When Empires Fall (8 page)

Here she was, standing in front of one of the greatest landmarks of glorious Manhattan, taking in the towering forty-floor building complete with glittering windows and Art Deco inspired stone work. All of her life she had heard of the wonders of the luxurious and palatial Vasser Hotel, but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that she, a small town girl from upstate New York, would be standing here, ready to set foot inside.

Not as a guest, unfortunately. But as an employee, as secretary to one of the Vasser heirs. Her lips quirked into a mile wide grin as she did a self-congratulatory happy dance in her mind, clutching her hands together in delight.

Yes, she was here, and she was ready to make her mark. Sure, her ultimate goal of becoming a chef was kind of on the back burner at the moment, but her two years of business school at the community college back home had managed to land her this job, so it was certainly better than nothing. Besides, the hotel
did
have three full restaurants, which hopefully she could squeeze her way into once a position opened up.

Things were going to work out for her, she was certain of it. The Vasser Hotel was going to be her ticket to everything she had ever wanted in her entire life.

She was a girl with blood that ran almost exclusively Sicilian, with just a dash of Greek that was thrown in somewhere down the line. Because of it, she had a face with high, prominent cheekbones and a strong, squared jaw line that held a wide mouth that was almost constantly moving. Whether she was talking, smiling, laughing, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, or just pouting for lack of something better to do, her mouth was rarely if ever not in motion. Some people considered it a shortcoming, but she preferred to think of it as a gift. After all, what was wrong with a kind word and a cheerful smile now and again?

She had been gifted with her grandmother’s gypsy eyes of rich hazel, wide and tilted slightly up at the corners, with generous lashes she found no need to use mascara on. Not that she wore much makeup anyway; she preferred a more natural look without any illusions.

Her hair was rich black and full, and fell in spiral curls to just below her chin. Since she, years earlier, had discovered it was more trouble than it was worth to straighten her curls, she had given up and just wore them natural too.

She was shorter than most, barely rising above five foot three, and the love of food that came with the Sicilian blood had given her a body that would never be super model thin. But her Pilates obsession kept her in shape and healthy, so she felt it would be an insult to God to ask for anything more than that.

And as a born and bred Catholic, insulting God was, as it should be, a sin her mother would flay her alive over.

With an anxious glance at the practical black watch on her left wrist, Quinn noted that she was fifteen minutes early for her first shift. She had always been notoriously punctual, but she had also always been notoriously impatient. Which meant, of course, that there was no possible way she could stand around outside gawking at the building any longer. She had to go inside.

Clutching her purse tight enough to make her knuckles white, she made her way to the oversized sparkling glass doors framed in gold, delighted when the onsite doorman greeted her cordially. She paused before him, eyeing his nametag so she would remember his name for next time.

“Good morning, Barry. I’m Quinn.” She held out her hand cheerfully, pleased when he smiled warmly at her.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Quinn,” Barry replied, accepting the handshake. He was a small statured, aged man with dark, weathered skin, warm chocolate eyes and a million watt smile.

“I’m the new secretary,” she informed him as he released her hand. “Hopefully, if things go well, we’ll be seeing each other every day.”

“I look forward to it. Who’re you workin’ for?”

“Mr. Vasser,” Quinn answered with a proud grin.

“Ah, but which one?” Barry winked. “There are three Mr. Vassers in our New York hotel.”

“Oh.” Quinn faltered, biting her lip as she tried to think back. “Well, Marshall Vasser was the one who interviewed me, but I’m not working for him...shoot, I can’t remember the guy’s name, but he’s Marshall’s nephew.”

Barry laughed. “There are two nephews, Miss Quinn.”

“Well, damn.” She laughed at herself, then checked her watch again. “I guess I should go find out which nephew it is I work for. It was a pleasure to meet you, Barry.”

“The same, Miss Quinn.” Barry opened the door for her, and as she walked into the hotel her eyes shot immediately to the tall and expansive ceiling, which was an explosion of intricate coffering and glittering lights, painted in muted golds and pale blues. It was like looking up into Heaven itself, complete with a colossal chandelier that must have cost more than her parents’ quaint suburban home, all sparkling crystal and glorious white light.

She had only been in the lobby the one time before when she had had her interview, but despite having seen it then she was still in awe. She figured that if she ever got rich, she would have to find out who the interior designer was for the hotel and hire them to decorate her house, because it was nothing short of fabulous and resembled something pretty much reserved for modern royalty. And, hey, wasn’t that
exactly
what the Vassers were?

The center of the lobby was adorned with plush armchairs and sofas, made of gleaming mahogany and rich, buttery leather with royal blue throw pillows. The style was sophisticated and a bit modern, without losing the comfort of traditional and the warmth of antique. Enormous oriental rugs in similar blues and golds layered over the polished travertine floor, giving a homely feel to the area without being impractical.

Against the far wall were mahogany paneled elevators, beyond them what looked like gift shops and another waiting area. To her immediate right and left were the hotel’s premier restaurants and bars: on the left, the French inspired five star
Cherir
, and on the right the bluesy New Orleans themed
The Mystic
, a classic Japanese infused sushi joint
Kazoku
, and lastly the hotel’s exclusive high end, Paris themed bar,
Amoureux
.

She was positive she wouldn’t fit in with the famously chic and sophisticated crowd that frequented
that
place, but maybe one day. Probably far off, she mused, but one day she would be good enough to sit in that damn bar. God help her.

Also off to the left was the front desk, complete with a gleaming mahogany base, travertine counter, and heavenly smelling blue hydrangeas paired with white and green ivy pouring out of slender copper vases. Hanging on the wall behind the front desk was an oversized mural of the New York City skyline at night, with the Vasser Hotel logo in scripted letters that hung an inch or so out from the wall, backlit with a wash of golden light.

Feeling more than a little overwhelmed, Quinn made her way towards the front desk, her eyes on the young man with russet hair and skinny features standing there looking busy, the black polo shirt he wore bearing a gold Vasser Hotel emblem.

“Hi,” Quinn greeted, startling him as she leaned against the counter, all smiles.

“Hello,” Walter answered, snapping out of his reverie and managing a small smile in return. “How can I help you?”

“Today’s my first day. I’m Quinn Taylor.” She held out her hand to shake his, and he seemed a bit flustered as he accepted the handshake.

“Oh, okay. Um, what is it you do?”

“I’m Mr. Vasser’s new secretary.”

“Which one?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember.” She laughed at herself again, and managed to get a laugh out of him as well.

“Oh man, okay. Wait here.” He disappeared into the offices behind him, leaving her alone. She tried not to be embarrassed, and hoped she wasn’t going to end up being technically late to her desk, wherever it was, because she didn’t know
which
Mr. Vasser she worked for. In fact, had Marshall even mentioned the name of the guy she was working for now? Surely she would have remembered, as her mind was usually a steel trap for things like names.

Just then, Walter reappeared from the offices with another man, who looked at her with a quick grin and cheerful blue eyes set in a roguishly handsome face. He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, then ran a hand through his waves of chestnut hair and turned to Walter.

“You’ve been replaced, Walter. She’s much prettier than you,” Linc joked, causing Walter to look horribly offended.

“No way you’re replacing me. I’m awesome and you know it.”

“Yeah, but I think you can agree with me when I say I’d rather look at her every day than your greasy mug.”

Walter frowned as he looked over at Quinn, whose dark eyebrows had raised in amusement.

“But I work for free. I assume
she
wants to get paid.”

“That’s because
she
is what we call an employee. You, on the other hand, are my bitch. Besides, you get something much more valuable than money from me, Walter. You get my knowledge and guidance, which, let me tell you, is priceless.”

“Boys?” Quinn interjected, waving so they would both look at her. “While I find this all very flattering, I am in fact already employed to work for Mr. Vasser, so if neither of you are him, then please tell me where to find him so I can get started. It’s nearly nine o’clock and I
really
don’t want to be late for my first day.”

Linc flashed her another quick grin, then leaned over the counter towards her with his hand outstretched. “As a matter of fact, I
am
Mr. Vasser. But you can call me Linc.”

“Oh.” Quinn stared at his hand for a moment, then reached out to shake it, a bit unsure. “You’re Marshall’s nephew?”

“I am.”

“So I
am
replacing him?” She pointed to Walter, who just shrugged.

“Nope.” Linc grinned again and winked at her playfully. “Unfortunately, I am not the Mr. Vasser you seek. You’re gonna be working for my brother, Grant. He’s upstairs.”

“So you’re nephew number one, got it.” She smiled as her eyes shot to the elevators. “Which floor is nephew number two on?”

“I’ll take you,” Linc offered, already skirting around the front desk to meet up with her. “Despite what everyone says, chivalry is in fact not dead.”

Quinn snorted out a laugh, rolling her eyes at him as he came up beside her. He was less than a foot taller than her, athletically built and quite handsome. But she knew his type; men like him could be slick as eels and just as dangerous. He was the kind of guy a girl could fall head over heels for in an instant, and then find herself left in his dust as he galloped off to greener pastures.

Or maybe he was just a really nice guy and she was reading him all wrong.

“Alright, but only because I like company, even on short elevator rides.” She let him lead the way towards the elevators, noting he wore jeans instead of slacks. She wondered briefly if she had overdressed in her silk plum colored blouse and black dress pants as he punched a button beside one of the elevators and it slid quietly open.

“So does your whole family work here at the hotel?” Quinn asked him as he held the doors for her.

He laughed as he followed her in, pushing the button for the second floor. “That would be insane if they did. There’s over sixty people in my family.”

Quinn gaped at him in shock. “And here I thought I was the one with the obnoxiously large family. How do you remember who’s who? I have a photo album I made up with names scribbled on it that I review before reunions and holidays. The only problem is when the young ones get bigger and no longer look like children, then you have me mistaking my cousin Tony for the pizza delivery guy.”

Linc eyed her dubiously as the elevator began to rise, shaking his head. “I bet you a million bucks Grant has a photo album with names written in it too, it sounds just like him. Me, I just prefer to wing it at reunions and let my sister fill me in on who’s who if I forget. What else are sisters good for?”

“Brothers are so helpless. I have four of them myself,” Quinn sighed, feeling a dull tinge of homesickness at the thought. Pushing it aside, she fixed a smile back on her face. “So, your brother is an organization freak?”

“Let’s just say he’s very…serious,” Linc mused, content to leave it at that. The girl was about to find out for herself, anyway. He would let her be the full judge of Grant’s character, without his influence. “But to answer your earlier question, there’s only four of us working at this hotel, and a large chunk of the others work at the other Vasser hotels across the US and in Europe.”

“So it’s you, your brother, your uncle…and who else?”

“My sister, Madison. You’ll meet her eventually. Oh, and my mom drops by a lot, so you’ll probably meet her too.” The elevator chimed as it came to a stop, the doors sweeping open at the second floor. “Right this way.”

Quinn followed him out into a generously sized waiting area, complete with large windows with partial views of Central Park and similar furniture to what was in the lobby. Off to the right was a hallway that led to what looked like offices or conference rooms, and to the left was another hallway, with two open looking front office rooms with glass partitions facing the waiting area. Linc led her to the one that was ahead on the right, which boasted a mahogany desk with matching file cabinets behind it, along with a plush royal blue bench to the side and some kind of leafy green potted plant in the corner.