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them had had. When people paid what SLT charged for a tour, they had high expectations. And on every tour, there was at least one person who would find fault wherever they went.Fortunately, after his years in high-class hospitality, there was almost nothing John hadn’t dealt with. Though, admittedly, a few of her tourists had added to his repertoire.
    Allie picked up her clipboard and consulted her notes. “The Barrett sisters would like their minibar emptied and filled only with glass bottles of sparkling Evian. The small ones. They would like the potted plant removed, their beds remade with the Frette sheets they brought themselves, their bathrobes replaced with brand-new ones, and an organic fruit basket.”
    John scribbled away. “No problem. That all for them?”
    Allie paused, unsure how to frame the final directive. “And they, um, would like all their room service attendees to only be attractive gentlemen under fifty.”
    John threw back his head and let out a laugh, his perfectly coiffed dark hair not moving so much as a millimeter. “What are they? Like seventy?”
    They were seventy-seven. “Over.”
    He shook his head and scribbled a note. “Oh well. Guess at that age you’re entitled to get your fun wherever you can find it.”
    She consulted her notes again. “Mr. Johnson wants to confirm that the only thing accessible on his daughter’s TV are the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies, and the German couple would like this added to the minibar.” She handed over the name of a German spirit she couldn’t even pronounce.
    He took the piece of paper and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    She closed the cover of her clipboard. As far as tours went, so far the participants in this one were surprisingly undemanding. Though she was sure the Barrett sisters would up their game if they found that out. “And that is it.”
    â€œNothing for Mr. Duff or Mr. Gregory?”
    She shook her head. “Not yet, anyway.”
    â€œExcellent.” John pulled a few envelopes out of his compendium and handed them to her. “These came for you.”
    â€œThanks.” Allie took the mail and gave it a quick shuffle, pausing at one marked as being from the University of Virginia. Its paper-thin width told her all she needed to know. The only question was which template their HR department had used to say, Thanks, but no thanks . She flipped past it, then did a double take at the familiar logo on the top left-hand corner of the next. Her heart sped up. Could this be it? The news she’d been waiting two years for?
    Placing the envelopes on the table, she tried to keep her face neutral, as if they contained nothing of particular interest, even as the pounding of her heart filled her ears. She clasped her hands in her lap to prevent herself from grabbing up the innocuous-looking rectangle and tearing it open.
    John tapped his notes with the tip of his pen. “I’ll get onto these straightaway. We’ll make the changes to the rooms while you’re at the Weta Cave.”
    Allie conjured up a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
    Standing, he looked down at her almost empty glass. “Need another before I go?”
    Was the man ever going to leave? The cream envelope on the table enticed her like the famous ring called to Gollum. “No, thanks.”
    â€œOkay. Well, you know where to find me.”
    He started walking away, then paused and turned back. She battled the urge to scream. “Oh, I almost forgot. We have some rooms opening up tomorrow. I could upgrade Mr. Gregory to a deluxe room.”
    She suppressed a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Mr. Gregoryis fine right where he is.” The snooty aide would never know that she’d banished his supersize ego to a hobbit-size room, but it would give her something to smile about if he gave her as much grief as she was anticipating on