If the Slipper Fits. Elizabeth Harbison

thing, but neither one of them would ever say it out loud.

      When she got to Conrad’s suite, and he opened the door at her knock, he looked nearly as tired as she felt.

      “Has she gone?” he asked, without preamble.

      “Yes, she left several minutes ago. I don’t think there were any photographers there.”

      “Good.” He met her eyes, sending shivers down her spine with his cool blue gaze. “I appreciate your discretion.”

      “I’m only doing my job.”

      “What, exactly, is your job anyway?”

      She was thrown by his question. “I’m the concierge.”

      “Yes, you said.” He nodded. “But I’m not used to the workings of such a small hotel. Does it mean, as at larger hotels, that you are charged with doing whatever is in your power to make sure your guests are comfortable and happy?”

      “Within reason,” she said cautiously, lifting an eyebrow in question. Something told her he was headed toward something she wasn’t going to be entirely comfortable with.

      “I believe, miss—” He raised a questioning brow.

      “Tilden. Lily.”

      He looked genuinely puzzled. “Tildenlily?”

      “No.” She smiled. His English was flawless, but hers, she was often told, was too fast. “Lily Tilden.”

      “Miss Tilden,” he said, as if rolling fine wine over his tongue. His voice, the low timbre, the faint accent, was magnetic. It was the voice of a hypnotist. “I’m afraid you may be in for some trouble, Miss Tilden.”

      She swallowed hard. She was embarrassed to admit, even to herself, that this man made her feel nervous. Lily never got nervous. “Oh? How so?”

      “My father’s wife can be—how do I say it?—demanding. You will get little rest while she’s here, I’m afraid. I’d like to offer you my apologies up front.”

      “Well,” Lily wasn’t sure how to respond, “thanks for the warning. I guess. But I can handle it.”

      “Indeed.” He gave a shrug, as if to say I warned you. “Good luck, Ms. Tilden.”

      She smiled. “Sounds as if you think I’ll need it.”

      He smiled back, a dazzling movie-star smile. “Where my father’s wife is concerned, we all need some luck.”

      Lily started to go, then stopped and turned back. “I don’t mean to be impertinent—”

      He raised an eyebrow and looked so amused that she nearly lost her train of thought. “Please do.”

      She went on, a little disconcerted, “Well, Princess Drucille spoke with great authority when she said you were expecting me to bring your dinner to you, but apparently she was…incorrect.”

      He nodded, and continued to look amused as Lily ran the risk of hanging herself.

      “My question is this—if, in the future, she should give any of the staff instructions where you’re concerned, should we assume…” She paused, unable to come up with a nice way of saying “She’s not to be taken seriously” or “She’s full of it.”

      “If I require something, I’ll ask for it directly,” Conrad supplied, finally letting Lily off the hook. “Otherwise…” He shook his head. “Don’t take another’s word for it.”

      Her shoulders sagged in relief at his comprehension. “Good. I’ll let the staff know.”

      He nodded solemnly. “I’d appreciate it. If someone arrives at my door every time Drucille wants to use my name, I’ll never get any peace.”