“I gave specific instructions that no pepper was to be used in any of my food!” Mila shouted again. Her skin looked like raw meat, but her vocal cords were unaf-fected. Celeste’s eyes flew to the salt and pepper shakers sitting in the middle of the table. Except the salt shaker was alone. She frantically scanned the area around the table and spotted the mostly empty pepper shaker laying on its side beneath the table. Shit.
“I have never, never been so poorly treated in my life!” Mila trilled at the top of her voice. She shook off Mr. Tippen’s consoling hand and fished a giant
burgundy handbag out from underneath the table.
“Mason and I only came up here as a favor to the Saunderses. But I can see that was obviously a mistake!”
she declared. “You can be sure I will never, ever be setting foot in this place again.” She turned and marched toward the door.
Panic rising within her, Celeste rushed after Mila.
This was a disaster. Would the other guests follow her lead?
“Mrs. Rotterdam!” she called, hurrying after the rapidly retreating gold lamé. “Please wait!” Mila ignored her and barreled through the lobby, attracting stares from a few guests checking in at the front desk. She pushed through the glass doors to the curb. “Wait, please!”
Celeste called again, wishing she’d worn lower heels. But how could she have known she’d be chasing down a swollen-faced woman in a jumpsuit tonight?
Celeste reached the curb and panted for a minute, trying to catch her breath. Mila was rummaging in her purse. “I know it’s here, just a minute,” she muttered to the valet.
“Um, ma’am?” Celeste tried again. Mila ignored her.
“Ah, here it is!” She held up a yellow ticket in triumph. “Villa Two. It’s the white Rolls-Royce.” She handed the ticket to the valet.
“No!” Celeste shouted involuntarily. Mila turned and fixed her with an icy gaze.
“So, you’re going to put pepper in my food and now you’re going to shout at me?” She turned away in disgust. “Let’s hope the Four Seasons has rooms tonight.”
Celeste lowered her voice. All her training as a Pinyon guest-soother had prepared her for this moment. “I apologize, ma’am, for my outburst and for the pepper in your food,” she said sincerely. “We try to take very good care of all of our guests. Whoever is responsible for the pepper will be punished, I promise.”
Mila’s face still looked like it was cut from oak. Clearly, this was going take some more work. “Furthermore—”
Just then, the valet pulled up with the Rolls. Damn it, why did they always have to be so fast? He hopped out and opened the door. To Celeste’s horror, Mila threw her handbag on the passenger seat and climbed in behind the wheel.
“Wait!” Celeste said hastily. Mila started to shut the door. Celeste clutched at it. “We’d like to offer you a free stay here—for as long as you like! And an upgrade—to the exclusive Desert Sun guesthouse!” Mila tugged at the door, but Celeste didn’t let go.
“Let go of my door!” Mila said, still tugging.
“I-I can’t!” Celeste said. What?
“Let go!”
“I can’t! Er—my finger is stuck in the handle!” Celeste said. Quickly she jammed her hand into the door handle so hard she heard her knuckles crack. “Just give me a minute, my ring is stuck.” She jiggled her hand around.
Luckily, Mila couldn’t see what she was doing on the other side of the door. “You know …” Celeste said, as she worked her hand around. It occurred to her that she had no idea what she was going to say to this lady to get her to stay, but she just kept talking. “This festival is going to be one of the most innovative film venues in southern California—at least that’s what the Los Angeles Times said.”
“That may have been very true,” Mrs. Rotterdam
said, jerking at the door. “And now it will be simply that much less innovative, since my husband and I will not be attending.”
“That’s right!” Celeste said. Huh? “Er—that’s also what the Times said.”
“What?” Mrs. Rotterdam stopped tugging at the door and stared at Celeste. “What are you talking about, young lady?”
Yeah, Celeste, what are you talking about? She had no idea. She just kept babbling. “Right! The Times said that you and your husband would never attend such a new, fresh festival. They said you were old guard and that this stuff would be too edgy for you.” Celeste gestured around Pinyon. At least Mila had stopped trying to bang her car door shut, so Celeste just took a deep breath and kept on talking. “Yeah, that’s why we were so thrilled when you and Mr. Rotterdam showed up. We knew you weren’t dinosaurs, like the Times said.” Celeste pretended she didn’t hear Mila’s outraged squawk. “We knew you had the foresight to believe in one of the hippest new film festivals in California.” She turned the full force of her intense gaze on the woman now sitting motionless behind the steering wheel.
Celeste held her breath. Then Mila’s hand slowly moved to her seat belt. She unfastened it and reached for her handbag on the seat next to her. Celeste hardly dared to breathe as Mila stiffly unfolded herself from the car.
She stood up and fixed Celeste with a rapier-like stare.
“I will have a double vodka tonic,” she said coldly and, turning, marched back into the lobby.
“Absolutely!” Celeste said to the empty air and hurried back inside to get Mila her drink.
✦ ✦ ✦
As Celeste’s heels rapidly clicked across the lobby, the door to the lounge swung open, almost smacking her in the face. Travis and his friends streamed out, all talking loudly.
“Travis!” Celeste whispered. Travis’s friends kept walking.
“Celeste?” Travis said. He stopped. “What are you doing, hiding behind the door?” He gave her a charming smile, and for a brief moment Celeste almost smiled back. Then she stopped
