“I went to assess a hotel.” Reading his puzzled expression, she smiled. “It’s a prototype. New concept. Very minimalist. I tried it on for size.”
“What for?”
“It’s a long story.”
He spread his arms. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”
“Okay, but remember you asked.”
“Fire at will.”
“I was trying out the hotel for my clientele.”
“Clientele?”
“My parents had a travel agency. I started working in the office when I was in high school. When I graduated college, I was made manager, and they semi-retired. Then Dad died, followed by my mother a year and a half later. I was their only child and heir. Shafer Travel, Inc., became mine.”
“That sounded like the expurgated version. Go on.”
“Well, I expanded the business, first by opening an office in Savannah, and then another in Birmingham. Those did well. I paid off the business loan that got those up and running, then took out another loan to open two more offices, one in Dallas, the other in Charlotte.”
“Wow,” he said. “This at a time when most people started booking everything travel-related online.”
“Most people, yes. But when even the best travel agencies began cutting back on personnel and services offered, a market was created for white glove service. My agencies responded, and began catering to clients who didn’t need to, or wish to, shop online for the cheapest airfare or haggle over a room rate.”
“You stopped booking bus tours to see fall foliage?”
“And started booking private jets to see the seven wonders of the world. Word spread about our specialized service.”
“Millionaires talk.”
She smiled. “Before too long, Shafer Travel got the attention of a company that has dozens of agencies nationwide. It didn’t look kindly on the competition mine were giving them.” She raised her shoulders. “They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“You sold out.”
“Lock, stock, and barrel.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“So if you no longer have the business, why were you trying out the hotel in Chicago?”
“Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
“I don’t know. How much more inept and underachieving am I going to feel when you’re finished?” The dimple reappeared.
She tented her fingers and tapped them against her lips as she regarded him thoughtfully. “I don’t quite trust you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your self-denigration. I think you use it to disarm people so they’ll form a lower opinion of you than they should.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “What a relief. Here I thought my inadequacies were real. I’m glad to learn they’re faked.”
She didn’t laugh as he obviously expected her to. Rather, she continued to wonder why he downplayed the shrewdness she detected in the eyes behind the dark lenses. Not that his psychology was of any consequence to her, she reminded herself. She went on with her story, but only because he motioned for her to do so.
“I discovered I wasn’t cut out to retire at the age of thirty-two,” she said. “Inside of a month, I was bored. So when I began getting calls from former clients, complaining about the lack of attention and personal service they were receiving, I agreed to handle their travel arrangements, everything from the time they left their front door until they returned. Down to the most minute detail.”