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“Moi?” he asks.
I smile. “Putting our best foot forward means a show of strength right out the gate. You’re a Botsford, you know what that’s like.”
He rolls his playful eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he quips. “But I humbly accept. What do I have to do?”
I slide a page out of my folder and push it toward him on the desk. “Each building manager will prepare a presentation. Just five-to-ten minutes of ideas for what they think can make this company better.”
“That’s it?”
“It sounds simple, but simple ideas lead to massive improvements. Graham wants to foster an atmosphere of teamwork and cooperation. It’s not just his company. It’s our company.”
“How democratic,” he mutters.
“It’s in his blood.”
“Yes. I saw Aunt Fiona’s big announcement.” Ian chuckles with doubt. “You’re a Nevadan, Oli. You think she has a chance?”
“I think if you’re going to place a bet in Vegas, you place it on gold.” I nod. “She’ll win.”
He tilts his head and hums softly in response. “What if I have no ideas?” he asks, shifting the conversation right back to the convention. “What if I believe this place is already practically perfect in every way?”
“Ask your staff,” I suggest. “I’m sure you can find at least one person here with an idea on how to improve things.”
Ian passively shrugs. “All right.” He smirks, giving me a dry chuckle. “Look at you go, Mr. Black. The boss with a capital B.”
I sit back. “I’m doing my best.”
“No, I mean it.” He casually gestures at me. “Seeing you in action like this almost makes me feel better about Uncle Kingston choosing you for the Liaison job over me.” He winks. “Almost.”
I laugh. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe next time,” he repeats.
“Now, there’s one last thing we’d like you to get on board with,” I say as I set my folder down on the edge of his desk. “And that’s the work-study program.”
Ian nods, his hands once again settling into a steepled grip in front of him. “Tell me more.”
“The Botsford Work-Study is a global program open to business students,” I explain. “They receive hands-on training in the hotels, usually starting at the front desk and working their way up from there. Fully paid, with benefits as decided by the building managers. Chicago’s the only location that doesn’t offer it to local students.”
He furrows his brow. “How come I’ve never heard of it before?”
“That’d be Drake, your dad,” I say. “He wasn’t a fan of it; thought the applicants couldn’t be trusted, especially since we give priority spots to low-income students.”
Ian laughs. “Yeah, that’s Dad all right.”
“Now that you’re in charge of Chicago and have, rather successfully, turned this place around, Graham won’t take no for an answer. We want you in.” I bob my head at the Chicago North University diploma on the wall. “I’m sure there are plenty of students at your alma mater champing at the bit to see the belly of the Botsford beast. You should really consider it.”
“And what about you?” he asks me. “What’s your take on the program?”
“I think it’s essential,” I answer, truthfully. “The talent found at local universities around the world has been invaluable. In the last four years, ten applicants have filled permanent positions with the company. Of those, two are now building managers, including the manager who replaced me in Vegas.”
“Ah, yes. Marla,” he says, his voice somewhere between admiration... and disdain. “Jonah’s new wife.”
“That’s her,” I confirm.
“Beautiful wedding.”
“It was.”
