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Ah, the liberating power of staying the course with style.
“Well, Mr. Grant,” I start, “I’d be more than happy to look into that. In the meantime, why don’t you enjoy a complimentary meal and drink while we take your belongings to your room?”
“That’s it?” He huffs out a mocking laugh. “That’s all you’re gonna give me for this inconvenience?”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, Sean’s voice sounds from behind me, loud and clear.
20
JESS
“Ithink Ms. Summers here has offered you quite a bit by way of compensation,” Sean says, “given that we’re almost booked out and you were not on the schedule for arrivals today, Andrew.”
Mr. Grant’s eyes widen as they fall on Sean, who now stands by my side.
“Sean?” he asks, surprised. “What…are you doing here?”
“Westerlyn Hotels has been acquired by Blackwood. I’m here working with Ms. Summers on the transition of the acquisition.”
No surprise, he knows Mr. Grant—of course he does. He’s been in this game for almost two decades, unlike me, juggling months away at my other hotels on the East Coast in Maine, Connecticut, and Massachusetts before working out of the New York City branch.
Mr. Grant puts on a cheerful smile, which I can’t tell if it’s fake or not. “At least there’s someone running this hotel who knows what they are doing,” he says to Sean, completely ignoring me now and somewhat turning his body away in the process.
The audacity. I feel the heat rise to my face and my annoyance at this man switches to indignation. “I have been running this hotel for five years, Mr. Grant,” I tell him. “And before that, another hotel. I know what I’m doing.”
He side-eyes me but otherwise ignores me completely. Instead, he full-on turns his back to me and gives Sean his undivided attention. I catch Emma’s eye over his shoulder, and she looks as irritated and insulted as I feel.
Sean doesn’t seem like he’s willing to let the slight go, saying, “Ms. Summers deserves the credit when it comes to running this hotel, Andrew. She has been more than charitable, especially considering the challenging circumstances.” He lowers his voice, hinting at a private conversation, yet it’s loud enough for me to hear. “I don’t understand why you insist on doing this every single time your company sends you on a business retreat, Andrew. It should be more than enough that you are already compensated for your time by your company and don’t have to pay a penny. And even if you did, we both know you can afford it,” he says, fixing Mr. Grant with a knowing look.
It takes all my willpower not to react to Sean’s burn and laugh out loud.
I’ve already been getting the sense that the man is quite shrewd, but to hear it confirmed by Sean, and that he’s not standing for any of this man’s crap, has me feeling all kinds of ways.
I allow myself to smile, and it’s more than a little smug.
One of the pet peeves I’ve had over the years is hearing about and seeing managers bend over backward to cater to these “rich people types” who show them no respect. To know that Sean is not one to tolerate such behavior, to know that he’s going to call someone out for their rudeness with such elegant grace, and, even more importantly, back me one hundred percent, makes my heart skip a beat with sheer excitement and awe.
Mr. Grant becomes noticeably flustered. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before words actually come out. “You have to see things from my perspective, Sean,” he says with a friendly smile, his voice much calmer and lower, like he’s making an effort to appear benevolent, unlike two seconds ago when he was yelling at Emma. “Travel plans can change unexpectedly, and it’s possible that there was a…well, miscommunication somewhere. You will admit that it’s inconvenient to not be able to check into your room when you intend to.”
In Emma’s expression and her subtle shake of her head, I’m certain there had been no “miscommunication” on our part. Pauline has somehow materialized out of nowhere and communicates a “Not that I know of.”
“It may be what you intended,” I say, making my voice stern enough to draw his attention, yet maintaining the professionalism I take pride in. He reluctantly turns to face me, as I continue, “But we were not made aware of your early arrival. However, we’re more than happy to accommodate, and as I said, we do have a suite available, and dinner is on us.”
The man glances at Sean, almost as if he’s expecting him to say something, maybe even chastise me. Sean doesn’t say a thing, only stands there, confident, unwavering, like he owns not only this hotel, but rather every hotel that was ever built and the cosmos itself.
Mr. Grant finally gives me his full attention. “Yes, yes, good. That sounds acceptable. Thank you, Ms. Summers.”
Sean clears his throat. “It would be advisable to consider extending an apology to Ms. Summers and Mrs. Simpson, wouldn’t you agree, Andrew? They were both doing their jobs, and there is no justification for the manner in which you addressed them.”
I swear it looks like the guy swallowed a lemon.
The way his face pinches together makes me want to die laughing.
I feel like he has never been told to apologize in his entire life, or at least in his adult life. There’s a quiet pause where nobody moves or says anything, but the men stay locked in this intense staring contest.
They stare.
And stare.
