But the night hadn’t gone as planned.
Isaac is quiet beside me, as if he’s taking in my reaction to the suite he’s upgraded me to. Only I’m not sure suite is the right word.
Mansion,is my first thought.
The foyer is tastefully decorated, sparingly furnished, and leads into the living room.
And the living room is tremendous.
The penthouse must be a duplex, because the living room’s ceiling is three times the height of a normal one. The entire wall is covered in beautifully trimmed windows that look out over the glittering city. Tasteful white sofas are arranged around a giant marble coffee table. On it is a vase of fresh flowers, their scent spreading throughout the room.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“It’s big,” Isaac says. I hear him set down my bag and move around behind me. Opening doors, perhaps. I don’t know. I can’t look away from the wide expanse of oriental carpet and the open doorway leading into a study.
A study. In a hotel room.
“I can’t imagine who’s stayed here,” I say. “Presidents? Superstars?”
“Yes, and yes.” His voice comes from somewhere far away. “The security protocol it takes to host heads of state is a bitch, honestly, but we have it down to a science now.”
“Wow.” I run my hand over the back of one of the couches. “This place is old.”
“Yes. We’ve renovated the penthouse suite three times, but it still has some of its original features.” He’s on the steps to the stairway. “Sophia, I want to show you something.”
I follow him up the stairs. “You must have had old movie stars staying here, right? During the black-and-white film era?”
“All of them,” he says. “Diana Dunne took that famous photo here. You know the shot of her with the martini glass and pearl necklace?”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s only one of the most iconic images ever taken.”
He pushes open the door to the upstairs bathroom. “It was taken in this tub.”
The room is familiar. The lip of the giant standing tub, its gold wrought legs, and the skyline of New York behind it. The entire bathroom is clad in subtle marble and lightened with inlaid sconces.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Isaac’s watching me. “The view from the tub is one of this suite’s best features.”
“How much is the penthouse per night?” I ask. Then, I shake my head. “Please don’t tell me. I can’t possibly accept spending the night here.”
He closes the door to the bathroom and heads to the stairs again. I follow him, catching a glimpse of the master bedroom on the way. The bed is enormous.
Gigantic.
“You can,” he says, “and you will. The suite is empty tonight regardless. And maybe it’ll change your mind about the pitch. This is the old-world glamour we’re famous for, after all. Give the new chain some of this elegance.”
I chuckle. “You’re trying to win our argument?”
“Of course, I am, Miss Bishop.”
“Sophia,” I say. “We said… Sophia, when we’re like this.”
What exactlylike thismeans is unclear, and yet it makes perfect sense. When we’re alone.
When we’re talking like equals.
He smiles. “Okay. Sophia.”