Greg nods. “I can’t tell you how often I see visitors just standing around the fireplace, trying to enjoy the ambience but with nowhere to sit. Those two armchairs are never open.”
We make the swap, managing to fit a wood bench, two sleek side chairs, and an upholstered ottoman that doubles as extra seating. And he was right. What a difference.
One of the women, Nia, suggests getting rid of a rack holding wine openers with the Bellanti Vineyards logo and instead placing them in baskets stacked in a tier by the register. The baskets are woven with black metal handles, and the wine openers look eye-catching in them.
“This looks fabulous,” I tell her. “I’m so glad you suggested it. Genius.”
“Thank you. And thanks for listening,” she says shyly. “Not exactly something we’re used to from the upper management.”
Something tells me she’s referring to Jessica, but I don’t pry. We fill the remaining baskets with upsell merchandise, realign the chaise loungers, and rearrange the floral bouquets.
With minutes to spare, we stand in a line and admire our work. The change is inspiring. The whole room is visible, the lighting more gentle, the setup inviting guests to wander around, browse the wines, sit and enjoy the fireplace or the view from the window.
“This is so great!” I tell everyone. “Thank you all for your Herculean efforts.”
I give them each a high five. Every single employee is genuinely smiling. I know they have more setup to do before the doors open, so I gather up my clipboard and coffee cup.
“Before you go, I have a list of things I’ll be speaking to Mr. Bellanti about. Is there anything you all need that would make your jobs easier?”
A stunned sort of silence falls as the employees look at each other. Sensing their uncertainty, I gesture to the aprons.
“I’m going to start with your uniforms. You need something a little less ‘service staff.’ You’re all experts in Bellanti wine, so your presentation should reflect the hard work you’ve put in to earn that status. I know the training isn’t easy.”
“That’s an understatement,” Nia says.
They look at each other, and one of the men speaks up. “Maybe we could get some of those mats that you stand on to keep your legs and feet from dying by the end of the day?”
“Anti-fatigue mats. Definitely a yes. Got it,” I say, nodding as I add it to the list.
“What about a few stools for the staff?” someone else suggests. “We wouldn’t sit when it’s busy, obviously. But when there aren’t visitors, we have to lean on the bar because there’s nowhere for us to sit down and rest. I’ve got arthritis in my back, so it would really help.”
“Gosh, of course,” I say. “I’m sorry nobody addressed that yet—I promise there will be stools in here within the next day or so. This isn’t a torture chamber. What else?”
Greg looks at his workers, but it seems they’re out of ideas for now. “We’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind. Thank you, Mrs. Bellanti.”
We part ways and I turn to the wine list for today’s tastings. I feel proud as I pull bottles and work on the arrangement. I’m excited to see how the flow goes when guests begin arriving.
Plus, I think I’m well on my way to earning the staff’s undying loyalty.
21
Frankie
I checkmy phone and read a few texts from Charlie, but she says there’s been no word about our father. Determined not to lose the high I’m on from a successful morning, I double-check the list I just made as I walk into the main offices, mentally calculating what the promises I’d just made to the staff will cost. It’s relatively little compared to the energy and allegiance we’ll get in return from happy employees, but I know I’ll still have to justify the purchases to Dante.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Bellanti.”
“Hi, Ruby. How are you?”
Ruby is keeping watch from her perch behind the reception desk. Unlike the first time I was here, she smiles at me and gives a little wave. I like to think my charming personality made her come around, but I know it’s the Chanel scarf I left in a gift bag for her as a peace offering. She’s been eating out of my hand ever since.
I smile at her and make my way down the hall to Dante’s office. I’m going to have to sweet talk him a little, be suave. He’s not one to think about other people’s comfort, and if he does, it doesn’t seem to be a high priority for him.
His door is partially open, so I sail right in, not bothering to knock.
The smell of heavy perfume hits me, and I look automatically toward the desk. Dante is leaning way back in the chair, Jessica practically straddling him with one leg wedged between his thighs, her other foot on the floor. Her tongue is down his throat, her hand over his crotch.
The clipboard almost falls from my hand, but I grip it so hard the edge digs into my palm.
