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She’s right there, standing in the lobby, only a few steps away from where I’d first met her. She’s talking to her two trusty lieutenants. The brown hair is swept back in a low ponytail and she’s in a navy blue dress that hugs her body.
Competence and beauty combined.
Sophia’s eyes land on mine. “Mr. Winter,” she says in a warm, corporate voice and extends a hand. She’s good at that, making fake enthusiasm seem real. She could’ve had a career in hospitality.
“Miss Bishop,” I say. “Allow me to escort you and your colleagues up to the conference room.”
Andrew had planned to do this. His face had been priceless when I told him I’d take over the task.
Sophia and her colleagues set up shop in the conference room right away. I stand sentry at the door and watch as they unpack laptops and notebooks. They’ll spend the entire day at the hotel, talking to my employees and getting the ball rolling on their concept.
Inputting, I believe, was the business term they used. Consulting is an industry I’ve never understood, but I can respect its results.
“Have you had a tour of the hotel?” I ask. My question is for the entire team, but I can’t stop myself from looking at Sophia when I say the words.
She looks up. “Are you offering, Mr. Winter?”
“Yes.”
She looks at Jenna, busy firing up their computers, and then nods. “I’d love to join you, yes. My team has a tour scheduled with your head of reception later. We’ll divide and conquer.”
It’s hard to stop the unprofessional pleasure I feel at that. Sophia joins me and we head out to the elevators. Her shoes make sharp, clicking noises on the marble floor. She’s a tall woman, and with heels on, we’re nearly the same height.
I lead us down the double stairs. We’ll start in the lobby and The Ivy. Styled as an Old World orangery with vaulted ceilings and olive trees, the restaurant is where we serve breakfast to the hotel guests, and in the evening, dinner to everyone else.
“I’ve been to the hotel a few times before,” she says, “but there’s no way I could resist a tour from a Winter himself.”
“You should take notes.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then she chuckles softly. “You know what, I probably will.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She pulls out a notepad from her bag. “Give me as much history as you think I need.”
“Be careful what you ask for,” I say. “My mother wrote a book about the hotel’s history. There are three hundred pages worth of facts about this place, each one as painstakingly detailed as the last.”
“A biography?”
“Yes,” I say. “The book was never published, though. It’s kept in the family.”
“I’m sure it could be successful,” she says. “If you chose to publish it wide.”
I look over at her. “She included a tad too many… revealing details about the family.”
Sophia nods, and the glint in her eyes tells me she understands perfectly. “I see. But you might be able to turn it into a coffee table book. You could use images from the hotel over the past century, including some of the most prominent guests, with stories about each of them. From the Roaring Twenties to the crazy rock bands of the eighties. The Winter Hotel is legendary. You could mythologize that. Why not capitalize on your own legacy?” she asks. “You could involve your mother, too.”
I pause on the first marble step up to The Ivy. “Did you just think of that?”
“Yes,” Sophia says. “Want us to draw up a quick prototype and include it in our pitch? We have in-house graphic artists. I’d be happy to include it.”
I look at her for a long moment. “Are you well compensated at Exciteur?”
Her eyes widen. “That’s an unexpected question.”
“I hope the answer is yes,” I say, “or I’ll strongly suggest to St. Clair that he increase whatever he’s paying you.”
A flush rises on her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Winter. But I assure you, I’m paid well. I was recently promoted to this position.”
