Chapter 9
NINE
TEDDY
One more day.
Should be easy, yet it isn’t, not when tensions are running high after yesterday’s near-disaster with Roberts.
I flinch as a door slams somewhere down the hallway, my hands fumbling with the amenities tray. Every noise, every shadow has me on edge this morning. Javi and I have a plan—a last-ditch effort to catch Roberts with concrete evidence before bringing Preston into this mess. But first, I need to survive the morning shift.
My radio crackles. “Theresa, please report to the staff room,” Carmen’s voice announces. “Immediately.”
I freeze, the bottle of shower gel slipping from my fingers. Carmen’s tone is unusually tight.
“On my way,” I respond, fighting to keep my voice level.
As I approach the staff room, the usual morning chatter dies. Employees huddle in small groups, their whispers stopping abruptly when they notice me. Housekeepers I’ve worked alongside for days now avert their eyes or stare with naked curiosity.
I push open the door to find Carmen waiting, lines of worry etched around her mouth. “Theresa—” she begins, but Roberts emerges from the corner of the room, cutting her off.
“Ms. Holden,” he says, his smile sharp enough to draw blood. “Or should I say, Miss Hollister?”
The room falls silent. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I adjust my fake glasses with deliberate calm.
“I’m sorry?” I manage, feigning confusion. “My name is Theresa Holden.”
Roberts approaches, tablet in hand. “Interesting. Because you look remarkably like someone else.” He turns the screen toward me, displaying a photo from last year’s Love Beach charity gala. There I am, draped in designer couture, champagne in hand, wearing novelty glasses as part of the masquerade theme—glasses nearly identical to the ones I’m wearing now.
“That’s not—” I start, but Roberts cuts me off.
“Save it. I’ve been looking into your background since the suspicious jewelry incident.” His smile widens. “The question is, why would Theodora Hollister be working as a housekeeper under a false name? Unless the rumors about your fall from grace are true. The Hollister black sheep, cut off after that PR disaster with the lease increases. Reduced to scrubbing toilets while hiding your identity.”
Fall from grace. PR disaster. Lease increases.
Relief floods through me even as I maintain my bewildered expression. Roberts thinks I’m here because I’ve been disowned—he hasn’t connected me to his theft ring.
“Mr. Roberts, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I insist, though with less conviction than before.
“Save your denials.” Roberts practically preens. “I’ve already contacted several media outlets. They’re quite interested in the story of the fallen socialite. I imagine they’ll be arriving shortly.”
The media? My stomach plummets through the floor.
“You did what?” Carmen turns to Roberts, horror flashing across her face. “Mark, that’s completely inappropriate?—”
“It’s news, Carmen,” Roberts dismisses her with a wave. “And it explains everything—the mysterious thefts that started when ‘Theresa’ arrived, the suspicious jewelry. She’s desperate for money and attention.”
Miguel steps forward, his weathered face set in stubborn lines. “That’s ridiculous. Theresa—whoever she is—works harder than anyone I’ve seen. She’s not stealing anything.”
My throat tightens at his defense. After everything, Miguel still believes in me—or at least, in Theresa.
Roberts waves dismissively. “Your loyalty is touching but misplaced. Security will escort Miss Hollister from the premises immediately.”
As if on cue, the staff room door opens—but instead of security, it’s Javi, his expression carved from stone as he takes in the scene.
“Conrad,” Roberts acknowledges him with obvious smugness. “Perfect timing. Please escort Miss Hollister off the property. It seems we’ve had an impostor in our midst.”
Javi’s eyes meet mine, a silent question passing between us. I give him the smallest nod. Plan B.
I straighten my posture and remove my glasses. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
The shift in my demeanor is dramatic enough that several staff members take an involuntary step back. Even Roberts falters momentarily.
“I am indeed Theodora Hollister,” I continue, my voice taking on the assured tone I’ve heard Preston use in board meetings. “And yes, I’ve been working here under an alias. But not because I’ve been ‘cut off’ or experienced any ‘fall from grace.’”
Roberts’ triumphant expression cracks. “Then why the deception?”
“It’s called learning the business from the ground up,” I explain, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How can I effectively help manage a hotel chain if I don’t understand how every department functions? Including—perhaps especially—housekeeping.”
The staff room erupts in murmurs. Confusion, surprise, and in some faces, a dawning respect.
“That’s absurd,” Roberts sputters. “The Hollisters would never?—”
“It was approved by Preston Hollister himself,” Javi interjects, stepping to my side. “Part of Miss Hollister’s management training program.”
“Exactly,” I agree, building on our improvised explanation. “And it’s been incredibly valuable. I’ve learned more in eight days of housekeeping than I would have in months of boardroom presentations.”
Carmen’s expression shifts from concern to something like admiration. “That explains why you’ve been so determined to learn everything properly.”
“She is dedicated,” Miguel adds. “Hollister or not, she’s worked harder than anyone I’ve trained in years.”
A commotion from the lobby interrupts us. Through the staff room windows, camera flashes strobe as a growing crowd gathers at the front entrance.
“Ah, it seems the media has arrived,” Roberts says, his smirk returning. “Still think your undercover experiment was a good idea, Miss Hollister?”
My throat constricts as more reporters arrive. This wasn’t part of the plan. Preston will be furious. The Hollister Hotels PR team will have a meltdown.
My three-week experiment is effectively over, and worse, I’m about to become the latest Hollister headline—exactly what Preston feared when I first proposed working for the family business.
“What are you going to do?” Roberts taunts, watching me closely. “Run out the back door? Hide behind your family name? I’m sure your cousins will be thrilled to deal with another PR crisis you’ve created.”
His words hit their mark. That’s exactly what the old Teddy would have done—run from the consequences and let Preston clean up her mess.
The path of least resistance. My mother’s way.
But I’m not my mother.
“Actually,” I say, “I think the timing is perfect. Javi, would you mind escorting me to the lobby? I believe I have a statement to make.”
Roberts’ triumphant expression falters. “What are you doing?”
“Taking control of the narrative,” I reply. “Isn’t that what you wanted? A story about Teddy Hollister, housekeeper? Well, you’re about to get one—just not the scandal you were hoping for.”
I turn to the staff, many of whom have become unexpectedly important to me over the past week. “I want to thank all of you for your patience and guidance. Everything I’ve learned here will influence how I approach hotel management going forward.” My eyes find Miguel. “Some of you have been particularly kind, teaching me skills I never would have developed otherwise. I’m grateful.”
With that, I smooth my housekeeping uniform and head for the lobby, Javi falling into step beside me.
“You sure about this?” he murmurs, his shoulder brushing mine.
“Not remotely,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “But it beats letting Roberts control the story.”
“While you’re creating a distraction, I’ll get into his office,” Javi reminds me, his voice a low rumble. “There must be a reason why all our trackers ended up there yesterday.”
I nod. “I’ll keep them occupied as long as possible.”
As we approach the lobby, my steps falter. Through the glass doors, at least twenty reporters jostle for position, cameras raised. Local news vans line the circular drive. This isn’t just going to be a small story in the society pages—this will be everywhere.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, my earlier confidence evaporating.
Javi’s hand finds mine, hidden from view in the corridor, and squeezes briefly. “You can. Just be honest—the real you, not who anyone expects you to be.”
The real me. Not the party girl, not the socialite, not the housekeeper—just Teddy.
I take a deep breath and push through the doors to the lobby. Suddenly, we’re engulfed in noise and flashing lights. A dozen reporters surge forward, their questions overlapping into unintelligible chaos. Hotel guests stand on the periphery, phones raised to capture the spectacle.
For a heartbeat, I freeze, the muscle memory of previous scandals threatening to take over—the Instagram meltdown when I publicly feuded with an influencer over a stolen outfit idea, the viral video of my drunken tirade at Club Azure that made TMZ’s homepage for a week, the tone-deaf vacation posts during a hurricane that devastated Love Beach’s working-class neighborhoods. Each time, I’d hidden behind publicists and Preston’s damage control. Each time, I’d run away rather than face consequences.
But then I think of Miguel’s patient teaching, of Carmen’s grudging respect, of the genuine pride I felt transforming chaotic rooms into peaceful havens. I think of Javi seeing beyond my disguise to the person I could become.
I step forward and smile—not the practiced, perfect smile from countless society events, but something more genuine.
“Good morning, everyone,” I begin. “I understand there’s some interest in why Teddy Hollister is wearing a housekeeping uniform today.”
A flurry of questions erupts, which I silence with a raised hand. From the corner of my eye, I see Javi slipping away, heading toward the administrative corridor.
“The answer is simple,” I continue. “I believe that to effectively join management at Hollister Hotels, I need to understand every aspect of how our properties function. That means experiencing firsthand the critical work done by our housekeeping staff—the true backbone of the hospitality industry.”
A reporter from the Love Beach Gazette pushes forward. “So this is some kind of publicity stunt?”
The question stings, but I refuse to fall back into old habits.
“No,” I counter, looking at him. “It was meant to be a private learning experience, which is why I used an alias. I wanted to be treated like any other employee, not as a Hollister.”
I pause, gathering my thoughts before continuing. “I’ve made mistakes in the past. I’ve cared too much about image and not enough about substance. This was my way of trying to change that, to earn my place in the family business rather than just assuming it was my birthright.”
The room grows quiet, my candor catching the reporters off guard.
“And what have you learned?” another reporter calls out.
This question lands differently. What have I learned? More than I expected, certainly.
“I’ve learned that housekeeping is possibly the most demanding job in the entire hotel,” I answer, finding my footing. “I’ve learned that the people who make your beds and clean your bathrooms deserve far more recognition than they typically receive. I’ve learned that management decisions made in boardrooms have real impacts on the staff carrying out those decisions.”
I look around at the faces watching me, no longer seeing just a media threat, but an opportunity.
“And most importantly, I’ve learned that Hollister Hotels needs to reevaluate how we support our housekeeping staff. Better schedules, better equipment, better compensation. Because after working alongside them, I can tell you they’re the heart of what makes a hotel experience exceptional.”
A murmur runs through the crowd—this isn’t the scandal they came for. I can see some reporters lowering their cameras, actually listening rather than just hunting for a sensational quote.
Roberts pushes through the crowd, his face blotched with red. “This is absurd,” he announces loudly. “Miss Hollister was working under false pretenses, violating hotel policy?—”
“With the full knowledge and approval of Preston and Brogan Hollister,” I interject smoothly. “As Mr. Roberts well knows, since they personally arranged my placement here.”
It’s a lie, but delivered with such confidence that Roberts momentarily falters.
“Then why the secrecy?” he demands. “Why not announce this... this ‘management training’ publicly?”
“For authenticity,” I explain. “How could I truly understand the housekeeping experience if I was treated differently because of my name?”
The reporters are captivated now, scribbling furiously. What started as a “fallen socialite” scandal is transforming into something totally different.
“And what specific changes will you recommend based on your experience?” asks a business reporter.
“I’ll be presenting a comprehensive report to the Hollister Hotels board,” I say with conviction. “Including recommendations on staff-to-room ratios, equipment upgrades, and compensation reviews. Particularly for our smaller properties like The Sandpiper, which face unique challenges during high-volume periods like spring break.”
Roberts looks like he’s about to explode, but he’s interrupted by a commotion at the back of the lobby. Javi appears, flanked by two uniformed police officers.
My pulse quickens— did he find something?
“Excuse me,” one officer announces, his voice cutting through the crowd. “Is the hotel manager present?”
Roberts straightens, visibly straining to appear composed. “I’m Mark Roberts, the manager. What’s this about?”
“Sir, we need to speak with you privately regarding some items found in your office,” the officer states firmly.
The color drains from Roberts’ face. “What items? You had no right to search my office!”
“We received information about potentially stolen property,” the second officer explains. “Mr. Conrad here alerted us to the situation and provided evidence of tracking devices showing multiple stolen items converging in your private office.”
The reporters quickly pivot toward this new drama. Cameras flash as Roberts is escorted away, his protests fading into the background.
Javi makes his way to my side, his mouth close to my ear. “Found everything in a hidden compartment in his desk. Plus logs detailing every theft, guest room numbers, item values—he was keeping records for insurance fraud.”
Relief floods through me. “The perfect distraction,” I murmur back, fighting the urge to lean into him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warns, his expression serious. “You’ve just outed yourself to the entire Love Beach media. Preston’s going to have questions.”
As if summoned by his name, my phone buzzes—Preston. My stomach tightens.
“I should take this,” I tell Javi, stepping away from the continuing media frenzy.
“Theodora,” Preston’s voice is eerily calm when I answer. “Would you care to explain why there’s currently a live feed of you giving a press conference in a housekeeping uniform at The Sandpiper?”
“It’s a long story,” I begin as the police continue questioning Roberts. “But the short version is—we caught your hotel manager running a theft ring, and I may have accidentally revolutionized Hollister Hotels’ approach to management training.”
There’s a long pause before Preston responds. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t say another word to the press until I arrive.”
The line goes dead. I take a deep breath, turning back to the chaos. Reporters now divide their attention between the police drama with Roberts and attempts to get more comments from me. Hotel guests livestream everything. Carmen and several housekeeping staff have emerged from the back, their expressions ranging from shock to amusement.
Javi appears at my side again, his expression questioning. “Preston?”
“On his way,” I confirm, my voice tight. “Twenty minutes to prepare for hurricane Preston.”
To my surprise, Javi’s lips curve into a rare smile—one that transforms his serious face and reaches all the way to his eyes. “After watching you handle this media circus, I think you’ll manage just fine.”
“You think so?” I ask, uncertainty creeping in despite our success.
“Plans change,” he says simply. “But you adapted. Turned a potential disaster into a positive story. Used the spotlight to advocate for the staff rather than yourself.” His eyes meet mine, warm with something that makes my heart skip. “That’s leadership, Teddy. Real leadership.”
Coming from Javi—stoic, no-nonsense, impossible-to-impress Javi—the praise wraps around me like a warm blanket.
“We make a good team,” I say.
“We do,” he agrees. Then, glancing around at the media still circling, he adds, “Though our undercover days are definitely over.”
I laugh despite everything. “Probably for the best. I’m not sure my back could handle another week of housekeeping anyway.”
“What happens now?” Javi asks, his expression growing more serious. “With your experiment cut short?”
It’s a good question. My three-week plan has been compressed into eight days and an unexpected media spectacle. In some ways, I’ve failed—I didn’t complete the full time I promised. In others, I’ve succeeded beyond expectation—uncovering a theft ring, standing up for the staff, even generating positive PR.
“I guess that depends on Preston,” I say as more reporters notice us talking and begin heading our way. “But whatever happens next, I’m glad I did this. All of it.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how true they are. The aching muscles, the humbling work, the vulnerability of starting at the bottom—it’s all been worth it. Not just for what I’ve learned about the hotel business, but for what I’ve learned about myself.
And for who I’ve found along the way, I think, glancing at Javi.
As the reporters descend on us again with fresh questions, I straighten my housekeeping uniform one last time.
Whatever happens next—with Preston, with the media, with my future at Hollister Hotels—I’ll face it with new confidence.
Because Theresa Holden may have been a disguise, but the work ethic, determination, and sense of purpose I discovered while wearing that uniform? Those are genuinely mine.
And no one, not even Preston Hollister, can take that away from me.