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Grateful to be able to look away from Dex, I turn to Chef Bernard first. “I’m sorry, Jacques, but I’m afraid it’s true. I’m closing The Rooftop restaurant and will be converting the space.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up my hand to quiet him. “I’m aware that when I hired you, we signed a two-year employment contract. I’ll buy out the remaining four months which should give you more than enough time to secure alternate employment. Please break the news to the staff and let them know they will all receive two-weeks paid severance. I’ll be meeting with HR in the morning to get the paperwork in motion.”
His face is beet red. I can tell Jacques isn’t going to go quietly. “Just like that. No notice. No discussion. Just get the hell out?”
Dex steps between the chef and me, inserting himself. “You heard the lady. My associate, Mr. Z, is going to escort you back upstairs and will assist in closing things down.”
I want to scream at his interference. He doesn’t get any say over my front of house employees, but since I no longer run a rooftop restaurant, it’s a moot point.
I step behind Peter’s desk, putting the wide furniture between us as I prepare for the next battle. I’m not giving up on the thirteenth-floor suites as easily.
After the two men depart to go upstairs, I resume our discussion. “So, you have your precious rooftop,” I point out before adding, “but I’m not budging on the thirteenth floor. I agreed that you and Z could move back in starting tonight. I never agreed to a timeline to turn over the entire thirteenth floor. We have business groups booked.”
“Then I suggest you unbook them. Either that or… I’d be happy to move into the penthouse with you instead.” His grin is predatory. The victorious glint in his eye reminds me of the kiss he forced on me earlier today. The only difference is the added scruff of beard on his jaw this afternoon, like a subtle reminder of his dangerous persona.
Having the devil under the roof of The Whitney is going to be bad enough, but in my personal space? That I can’t allow.
Peter clearing his throat ends the showdown.
I stiffen my back, refusing to let him see me cry. I feel the humiliation seeping into my bones as I’m forced to bend to his will yet again.
Turning to my trusted employee, I finally give in to Dex’s unspoken threat. “Peter, you’ve been with the hotel for over five years and I’m grateful for your loyalty and continued discretion. Mr. Cohen and Mr. Z will be rejoining us here at The Whitney. We will be resuming our old arrangements. Do you understand what that means?”
I half expect Peter to be as angry as the chef with the changes so when he smiles and welcomes Dex back with a handshake, I want to smack the polite smile off both of their faces.
Assholes.
“We’ve upgraded our computer systems since you were a resident, Mr. Cohen. I’m guessing I’ll need to get you and Z trained so you can take over control of the thirteenth-floor inventory?”
“That would be most helpful, yes,” Dex replies while smirking in my direction.
Peter practically falls all over himself trying to help the damn devil. “Would you like me to open a service call with the elevator company? I assume we’ll need to change the elevator bank to remove the thirteenth floor from the button options again, yes?”
“Correct, and while the technicians are here, make sure they program the unique key slot to accept the special key pens I will be providing to my guests. What about the private elevator for my visitors entering near the loading dock?”
“We’ve converted that into an employee elevator, but I can have that reprogrammed as well.”
Peter’s helpfulness is pissing me off.
“Oh, how will we ever thank you for your help?” I deadpan.
He flinches, realizing only one of us in the room is still smiling, and it isn’t me.
I want nothing more than to stand my ground and delay Dex’s return to business as usual. Making him wait even a week, or a few days, would feel like a small win.
“Is the Boardroom Suite occupied this evening?” I finally ask Peter.
“No, but the CFO of a manufacturing company is due to check in tomorrow afternoon.”
Dex and I are back in our stare down. I want to wipe that smirk off his too-handsome face. I’ve spent years doing my best to distance myself from the sordid legacy our fathers left us. It’s a bitter pill to swallow that in one short week all of that work is being thrown out the window.
My mind races. I could make some calls, try to borrow the money I need from wealthy friends. I can feel the blush of humiliation at that idea warming my face.
I’m backed into a corner and digging myself out is going to involve the embarrassment of admitting failure at running The Whitney entirely on my own. My only choice seems to be if I want the humiliating failure served publicly or privately.
I release the breath I’ve been holding before caving in to the devil’s terms.
“Peter, please contact all of the future guests who have specifically reserved suites on the thirteenth floor. Let them know we’ll be moving them to alternate accommodations in The Whitney. If anyone gives you too much trouble, feel free to provide them with vouchers for a free night stay in the future.”
“Sure thing,” he says before an awkward silence falls in the small office once again. “Well, I have a lot to do. I’ll have a new master key waiting for you out at the desk when you’re ready, Mr. Cohen.”
