Chapter 2
Bash
Istep into my penthouse office at the Harborlight Resort, loosening my tie as I head straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Below me, Starlight Bay glitters with early Christmas lights, reflecting off the harbor waters.
It should be picturesque. Profitable. Instead, all I see are the empty rooms in my balance sheets.
"Your dinner meeting went well?" Anthony, my head of operations, doesn't look up from the tablet in his hands as he follows me inside.
"As well as can be expected," I mutter, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey from the crystal decanter on my desk. "The investors aren't happy about the winter projections."
"They're not the only ones," Anthony says, handing me the tablet. "The latest booking numbers came in. We're at twenty-six percent capacity for December."
"Fuck." I swipe through the dismal figures. Twenty-six percent. At this rate, the Harborlight Resort will be the first Sinclair property to post a first-year loss in the company's history. My history.
"We could drop the rates again," Anthony suggests, though his tone makes it clear he knows it's a bad idea.
"And undermine our premium positioning? No." I toss back the whiskey, welcoming the burn. "We don't discount luxury."
"Then we need something else to drive bookings. Fast."
I turn back to the window, my mind unexpectedly drifting to the woman from the Harbor Arts Collective. Charlie Davis. There was something about her, a sharp intelligence behind those hazel eyes, a passion when she talked about community connections. And something else tugging at my memory...
"Charlie Davis," I say aloud. "Who is she?"
Anthony raises an eyebrow. "The marketing director at Davidson it captures none of the fire I'd witnessed firsthand. "Just following up on something."
Her credentials are impressive for someone her age, marketing degree from UMass, steady progression through increasingly responsible roles, a client roster that includes several boutique hospitality brands.
But it's the local connection that interests me most. She knows Starlight Bay. She understands its community spirit.
She didn't tell me who she really was.
"I want to meet with her directly," I decide. "Not through the usual agency channels."
Anthony closes his tablet. "Any particular reason?"
"She had some... interesting perspectives on community engagement." I don't elaborate on our encounter. There's something intriguing about keeping it to myself, like a hand I'm not ready to reveal in a high-stakes poker game.
After Anthony leaves, I find myself returning to the window, Charlie's words echoing in my mind: Word of mouth is the most powerful marketing tool in the hospitality industry. One genuine, shareworthy experience is worth a thousand generic advertisements.
What if we could create something genuine? Something that would get people talking, something that would position the Harborlight Resort at the heart of local holiday traditions?
I reach for my phone, scrolling to a new contact. I'd programmed her number from the business card I'd taken from her agency profile before leaving for dinner.
My thumb hovers over the call button. It's nearly midnight. Too late to call a business associate. But somehow, I don't think Charlie Davis adheres to conventional business hours.
Before I can second-guess myself, I tap the button.
She answers on the third ring. "Charlie Davis." Her voice is alert, despite the hour.
"Ms. Davis. Sebastian Sinclair." I pace the length of the windows, suddenly energized. "I hope I'm not calling too late."
There's a brief pause. "Mr. Sinclair. I wasn't expecting to hear from you personally."
"I believe in direct communication when something interests me." I pause. "Or someone."
Another beat of silence. I can almost hear her calculating her response. "And what interests you about me, Mr. Sinclair?"
"For starters, the fact that you didn't mention you work for my marketing agency when we met tonight."
Her laugh is soft, but not apologetic. "Would you have listened to my ideas if I'd led with that?"
"Probably not," I admit, finding myself smiling. "I'd have been too busy asking why your Holiday Wonderland campaign is underperforming."
"Ouch." Her tone is light, but I can hear the tension beneath it. "Direct indeed."
"I appreciate directness. And creativity." I stop pacing, making my decision. "I'd like to meet with you tomorrow. Not at your agency, not with your boss. Just you and me."
"To discuss what, exactly?"
"Your ideas for making the Harborlight Resort part of the community. The ones you were so passionate about tonight."
I hear rustling papers on her end of the line. "Actually, I've been working on something. A new angle for the campaign."
"I'm listening."
"Not over the phone," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice now. "I think this is the kind of proposal that needs to be delivered in person."
A curious warmth spreads through my chest. "Bayfront Beans, nine AM?"
"Make it eight. I'll even buy the coffee."
"It's my hotel's account. I'll buy the coffee."
She laughs again, and the sound does something to my insides that I choose not to examine too closely. "Fine. But I get to pick the pastries."
"Deal." I pause. "Charlie... this better be good."
"It will be," she promises. "One way or another."
After we hang up, I stand at the window a moment longer, surveying my hotel, my investment, my risk, my potential failure. For the first time in weeks, I feel a spark of genuine optimism.
Whatever Charlie Davis is planning, I have a feeling it's going to be anything but ordinary.
The next morning, I arrive at Bayfront Beans ten minutes early, only to find Charlie already there, occupying a corner table with two steaming mugs and a plate of pastries.
She's dressed professionally in a cream blouse and navy blazer, but there's something different about her energy, a quiet confidence that wasn't as apparent in agency meetings.
"Mr. Sinclair," she greets me, standing as I approach.
"Sebastian," I correct her, shrugging off my overcoat. "Or Bash, if you prefer. We might as well be on a first-name basis if we're going to be working closely together."
Her eyebrow arches slightly. "Are we?"
"That depends on what you have to show me." I take the seat across from her, accepting the coffee she slides toward me. "But I'm intrigued."
Charlie takes a deep breath. "Before I start, I want to be clear about something. What I'm about to propose isn't coming from Davidson & Young. It's my own concept."
I lean back, studying her. "Going rogue, Ms. Davis?"
"Charlie," she says with a small smile. "And yes, I suppose I am."
She opens a sleek portfolio and slides it across the table. The cover page reads "REAL CONNECTIONS: A SINCLAIR HOLIDAYS PROPOSAL."
As I flip through the first few pages, I begin to understand why she wanted to deliver this in person. It's unlike any marketing proposal I've seen, deeply personal, community-focused, centering the hotel as part of Starlight Bay's holiday traditions rather than just a place for outsiders to stay.
"This is... different," I admit, genuinely impressed by the depth of thought. "But I don't see how it drives immediate bookings. We need rooms filled by Christmas, not goodwill for next season."
Charlie takes a sip of her coffee, watching me over the rim. "Turn to the last page."
I do and nearly choke on my coffee when I read the headline: "THE CHRISTMAS WEDDING: A HOLIDAY LOVE STORY."
Below it is a mock-up of a press release announcing the whirlwind romance and engagement of Sebastian Sinclair, CEO of Sinclair Hospitality Group, to a "local Starlight Bay entrepreneur," culminating in a Christmas wedding at the Harborlight Resort.
I look up, finding Charlie watching me intently, her expression perfectly composed.
"You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious," she says, folding her hands on the table.
"Think about it. Local girl, big-city hotelier, holiday romance, then a Christmas wedding at your hotel.
The press would eat it up. Every lifestyle blog, travel site, and social media influencer would be talking about it.
You couldn't buy that kind of publicity. "
I stare at her, trying to determine if this is an elaborate joke. "You're suggesting we fake a relationship? A marriage?"
"A limited-term marriage," she clarifies, as if that makes it less insane. "With a clear exit strategy."
"This is...”
"Before you say 'crazy,' consider the numbers.
" She flips back to an earlier page showing projected bookings based on the publicity the stunt would generate.
The figures are ambitious but not impossible.
"People love a good love story, especially at Christmas.
They'll want to be part of it. They'll want to stay where it happened. "
I shake my head, still processing the audacity of the proposal. "And who exactly is this 'local entrepreneur' I'm supposed to be marrying?"
Charlie meets my gaze steadily. "Me."
My pulse jumps unexpectedly. "You."
"It makes the most sense. I know the campaign inside and out. I have connections in the local community. And I'm personally invested in making this work."
"Because your job depends on it," I surmise.