“Here’s your tea, sir,” she murmured softly as she gingerly set the mug down in front of him, willing her hand to remain steady and not spill even a single drop.

Ian glanced up from whatever he’d been studying on his computer monitor and smiled warmly. “You’re a lifesaver,” he told her earnestly as he picked up the mug and took a long sip. “Ahh. Exactly what I needed, Tessa. My flight arrived in later than scheduled last evening, so I’m fighting off the effects of some serious jet lag. A good, strong cup of tea should help alleviate that.”

She offered him up a tentative smile in response. “I’m glad. Just let me know when you need a refill.”

He nodded, taking another drink from his mug. “I’ll be sure to take you up on your offer. But tell me - how did an American girl learn to make tea this way?”

Tessa’s smile deepened. “I was taught by the best, sir - Mrs. Carrington, to be exact. She considered the art of brewing tea almost as important as knowing the correct way to format a letter.”

Francine Carrington had been her former boss at the Gregson hotel in Tucson, the woman who had initially hired her on as a part-time office assistant back when Tessa was still attending community college. Mrs. C., as she preferred to be called, had been a formidable employer, extremely particular about the way she liked things done, and had taken a young, impressionable Tessa firmly under her wing. It was largely due to Mrs. C’s teachings and encouragement that Tessa had wound up working in San Francisco at the firm’s American headquarters.

“Ah.” Ian nodded his dark head. “It’s all very clear to me now. Yes, I can just see the terrifying Mrs. Carrington hovering over you and making sure you brewed that tea to her exact specifications. If memory serves me right, that was one of many things I had to learn during the summer I worked for her. A summer that felt like a life sentence at times.”

Tessa gaped at him in shock. “But - but you were her employer, Mr. Gregson! At least, your family was. Why were you working for her?”

He chuckled. “I was nineteen years old, had just finished my first year at Oxford, and was brimming over with self-importance and arrogance. A day or two working for that old witch changed that attitude in a hurry. She didn’t give a holy damn that my grandfather had founded the company, or that my father and uncle were the CEO’s. I received no special treatment, wasn’t spared even one of her very scathing lectures, and didn’t dare to annoy her. But by the end of that summer I’d learned more about the corporate structure and operations that I could have done in an entire year with someone else teaching me. Mrs. C. was officially in charge of the administrative staff at our London headquarters, but she knew a great deal more that anyone ever realized. It was a tremendous loss to the firm when she moved out to Arizona to work at the hotel there.”

Tessa nodded. “It always surprised me a little to realize just how much she knew. But she’s also very devoted to her husband, and when his breathing problems became serious she didn’t hesitate to move him to a drier climate. I – I know most people were terrified of her, but she was always kind to me. She, well, was like a mother to me in some ways.”

Ian arched a brow in disbelief. “A mother? Mrs. C.? Are you certain we’re talking about the same woman - five feet tall, about ninety pounds soaking wet, tweed suits, horn rimmed glasses, and with the most terrifying scowl you’ve ever seen?”

She laughed. “I know it’s hard to believe, but - yes. In her own gruff way she was good to me, Mr. Gregson. I, well, I was just a teenager when I lost my own mother, and Mrs. Carrington would always give me advice when I needed it.”

“I’m very sorry to hear about your mother,” he replied gently. “As for any advice that old witch might have given you, I hope that she never recommended you buy a tweed suit like hers.” His hazel eyes twinkled as they flickered over her sweater and skirt. “I much prefer your own fashion sense.”

Tessa’s heartbeat fluttered erratically at his compliment, a compliment that sounded a whole lot like flirting to her. But that had to be her imagination, she scolded herself, because a man like Ian Gregson simply did not flirt. Ever. And especially not with someone like her.

“I, um, thank you,” she stammered awkwardly, unable to think of a wittier reply.

Ian smiled at her reassuringly, undoubtedly sensing her uncertainty. “Did you have an enjoyable Christmas, Tessa? At least,” he added gently, “as much as you were able to do given the circumstances.”

She knew he was referring to her imminent divorce. “It, ah, was a very quiet holiday, Mr. Gregson,” was all she offered in the way of a reply.

His smile was quickly replaced by a frown. “Surely you didn’t spend it all alone?” he asked in concern. “Your family…”

Tessa gave a quick shake of her head, hoping that Mr. Gregson wouldn’t press the matter further. “No family,” was all she said in response. “And I was invited to spend the day with some friends, but I just preferred to be by myself this year. I - I hope that you enjoyed your visit with your family, sir.”

Ian nodded briefly. “Very much, thank you. And I’m sorry that you had to spend the holidays by yourself, Tessa. No one should be alone at this time of the year. But I have a very good feeling that next Christmas will be a much happier one for you.”

She regarded him curiously. “Why do you say that, Mr. Gregson?”

He gave her another of those mysterious smiles. “Let’s call it a hunch, shall we? Or perhaps it’s just time for something good to happen in your life. You deserve it, after all.”

Tessa stared back at him in bemusement, but before she could question him further, his cell phone buzzed with an incoming call and she retreated back to her desk to afford him some privacy.

It was an extremely busy day, just as she’d known it would be after Mr. Gregson’s return from a two-week vacation. But despite the rather frantic pace she found herself operating at throughout the morning and then well into the afternoon, Tessa couldn’t help replaying those last snippets of conversation, and wondering why Mr. Gregson had sounded so very, very sure of himself when he’d declared that next Christmas would be a much happier one for her. What sort of “hunch” could he possibly be basing such a confidently uttered statement on?