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Which is when it finally clicks who I’m sitting at the table with.
The oldest of the Mills brothers. Of Mills Hotels. And Lincoln Moorehead, the CEO of Moorehead Media. A hotel mogul and a media mogul. I want to say something to Jackson, like a little warning would have been nice. I’m sitting in a room with some of the most powerful businessmen in the continental US. It’s a bit intimidating and awe-inspiring.
There is literally nothing I can do about it apart from tamp down my nerves and try not to drink an entire liter of sparkling water because my mouth is dry from the sudden anxiety of it all. I only allow myself a sip of the pink champagne cocktail—that Linc swears is his wife’s favorite drink—every five minutes. It’s delicious and almost impossible not to guzzle it. The rest of the time I keep my hands folded in my lap to keep from fidgeting.
The conversation is surprisingly easy despite the company I’m in. Linc and Griffin seem to love pushing each other’s buttons, and it’s very clear that Linc, for as gruff as he seems to be, is the more social of the two. Much like Jackson, he has a charismatic way about him that draws people in.
“So tell me about Spark House. I really love the idea of a boutique hotel, but adding the event angle gives it something unique. It must be a lot of work for you and your sisters,” Linc says.
“It can be hectic, but we have a great system down, and lots of part-time staff to help with setup and takedown between events. My older sister, Avery, is the one who comes up with obstacle courses or team-building exercises, I take care of the business end of things, and our younger sister is in charge of social media.”
“And you own the hotel, is that right? It’s completely family-run?” The ice cubes in his glass tinkle.
“We do. My sisters and I are the third generation.”
“Have you had it appraised?” Griffin asks.
“It’s not for sale.” The words are out before I can find a better, less hostile way to phrase it.
The table falls into something that feels a lot like shocked silence, at least until Linc picks the lemon slice off the edge of his glass of water and chucks it at his cousin. Hitting him between the eyes. “Fuck, Griff. This isn’t an acquisitions meeting. Dial it in.” He turns his attention to me. “I have to apologize for my cousin. He spends a lot of time looking at spreadsheets and not a lot of time dealing with human beings.”
“He’s not wrong,” Griffin mutters, the apology clear in his tone. “We know Spark House isn’t for sale. I was just running numbers in my head because it’s what I do. I apologize if I took you off guard there. It wasn’t my intention.”
“It’s okay. I apologize for overreacting. My sisters and I are very attached to Spark House.”
“And I can definitely see why. Conceptually, it’s fantastic,” Linc says.
They continue to ask questions about Spark House, how it started, how we took it over when our grandmother decided it was time to retire. Linc is especially interested in the green programs we’ve put in place to help make it a more efficient and environmentally friendly hotel. In turn, I take the opportunity to ask them all kinds of questions about Mills Hotels and Moorehead Media, which has shifted gears over the past several years, since Lincoln took the helm.
And just like Jackson said, I don’t need any of the presentation materials I tend to rely on. It doesn’t hurt that both men are charismatic and engaging. Linc is definitely the talker of the two, but they make me feel welcome and included, and very much like one of their equals.
Dinner is long finished, and it’s well after ten. Normally I’m in bed by this time, unless we have an event. As the evening wears on, I relax, although I don’t accept the offer for a second cocktail, no matter how delicious and tempting it is.
“Jackson tells us that you’re not only an incredibly savvy businesswoman, but you’re also creative,” Linc says after the server sets a teacup in front of me.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m just crafty.”
“London’s being modest. She has her own store on Etsy that she runs in her spare time, which she admittedly has very little of.”
“That might be because you’re monopolizing all of it these days,” Trent says with an arch of his brow.
I can’t tell if this is just good-natured ribbing or what. I’ve never seen Jackson and Trent interact before, apart from Trent reminding him that he had a meeting and Jackson blowing it off to sit in on mine.
“Monopolizing is what you do when you hijack my dinner meetings,” Jackson shoots back.
