Chapter 3
Talon
New York is cold, but standing on the summit of a twelve-thousand-foot mountain in December is next level. Especially because it’s above the tree line, and there’s nothing here to block the wind.
Upon exiting the gondola, my breath is stolen at the architectural wet dream sitting atop this mountain. The wood, glass, and stone structure looms ahead, the only safe haven against the elements.
During a meeting with my upper-level administration staff this morning, I got some encouraging reports about the projected success of Ricochet’s season, but afterward, I quickly replaced my suit jacket with a black Ricochet Ridge button-down, the standard uniform for the waiters in the restaurant.
As soon as I devised the plan for this undercover operation, I began letting my hair grow out, hoping the unkempt look would help me appear younger than I actually am. More ski bum, less boardroom billionaire.
Bracing against the wind, I move forward toward the host’s stand.
“You must be the new hire we’re expecting today,” the guy says in a no-nonsense tone.
He’s bundled in a down parka with the resort’s logo on it. It’s currently eleven degrees up here, and I’m unsure how his wire-rimmed glasses haven’t yet frozen to his prominent cheeks.
The cold makes it look like he’s wearing blush, and his eyelashes are impressively long behind his lenses as they fan out over brilliant blue eyes.
His features are striking.
He’s standing beneath a tower heater with a stack of papers on the wooden host stand, and an iPad placed on top of them, no doubt to prevent the wind from absconding with them.
“Talon, right?” he asks with a tight smile this time, his eyes quickly flashing to mine before looking back down again.
Holding out my hand, I confirm his suspicion. “That’s me.” Thankfully, all my business correspondence says Christian T. Devereaux. My middle name is reserved for my friends and family only.
“Zeke,” he says, giving my hand one firm pump with his slight hand before letting go. He keeps his eyes on his iPad the whole time. “I was told you’re with me this morning. Do you have a bag or anything you need to drop off in the employee lounge?”
I don’t because it’s in my office down the mountain, I think to myself.
“Uh, no. I travel light,” I joke.
Zeke isn’t impressed.
“Okay, well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to do my job, but I’m also not sure how many shifts you’ll get at my post because I’m always here.” The defensiveness in his voice catches me off guard. He thinks I’m here to steal his job? Immediately, I try to set him at ease.
“I’m really just going to fill in when people are off, or when big parties make reservations, or someone gets sick. That kind of thing. I definitely won’t be taking anyone’s shifts.”
Zeke’s shoulders relax a fraction, and this time when his eyes meet mine, his look lingers for a few seconds.
“Right. Sorry for being rude. I, um…never mind. Let’s get you clocked in, shall we?”
Reading people is a talent my siblings and I possess. I think it’s part of the reason the three of us are so close; it’s impossible to lie to each other. When one of us is stressed or sick, there’s no hiding it from the others, so the truth spills readily.
Subtle movements toward or away from someone say a lot.
Where their eyes go when you speak, where their eyes go when they speak.
What they do with their hands, the sound of their laughter, etc.
, all provide information. The subtle clues of a person’s body language should never be underestimated.
It’s the most valuable currency in business.
Watching Zeke now, it’s easy to tell something is weighing on him, but I certainly don’t know him well enough to ask any meaningful questions. They would only raise his walls higher.
Zeke heads for the giant wooden double doors with me trailing in his wake, excited to see the interior of the restaurant, and I shove my assessments of the host aside as I focus on the building in front of me.
My parents surveyed this property before purchasing it, of course, but I was overseas at the time and didn’t accompany them. Although I’ve seen pictures, I have a feeling the two-dimensional images really can’t do much for a place like this.
When Zeke opens the first set of doors, I’m shocked by how large the foyer space is.
“All guests coming to dine from the slopes are required to remove their boots upon arrival and use one of our cubbies here.” Zeke points to a row of shelves where rows of empty shoe-cubbies are lined up just inside.
“Skiers and snowboarders must also remove their outer layers before entering.” He waves his arm toward a door where a college-aged girl is rolling a metal rack out of a closet, getting ready for the day.
“Seems a little pretentious, asking people to strip before entering, don’t you think?” I joke, lowering my voice. I’d heard this was required up here, but seeing it is…interesting.
Without even cracking a smile, Zeke turns and says, “This restaurant isn’t your typical, overpriced, pay-for-the-view-and-get-crappy-food-and-service joint you’d expect from a resort like Ricochet.
Summit is an elegant blend of class, sophistication, and a place to literally rise above everything else.
A place to escape into the clouds. If it smelled like mildewed carpet and the air was constantly damp from the patrons, do you really think it would provide the atmosphere our diners want? ”
My brows hit my hairline because…touché.
“Some diners know the rules and bring their own shoes up in backpacks,” he goes on to explain. “Everyone else is given disposable booties like you’d see in an operating room.”
I’m about to respond when he pulls open the doors to the main restaurant, causing my words to die in my throat.
The floors are immaculate hardwood. The large windows offer panoramic views of the mountain range, while a massive stone fireplace in the center of the room prevents any chill from lingering in the air.
“Wow,” the word escapes on an exhale.
“Exactly,” Zeke says with a satisfied smirk, as though my reaction pleases him. “Summit is the pinnacle of resort dining, and we work hard to ensure our diners have an unforgettable experience.”
I simply nod, still dumbfounded as I look around the space in awe and wonder.
Zeke tilts his head to the side in a nod. “Employee lounge is this way. I’ll show you where you can clock in and out, eat lunch, etc.”
As he leads me down a narrow hallway, almost everyone we pass waves or says hello to Zeke. They eye me curiously, and I’m concerned I may still look too old, too much like management, to carry this ruse on for long.
When we turn into the breakroom, Zeke walks to an empty locker, opens it, and tells me it’s mine. His back stays to me the entire time, and I’m struck by the tension in his movements…it’s as though he’s in pain, although whether it be physical or emotional, it’s hard to tell.
While I’m studying him, the door to the breakroom opens behind me.
“Oh, hi!” a feminine voice says, making me turn. “When I didn’t see Zeke out front, I figured he’d snagged you already. I’m Rebecca, the scheduling manager.” The woman walks over and holds her hand out in greeting.
“Talon,” I reply with a nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too!” She glances at Zeke and quickly raises her eyebrows once before schooling her features and returning her gaze to me.
“Welcome to Summit. You’re in good hands with Zeke, but we’ll have you get acquainted with everyone over the next couple of weeks.
If you need anything, my office is right next door. ”
I offer her a genuine smile.
“Thank you.”
She winks. “Keep smiling like that, and you’ll go home with tips and a few phone numbers.”
I’m about to gently correct her, reminding her she can’t say things like that to employees, but I stop myself before I blow my cover. As soon as she’s out the door, Zeke turns to me.
“Sorry about Becs. She means well, but she has no filter, and she loves to meddle.” His eyes drift to my left hand before coming back up to my face.
“It’s probably best if you tell her you’re seeing someone, even if you aren’t, so she doesn’t latch on to the idea of playing matchmaker.
Subtlety isn’t her strong suit, and she loves happily ever afters. ”
“I’d hate to lie,” I admit, the irony choking me. And I blame the next statement on the altitude. “Besides, I’m not so sure a happily ever after is in my cards.”
Speaking of cards, I usually hold mine a little closer to my chest, but there’s a restless energy about Zeke that makes me want to reach out. Perhaps if I become vulnerable, he’ll feel comfortable enough to do so as well.
After all, wasn’t that the point of this whole exercise? Get to know my employees and assess their needs?