“Ah,” I say. “Do you enjoy it?”
“I do, yes.”
“Good. Because if the answer was no, and if I was entirely lacking in morals, I might just be interested in poaching you.”
She smiles. “That’s a compliment, Mr. Winter. Thank you.”
We walk into The Ivy. It’s in the last hour of breakfast service, and the majority of guests have left.
“I’ve been here before,” she says. “For dinner.”
“What did you think?”
“I love the seasonal menu. Very classically European.”
I nod. “Etienne is a master.”
She pauses at a round table with seating for twelve. “My former parents-in-law threw us our engagement dinner here.”
I feel a pang of irritation at that, irrational as it is. Of course the Brownes had chosen The Ivy for such an occasion.
“Oh,” I say. My hotel already holds a lot of memories for her.
She shakes her head. “Sorry, that’s not relevant.”
“It is. You have memories here.” I gesture toward the back of the restaurant. “Let’s see if Etienne has a moment. Now, what does the Winter brand mean to you?”
She tells me about her impressions, and asks me about mine. Her questions are engaging. Tough, occasionally, and I watch as she writes down key words and phrases in her notebook.
I show her the newly installed winter garden next to the pool and gym area, the latter renovated just last year. We stop on the balcony overlooking the oval-shaped indoor pool. The room retains all of its old-world art deco charm, with gilded wall art and lavish lounge chairs.
“Wow,” she murmurs, running her hand along the bannister. I watch her reaction instead of the familiar rooms. The widening of her eyes, the easy appreciation. And the clever remarks—so that’s how you seat all the guests?And,Your restaurants must be a significant source of income on the weekends. Can guests pay extra to reserve this space?
“Have you been to the pool and spa area before?” I ask.
“Never,” she says. “I’ve never stayed the night here as a guest.”
I nod at the grand room. “What the Winter Hotel has is old-world charm. Its history, understated glamour, and impeccable service. Those things need to be a core part of the… more economical hotel chain.”
She hums and turns away from my view. “Mr. Winter,” she says, and there’s something almost gentle in her voice, like she’s preparing me for bad news. It makes me want to smile. “Impeccable service is a good principle to carry on. Old-World charm probably isn’t. Imagine how that’ll translate to a newly built property.”
“It won’t be a Winter Hotel if it doesn’t have that.”
“Precisely,” she says. “You want to create a spin-off hotel chain, not copy-paste what works so well here and in your other main locations.”
I narrow my eyes at her. She narrows hers right back. “You feel strongly about this,” I say.
“I’ve done my research, Mr. Winter.”
“I have no doubt,” I say. “But I know this hotel brand better than I know myself.”
I’ve dedicated my entire life to it.
My younger brother had always pursued other avenues, and made it clear that while he might lend a hand from time to time, he wasn’t interested in working for the family business. And my father? He had retired as soon as he felt comfortable that I could run it on my own.
He’d been a steward of the legacy, and not a visionary.
But this company is our lifeblood, and I’ll be damned if it does anything but flourish under my leadership.