at the hostess stand, Scout waited for the attractive, leggy, blonde woman, who was manning the phones and greeting patrons at the door, to finish taking a reservation. As required, she was wearing a black dress that was neither too suggestive nor casual. After hanging up the phone, she gave him a brilliant smile and her full attention. “How may I help you, s—” Her blue eyes, enhanced with subtle makeup, widened. “Oh, Mr. Turner, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
He lifted his hand up in a reassuring gesture. “It’s okay, Rebecca. You’re not the only one. Don’t get too used to it though. I lost a bet, and I’ll be growing it back next month.”
A light laugh erupted from her. Like many of the Paradox’s employees, she’d worked there for several years and had learned to relax around the big boss while still remaining professional. “Well, you still look very handsome, sir . . . different but handsome. Are you here for dinner?”
“No, Phillipe called and said the mayor was here with some guests.”
“Yes, sir. They’re at table twenty.” When he raised his eyebrows at the mention of the second-best table in Sapphire’s, she quickly explained, “Magnus Keller reserved table twenty-one for this evening and is due in about twenty minutes but said he might be a little late.”
“Ah, okay. That’s fine.” Mag was one of the highest paid actors in Hollywood for the past seven or eight years and a good friend of Scout’s. He also owned the other penthouse in the Paradox. Either the man was entertaining a date tonight, or a movie producer was coming to schmooze him into starring in his or her next film. Those were the only times Mag used his status to request the best table in the house. Otherwise, he took what was available. However, the staff always made sure he was well taken care of, no matter what, because of his celebrity status, his friendship with Scout, and the fact the man tipped very, very generously.