Two weeks, he reminded himself. For OâHalloran Security, he could put up with anything.
Even Abby Porterâs smile.
Quinn paused, silently judging the distance between the buildings before cataloging everything else around him. The lodge. The cabins. The boathouse. Even the trees. It gave him an immediate sense of what fit so he would instantly know if something didnât.
So far, the only thing that didnât quite fit was Abbyâs reaction to him.
She got as tense as a new bowstring if he got too close.
Her bright smile and unexpected sense of humor rose easily to the surface, but several times during the tour Quinn had sensed her retreating within herself. And the flash of panic in her eyes when heâd told her that he planned to stay on-site had bothered him, too. For a split second, sheâd seemedâ¦afraid.
Or was he imagining things?
âQuinn? Thereâs a headache waiting for you on line two.â
Ignoring the phone, Quinn OâHalloran shot a wry look at his secretary and reached for the cup of coffee heâd poured over an hour ago instead.
âMel Burdock,â he guessed.
Faye McAllister shook her head. The movement sent the slender gold chains on her bifocals dancing. âNo, Burdockâs more like the tension headache that climbs up the back of your neck and camps out in your temples. This guyâinstant migraine.â
âFeel free to correct me on this, but I thought I hired you to intercept the migraines.â
âYou did. But this is the third time today Iâve intercepted this particular one.â Faye aimed a scowl at the phone. âWhen I told Mr. High and Mighty that your policy is to return phone calls between four and five oâclock, he didnât seem to think it applied to him. He insists on talking directly to you but wonât say what he wants. Andââ another scowl ââhe refused to tell me his name. Must be from out of town.â
Quinn suppressed a smile. Faye took pride in her ability to deal with anyone who walked through the door of OâHalloran Security. It was one of the reasons heâd hired her. Quinn preferred to work behind the scenes and let Faye handle the customers. Those she didnât manage to scare away usually ended up signing a contract.
Glancing at the clock, he mentally scrolled through the rest of his afternoon schedule. If he ate lunch in his truck on the way to Melâs, it would give him an extra five minutes to deal with the anonymous headache on the line.
âIâll take it in my office.â
âIâm sorry.â Faye huffed the words. âIf I let a salesman get through, Iâll bring in doughnuts tomorrow morning.â
Quinn grinned. âAre you kidding? If you let a salesman through, youâll bring in doughnuts for the next month.â
After topping off his cup, Quinn followed the worn path down the center of the carpet to the oversize closet in the back of the building that doubled as his office. The red light on his desk phone continued to blink out a warning. A testimony to the callerâs patience. Or stubbornness.
With a shake of his head, he picked it up. âOâHalloran.â
âItâs about time,â a voice snapped.
Faye was right. Instant migraine.
âGood morning, Mr.ââ
âAlex Porter.â There was a significant pause, as if he expected Quinn to recognize the name. âPorter Hotels.â
Now Quinn recognized the name.
The deluxe hotels had their roots in Chicago, where Quinn had lived for eight years before returning to Mirror Lake, Wisconsin. Under Alex Porterâs management, offshoots now sprouted in other major Midwestern cities. Not only did they successfully compete against the larger, well-known chains, but the fact that Porter Hotels remained a family-run enterprise made it even more unique.
âWhat can I do forââ
âI want to hire you.â
Quinn let out a slow breath. No wonder the guy had raised Fayeâs hackles. Everything Alex Porter said came out sounding like a command instead of a request. As if he expected his name would open doors that were closed to mere mortals.