I consider lying, but decide against it.
“Yes.”
“Don’t be. You know what you’re doing.”
Looking at him, this young man who’d worked construction in Phoenix, found his way to a motorcycle club in Vegas, and somehow ended up driving me to client meetings, a warmth moves through me that has nothing to do with obligation.
“How do you know that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Just do.”
Simple. Completely unbothered. Entirely Remy.
Not long later, The Ember Hotel comes into view as we turn off the main road onto a quieter street running parallel to the Strip, close enough to feel the energy of it but far enough to feel like its own world entirely.
Remy slows the SUV, and we both look at the front of the building.
It is beautiful.
Not in the way of the big Strip hotels, not glass, spectacle, and scale designed to make you feel small, but something quieter and more deliberate. A converted building, older bones showing through the modern renovation, warm stone, copper detailing catching the afternoon light, window boxes with trailing greenery softening the edges. A discreet sign above the entrance in a clean serif font.The Ember.
“Impressive,” Remy says under his breath.
“Yes.”
He pulls up to the entrance and puts the SUV in park. “I’ll wait here. Take your time.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to—”
“Sophia.” A look. “Go impress the woman. I’ve got water and a podcast. I’m fine.”
“A podcast?” A laugh escapes me.
He frowns. “Yeah, so… what’s wrong with that? I’m listening to how a man traveled the US on his motorcycle.”
“Absolutely nothing,” I say, my hand briefly on his shoulder, and get out of the car.
The lobby stops me in the doorway.
It’s intimate and alive, the kind of space designed to make you exhale the moment you walk in. Rich amber tones in the upholstery, copper light fittings that cast everything in a soft golden glow, and natural stone floors polished to a quiet gleam. A fireplace is against the far wall, unlit in the Vegas heat but present, the whole room oriented around it, built outward from that central warmth.
The designer part of my brain wakes up fully for the first time in months, lighting up with everything it is seeing, cataloging, and already beginning to respond.
This is what the brand needs to feel like. Every touchpoint. This exact feeling the moment you walk through the door.
At the reception desk, a young woman smiles warmly, reaching for the phone the moment I give my name.
Victoria Chen comes through the lobby doors two minutes later, and I understand immediately why she’d built something like this. She has the same quality as the hotel, deliberate, genuine, and without performance. She’s in her late thirties, with sharp eyes behind clear-framed glasses, dressed simply in a linen shirt and tailored trousers, the kind of woman who knows what she is doing and doesn’t need anyone to know she knows it.
She crosses the lobby with her hand already extended. “Sophia. I’m so glad you could come in person.”
“Thank you for making time.” I shake her hand. “The hotel is stunning. I had to stop for a moment when I walked in.”
Her face opens into a real smile. “That’s the reaction I want every guest to have.” She gestures toward a seating area near the fireplace, two low chairs in amber velvet, a low table betweenthem, the whole arrangement feeling like a living room rather than a business meeting. “Shall we?”
Victoria is the kind of client every designer dreams of. She knows what she wants in terms of feeling but trusts the right person to translate that feeling into visuals. She asks the right questions. She listens to the answers. She pushes back when something doesn’t land and says ‘Yes, exactly that’when it does, and those three words are worth more than any amount of polite agreement.
She asks about my background early on, where I trained, who I’d worked with, and what I’d built.
