“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” she sputtered as she hastily spun around.
“It’s all good, Samantha.”
Her gaze scanned her peripheral vision and she suddenly wondered if she’d interrupted something. “Are you alone?”
He chuckled. “Not anymore. But I guess I should’ve locked the door, huh?”
She huffed at her idiocy as she began unbuttoning her coat. “I’m so sorry. I’m completely distracted right now. I can’t get a hold of Kimberly. Have you seen her yet?”
She felt him take her coat so she decided it was okay to turn around again.
“Not yet,” he said, placing her coat on a chair and then slipping a jacket over his shoulders. “I only got here with enough time to change.”
He paused to smile at her. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She tugged at the top of her strapless cocktail dress, which seemed to be having trouble staying up. “For some reason, this doesn’t fit exactly the way it did when I bought it yesterday.”
Suddenly, his arms threaded under hers and his chest was nearly pressed against her as if he was going in to hug her. She hesitated before hugging him back and noticed him doing something with the back of the dress, causing her eyes to widen.
“Uh… Nick, what—”
“You left a clasp open,” he replied as he released her and backed away. “Strictly professional, right?” Then he winked.
She nodded a frazzled nod as she became a bit distracted by the combination of how handsome he looked in his black suit and deep maroon tie, and the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
“Right. You look really nice.”
He smiled. “It’s a big night.”
“Yeah.”
He reached over to hold the side of her arm for only a second. “Thanks for all your hard work.”
“Of course. Just doing my job.”
He pointed a finger toward the door. “Well, I gotta get out there.”
She shook herself out of her mini-trance. “Right. Me too. I’ll see you later.”
* * *
Fifteen reservations had checked in when Samantha peered at the small digital clock on the hostess stand. Still no Kimberly. She smiled politely as reservation number sixteen approached her.
“Welcome to Chapman’s,” she greeted them warmly. “May I have your name?”
“Edward Bailey,” the man answered, his wife clinging demurely to his arm. Samantha skimmed down the list, located the reservation, crossed the name off, and then looked up at the couple again.
“Right this way.”
She turned to step away from the hostess stand, only to slam directly into Cedric, one of the waiters.
“Samantha, there’s a little problem with Kimberly.”
“She’s here?” she whispered as discreetly as possible.
“In the breakroom.”
She smiled at the couple, then placed a hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “Mister and Misses Bailey are at table twenty-seven. This is Cedric and he’ll be taking care of you this evening.”
