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“I think you’ll find that I’m very difficult to offend, especially with the truth.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I spent the first two years of my career in the reception.”
Her eyes widen. “You did?”
“Yes. All Winter kids have to work summers in reception. My great-grandfather instituted the policy with his kids, and it’s been a thing since. I haven’t checked in a guest myself in… well, it’s almost been twenty years. But I know how it’s done.”
“That,” Sophia says, “is a factoid I bet your mother included in the book.”
I chuckle. “Yes, including which of her children were the best at it.”
“You?”
“Naturally,” I say. “It’s why I’m here and my brother isn’t.”
She looks at me for a long beat, like she doesn’t know if I’m serious or not. But then she smiles. “He treated the guests poorly?”
“Terribly,” I say. “He never told anyone the check-out time, and when a member of the Rolling Stones checked in, he asked them for an autograph.”
“Yikes.”
“He got away with it when the head receptionist explained who he was, but Dad wasn’t happy.” I shake my head. “Honestly though, he was good at the job. But he never wanted to have it, and it showed.”
“You did?” she asks.
I focus on cutting through the coriander-crusted sirloin. “Someone had to do it.”
She makes a humming sound, and I can hear what she’s thinking.That’s not quite the same thing.But if I say one thing I fear I’ll say another, because my tongue is already looser than it should be around her.
“So that’s why you’re unoffendable,” she says. “You’ve worked in hospitality.”
“Handled every type of guest,” I say, “including the ones who throw a few well-chosen curses your way as they check out.”
“Somehow I thought there would be less of that in a place like this. You know, so upscale?”
I shrug. “Few people are as quick to anger as the rich.”
Sophia breaks into a half-laugh. “Well, that’s definitely true.”
“Enjoying the food?”
“Yes,” she says, “and the unexpected company. I’m grateful to get so much of your time, Mr. Winter. I wasn’t expecting it.”
I take a bite of my food to delay answering. “Well, I care a great deal about this project, and I have every incentive to make sure your pitch is as good as possible.”
She nods. “You want a more accessible, scaleable hotel chain.”
“Yes. The Winter Hotels are our core brand, but they’re…” I pause, because I hate this word. “Exclusive.”
“Of course. You can’t build a place like this in every state.”
“No,” I say. She puts her glasses back on, and in front of my eyes, transforms into yet another version of herself. I’ve seen her professional, I’ve now seen her relaxed, and I once saw her heartbroken.
Curiosity gets the better of me. “Where are you from?”
“A little town called Marhill. It’s five hours north of here.” She puts down her fork, the dish clean. “It’s not big enough to warrant one of your new hotels, let’s put it that way.”
