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“All right.”
She studies me for a moment, eyebrows suddenly knitting together with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine—why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You gave in way too easy.”
“I didn’t give in to anything. I see your point. You know your customers and you know what their expectations are, that’s good enough for me.”
She gives me another bright smile, and it makes my stomach clench. “Thanks, Sean. I appreciate that. And no worries, I can talk to my contact at Schuster and Flint and prepare them for the changes. We’ve been working with them for years, and you’re right, I should update the contract to be aligned with industry standards.”
“See what you can do.”
Ihead to my office, and work on my usual morning tasks in comfortable silence.
In the late afternoon after her break, Jess stops by my office, lavender sunglasses perched on her head, matching her outfit. “I meant to tell you: the interior designer put a couple of small finishing touches on the Presidential Suite. That means all renovations are officially complete. Do you want to go check it out?”
“Yeah, sure.” I get up, ready to stretch my legs for a bit.
We exit the office.
I bring the conversation to the marketing agency’s plan, suggesting exclusive partnerships with local cultural institutions, curated in-house experiences, and a strategic social media campaign—to elevate WH’s status in NYC.
“I read the email this morning. I’m glad I don’t have to take care of it in any way,” Jess says, her voice filled with relief.
“I told you Blackwood was here to make your life easier.”
“I will admit that you did say that. And I love the practices that they’re going to implement to streamline things.”
“See? It won’t be so bad for Blackwood to run things.”
She smirks at me, saying, “Don’t push your luck, CEO.”
“I would never,” I say, strolling with her through the sunny lobby.
“I was wondering about the charity event next week.” She gestures to the wall behind the lobby. “How much budget do we have for the art piece?”
“One hundred thousand dollars,” I suggest.
“One hundred thousand?” she whispers in shock, looking at me in disbelief. “Are you serious, Sean?”
“Yeah, why? Not enough?”
“No, I didn’t expect that much. With that amount, we’ll snag the piece for sure!” She enthusiastically explains how the timing lines up perfectly with Schuster and Flint’s arrival, how she appreciates that the hotel will greet them in all its glory. She’s convinced the artist is a hidden gem in New York and predicts a significant spike in the price. According to her, the artist’s drawing will not only enhance the lobby’s atmosphere but also turn it into a go-to spot for magazines looking for a captivating backdrop.
“Why do you go to the yearly event?” she asks as I press the elevator button.
“My late mother founded the charity,” I inform her. “‘Grand Hospitality Affair’ was her idea.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, I had no idea!”
“Yeah, it was her vision, despite my father’s protests. She and one of our board members brought it to life.”
“I’m sorry to hear your mother died.”
“It was a long-term illness. She was battling it for several years before she eventually passed.”
“I truly am sorry.”
