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“Oh finally,” she muttered as her suitcase came into view. She had begun to worry that her luggage had missed the flight, and she was going to have to get about in jeans and her stained hoodie.
Relieved, Vivian made her way over to the carousel and scooped up her luggage. Bags safely in hand, she headed for the exit, her destination—the green and black rideshare shuttle bus service which would take her to the LAX, Uber pick up zone.
With another hour of travel down to Laguna Beach still ahead of her, Vivian hoped she would experience a quick and smooth check in when she reached the resort.
Dear god, don’t let there be a CPA or financial planning convention at the resort this week. I couldn’t handle all those pasty-faced accountants hogging the pool.
Barring long lines of people all wanting itemized expenses and complimentary drink coupons, Vivian’s calculations now had her sitting by the pool sipping a cocktail by 6pm PST at the latest.
She could almost taste the first sip of her pink paloma cocktail.
* * *
“Mister Royal, we will be landing at John Wayne Airport, in Los Angeles in the next hour.”
Bryce glanced up from his laptop. The people who worked for the House of Royal would never be so crass as to simply call it LA. Even NYC was New York City. Edward Royal had a thing about maintaining standards, claiming it set them apart from the mainstream. Bryce secretly thought it was just being anal and pretentious.
“Excellent, thank you Patrick.”
An hour, perfect. He had enough time to have a wash and change into resort suitable attire. Arriving fresh to the hotel would mean he would be mentally and physically ready to spot the immediate signs of trouble. A tired guest checking in was only focused on one thing, getting to their room.
Bryce finished the email he had been working on and hit send. As far as the rest of the Royal Resorts executive team were concerned, he was still in the UK. He was most certainly not in the US let alone anywhere near their troubled Californian resort. The longer he could maintain the façade, the better.
The unopened email from his brother was a concern. How long was Bryce going to be able to stay undercover? The subject line of WHERE ARE YOU?? was a dead giveaway as to Jordan’s current state of mind.
Midafternoon West Coast time, Bryce stepped onto the tarmac of John Wayne Airport. He was dressed in a sandy brown off-the-rack, Canali linen suit. On his feet were the obligatory Gucci loafers. After changing on the plane, he had checked himself in the mirror.
Sorry Dad, but I really liked this suit, and I couldn’t be bothered going all the way to see cousin Nico in Milan just to get one tailor made.
A pair of silver framed sunglasses from the Pelle d'estate range, a House of Royal private brand, completed Bryce’s California look. He wanted to look like he had money but not appear filthy rich. Millionaire vs. billionaire. Experienced and clever resort staff could tell the difference long before they caught a glimpse of the level of credit card their guest used to check in.
Bryce headed toward the sleek black Mercedes sedan which stood waiting for him.
Patrick hurried alongside. “I trust the car is to your satisfaction, Mister Royal.”
“Yes, thank you, Patrick. Nicely understated. Can you make sure I have use of the car for the entire duration of my stay? Hopefully, I will only be here for a few days, but you never know.”
“Of course, Mister Royal. The car is yours until you are ready to return it.” The young man handed Bryce an envelope and smiled. “Tip money. Mom, I mean Janice said since you had just arrived back in the States you likely wouldn’t have many bank notes on you. She asked me to arrange these.”
Grateful, Bryce took the money and went to tuck it into the pocket of his pants. Patrick’s eyes grew wide with dismay. “Mister Royal, I beg of you, please, don’t ruin the line of the linen.” He took the money out of the envelope, and patiently waited while Bryce placed it into his own bill fold and then inside the pocket of his jacket. Bryce got a nod of approval for his efforts.
“Will you be taking the jet back to New York tonight?”
Patrick shook his head. “No, Mister Royal. Your father didn’t want it returning to town just yet. He was very clear in his instructions that both the jet and the crew remain here in California until you are ready to return to the East Coast.”
That was good news. If the Royal Resorts plane was quietly tucked away in a hangar at John Wayne Airport, it would help keep his visit to the Laguna Beach resort a secret. He nodded. “Thank you, Patrick, I appreciate your efforts in making sure that news of this trip remains on a need to know basis. I shall see you in a day or two.”
He didn’t have to say more. If this young man had plans to make a successful career within the House of Royal, his parents would have pressed upon him the first and most important lesson of all. When it came to matters of business, keep your lips shut.
“I will call you if I need anything. In the meantime, find yourself a nice hotel, and go check out the sights.”
It went without saying that Patrick couldn’t check into the Royal Resort. Bryce had no concerns that with all the other fine establishments which Laguna Beach had to offer a young man, Janice’s son would have little trouble finding ways to amuse himself.
“Good luck, Mister Royal.”
He bade Patrick goodbye with a cheery word of caution. “Laguna Beach has some great bars, just don’t go too hard on the corporate card. Remember your mom is the one who approves them.”
With a soft smile on his face Bryce turned and headed toward the hire car. It wasn’t all that long ago that he had been a young man with partying on his mind. His role as a senior executive of Royal Resorts had seen those days growing ever smaller in the rear view mirror.
