I smother a laugh. “Seriously. How many times a day or week do you think you could do it?”
“I like this game, seeing as it’s just for fun,” she says carefully, looking for a reaction from me that would suggest the opposite. After all, I would be jeopardizing my career. My reputation. And Emily knows I want to be reinstated to my rightful place, getting the promotion I was due. “Well, with them,” she continues, seeing nothing but fortitude on my face, “every day, easily. Each one of them.”
I laugh into her shoulder, trying to keep quiet. “Each guy every day? That’s three times a day. That’s twenty-one times a week, Emily,” I say dumb-founded. “You’ll go bankrupt in condom purchases alone.”
“I’d consider it a wise use of money if I went home to them,” she murmurs, eyes still locked on them as they chat in a small huddle by reception. “And why not? Why limit yourself if they’re all game for it?”
“Emily,” I say in all honesty, “it’s been a good talk.”
“Where are you going?” she demands when I brush past. She snags my arm and I twist towards her. “Is anything happening with you and them? If it is, I mean, I’m seriously turning green here, but I have my Brown Cow bartenders, so you should go with it. Though, if there’s one you’re not keen on, send him my way?” she asks. Scratch that, it’s a plea.
“Emily, I love you. Truly. But if I was getting it on with them, I’d be keeping them for myself.”
“Shit.” She sighs dramatically. “Career suicide suddenly seems really appealing.”
Nervously, I chuckle, unsure whether she’s serious or not.
“Fine. I guess they’re not here long, unlike my bartenders,” she shares with a saucy wink. “Make the most of it. I’ll keep your secret.”
“See you tonight,” I tell her, smoothing a hand over my ponytail.
After Sex Tape Gate this afternoon, things got back to normal. As normal as things are for us at any rate. Trying to look professional, I approach my VIPs. Reuben notices me first, his broad, inviting smile making my insides flip like gymnasts performing floor exercises.
“What are you up to?” I ask no one in particular. “I thought you were doing some shopping.”
“We plan to, but we’re just making a stop,” Reuben assures me. “Scoping out the place.”
Sometimes it’s hard not to look at this hotel without my former management hat on. There are structural changes I’d make, bringing in additional revenue streams. And some decorative improvements would be quick fixes, but Elias has never wanted to consider those, let alone my bigger ideas.
“I’m glad we’re in the cabin,” Reuben continues. “For a start, it’s quieter and private,” he says with meaning. “But this space is depressing.”
I nod. “There’s a lot that could be done. Down here, there should be a merchandise outlet with Stein branded hoodies and mugs and a hundred other nicknacks. People love souvenirs from their trips, especially ones with history, like this place. And seeing as Elias missed the boat by not buying the adjacent buildings when they came up for sale, at least he should build a waffle house on the southeast elevation. It would be a great additional revenue stream.”
Luca and Reuben exchange a look, but I’m lost to my grand ideas. “Have you ever eaten the gateaux from the couple that has a place off Gretl’s? They are seriously the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve eaten a few in my time,” I deadpan. “They were selling up, so I asked WM if they’d buy the business, but my bosses weren’t interested. Naturally, I’m pleased they didn’t take that opportunity.”
“Off Gretl’s?” Luca asks. “I know the one; Gates’ Cakes. Are they still looking to sell, do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you do in management? Before?”
“Estate.” Buildings, infrastructure, amenities. “I liked interiors too.”
“Figures,” Brecken murmurs, “You have an eye for opportunity.”
Luca laughs sardonically. “WM fucked up losing you.”
Just then, his phone rings. He excuses himself, stepping towards the main doors. His head swivels as if he’s looking for someone, and then as if by Bat Signal, all three of them head outside towards a gray-haired man in a suit who’s parked in the lot. Not wanting to lose sight of what’s transpiring, I head to the doors and peer through the glass. There’s something my mind is piecing together, and I almost daren’t hope. Or believe it.
The man passes Brecken a fat, manilla envelope. He skims through the contents before passing it to Luca, who tucks it under his arm, a few words exchanged before the stranger gets back into his car.
I push through the doors, heading for them as I brace my body against the brittle wind. Cold air snaps at my skin as heavy snow whips around my face. It stings as it lands, my shoulders and hair quickly getting covered. Alone and unconcerned about being overheard, I demand, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re thinking of buying Stein Hotel? I thought you were a mystery shopper. The hotel does at any rate.”
Luca ushers me under the sloped overhang, protecting me from the snow, Brecken and Reuben bracketing us and acting as windbreaks.
“And why, despite loving my honesty, did you lie to me about who you are?”
Luca inhales, his mouth twisting. “First off, the hotel knows a potential buyer is staying here as they, or rather, I, finalize the buy-out, but only since yesterday. They did think I was a mystery shopper. Second, it’s highly confidential. Third, I’m sorry for not being honest about who my father is.”