3. Jess
Ah, it feels nice being back in New York after two weeks of taking care of my elderly aunt Bernice in Scottsdale, Arizona.
I co-own a small chain of hotels.
The Westerlyn Hotels. Short: WH.
They are a small chain comprised of four hotels spread throughout the East Coast. Nowadays, I work out of the New York City branch.
My fellow co-owner is a kind older man named Norman Whitman. Five years ago, he sold me an equal share of the hotels, establishing a 50-50 ownership split, in the hope I’d assist him in restoring them back to their former glory. A significant advantage of equal ownership lies in its inherent fairness. Norman and I are in this together, equally committed to making this business a success.
Luckily, we’re always on the same page, so deadlocks are not a concern for us.
Dropping my life savings into the failing hotel chain drew plenty of “you’re crazy” comments. Let me tell you, the journey to my dream wasn’t all sunshine, pancakes, and cute parakeets. But, as we near the quarter’s end, the hotel is on a streak with two back-to-back profitable runs—nothing flashy, but hey, a win is a win, especially in these challenging times.
My first stop is the main lobby.
Construction crews finished right on schedule and walking through the bright, remodeled entrance makes my heart swell. They have brought the original mahogany woodwork back to its past magnificence, and the wood grain tile floors have been polished to perfection. I can see my reflection as I walk across them past the tulips that grace the room and contribute to the inviting atmosphere. All the old lobby furniture has been replaced with new fresher items, without sacrificing comfort, and the walls on the left and right are filled with local artwork, depicting iconic New York City scenes. However, the central piece for the lobby is still pending. I attempted to secure tickets for a charity auction where my favorite native New York artist is set to reveal her latest undisclosed artwork, but unfortunately, they were all sold out. When my aunt called for assistance, everything else had to take a back seat.
“Good morning, Ms. Summers, how lovely to have you back,” the front desk manager, Emma Simpson, says with a bright smile, and gets up to give me a hug over the counter. She’s in her late fifties, originally from England, and had been working at the hotel long before Norman or I took over.
“It looks great in here,” I say, my eyes sweeping across the room. “That crew did an amazing job.”
“They really did,” Emma agrees. “I’m so relieved I won’t need to direct guests around the ongoing construction any more. It looks like we’re finished with the room renovations now, is that right?”
“Most of them. We’re still planning a few finishing touches on the suites. And deciding on the main art piece for the lobby. How are we looking?”
Emma’s smile grows wider. “Reservations just snapped up the last available room, which means we’re fully booked for the rest of the month.”
Excitedly, I knock on the counter. “That’s what I like to hear. Have you seen Norman?”
“He’s not in yet, Ms. Summers.”
Hmm, that’s somewhat unusual. On weekdays, he typically arrives first. “All right, thanks.”
I leave the lobby and head for Operations.
When I arrive, the crowd of housekeepers is already dispersing to go about their business.
I poke my head into the big office and smile. “Good morning, Pauline!”
Pauline Kent, Director of Housekeeping and certified best friend since childhood, looks up from her computer. “Have I told you how annoyingly cheerful you can be in the mornings?” she quips in her low, deadpan voice, only the subtlest hint of a smirk gracing her lips.
“You’re only saying that because you’re jealous.”
“I’m saying that because it’s true.” She gets up to wrap one arm around me in a hug, pressing her big motherly bosom into me.
“You look like you need this,” I say, handing her the holder with her cinnamon latte with oat milk, plucking out my iced French vanilla with a shot of espresso.
“Glad to have you back, Jess. How’s your aunt’s leg?”
“Thanks, doing much better,” I say, propping myself on the edge of the desk. “Did you hear the great news?”
Pauline takes a sip of her latte and leans back in her chair. “Yup. Sold out for the month.” She lifts her hand for a high-five, which I happily grant. “I’m proud of you. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Whitman is a sweetheart, but he would still be running around like a chicken with his head cut off if you hadn’t swooped in.”
I smirk and reach over to playfully flick her nose. “I’m going to remember you said that any time you want to mention how crazy you thought I was for buying into these hotels.”
“Oh, you were absolutely batshit to do what you did. Especially after what happened with Mr. Asshole Ex.”
“Ugh, don’t ruin my good mood by mentioning him. Besides, I have something much better we can talk about.”
Pauline arches an eyebrow with interest. “Oh? Do tell.”
“I met my new neighbor.”
“How did that go?”
How did that go?That mental image of his body pops into my head, and there’s a little twinge of “Ooh-la-la!” in my gut. I do a quick glance out the door to make sure none of the other employees are hanging around before I update her with a quick summary of this morning’s events, throwing in a detailed account of the, ahem, unexpected nudity I stumbled upon (while conveniently omitting any mention of the glory he witnessed). When I finish my story, Pauline looks upset.
“Oh, my God,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “What the hell were you thinking climbing balconies like Spider-Woman? You’re lucky you didn’t fall to your death.”
“Agree, not my finest moment. At least I got a nice eyeful.”
We continue our in-depth analysis of his “assets.” It’s possible that the term “perfect” slips into the conversation at some point.
“Damn.” She eventually sighs. “That’s a shame on the personality. The gorgeous ones usually are a pain in the ass.”
I take a sip of my French vanilla coffee. “Well, ain’t that the truth.”
By the time I get to my office, Norman is in. My and Norman’s assistant, Sarah, gets up to greet me with a big hello and warm hug before she returns to her phone call.
“Hey, Norm, look who’s back,” I say with a smile, entering his office. “Glorious day, isn’t it?”
Norman looks up at me, and instantly I know something is off. Any other day, he’d cheekily return my smile and ask me how I’m doing, how my travel went, and if Aunt Bernice couldn’t have managed without me. I’d chuckle, in light of the hilarious tale of her “broken leg” that turned out to be nothing more than a sprained ankle. She’s quite the dramatic character, that’s for sure.
This time, he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t even wear one of his signature silly ties. That’s a first. “Morning, Jess. Glad you’re back.”
“Everything okay?”
Norman is quiet for a moment before he stands from his desk. “Let’s walk.”
Worried, I take a long sip of my coffee as I follow him out of the office. Norman usually only asks to walk when there’s something on his mind. Even though I’m concerned, I try not to get anxious. We’re doing well. All properties are finally generating profits, and as far as I know, renovations have stayed within budget.
“What do you think about the renovations so far?” I ask, trying to keep things light. “The crew did an amazing job.”
“The hotel is beautiful, it’s inviting, and the lobby is flooded with sunlight. I never thought I would get to see it all restored.” His voice is tight, and I notice he’s trying to avoid eye contact.
“Norman, what’s wrong?” I ask. “I can tell something is up. You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know, Jess. I just know you’re not going to like what I have to say.”
My stomach churns, and I have to take another sip of cold coffee to steady my nerves. “Just come out and say it. Whatever it is, I can take it.”
Norman sighs and finally looks at me. “I sold my shares of the hotels.”
I nearly trip over my own feet.
Stopping in the dead center of the hall, I stare at Norman, unblinking. He couldn’t have possibly said what I think I heard.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” I say.
“I’m not.”
I stand there, unable to wrap my head around this information.
I can tell by the look on his face that he’s one hundred percent serious. Not that he’s one to make a joke in poor taste, but still. This cannot be happening. After everything we’ve been through together and all the hard work we’ve put into the place, I can’t believe that he up and sold his half of the properties, especially without telling me about it first.
Then it hits me: He didn’t have to.
In the early days, when Norman and I teamed up to start our partnership, we hammered out an agreement that gave either of us the green light to sell our fifty percent ownership stake in the hotel chain without needing other partner’s consent—as long as we found a buyer who met specific qualifications, like financial stability and industry experience. Back then, it actually was me who suggested it, appreciating the idea of an easy exit strategy. This way, if, for any reason, I didn’t enjoy working alongside Norman or, more crucially, if he turned out to be as unscrupulous as the man I once loved, I’d have a perfect escape route in place.
The irony of it all! Never in a million years did I anticipate that Norman would be the one considering a departure.
“Norman, I was only gone for two weeks! Why didn’t I know this was happening?” I demand, puzzled. “Are you in some sort of extreme midlife crisis?”
“I suppose I am.” Norman puts a comforting arm around me, rubbing my shoulder. “Jess, I’m old,” he says, the wrinkles of his face somehow becoming more prominent under the new light fixtures. Or maybe I’m finally realizing that he truly isn’t the youngest anymore. “I have been doing this for decades. I’m ready to retire, have been for a long time. I never thought this day would come. To be honest, if it wasn’t for you and all your hard work, I wouldn’t have even considered it.”
My heart goes out to him. But that doesn’t stop me from also feeling upset. “Then why didn’t you sell all your shares to me?” I ask. “I would have happily bought you out.”
“Jess, you don’t have the money, and taking on debts is out of the question. And before you say anything, you’ve already poured so much of your heart and soul into these hotels. If you took on all this by yourself, you’d be burned out by the time you’re forty. I couldn’t do that to you.”
As the reality of the situation starts to sink in, I can barely keep my growing distress from seeping into my voice. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, and it’s my choice, Norman! I don’t like the idea of some rando suddenly coming in and trying to change things.”
“I was concerned about that as well. The ‘rando coming in’ will serve as a co-owner and adviser, rather than assuming a managerial role. He will give you guidance—nothing more, nothing less. Trust that I wouldn’t have gone through with the sale if I wasn’t completely sure it would be in the hotels’ best interest.”
“Norman—”
He cuts me off by putting his hands on my shoulders and staring directly into my eyes. “I know you can handle this place on your own,” he says. “Me selling to someone else has nothing to do with questioning your abilities. I mean this in the best way possible. Now that we’re in the green, I sold to someone else for your own good. All right?”
For my own good?Who is he to decide what’s good for me?
“Did you already sign the papers?” I ask.
“Yes. About half an hour ago. I was presented with a ‘take it or leave it’ deal.”
Dammit.Observing a profit in both the current and upcoming quarters, Norman saw the chance to negotiate the optimal offer for his exit. It’s a fundamental principle of economics that the value of a thriving and profitable business increases significantly when considering a sale. It’s likely why he had gotten an interesting offer in the first place. “Who did you sell it to?”
Norman hesitates.
“Is that a secret too?” I push.
“You’ll meet the new owner soon enough,” he finally says. “Tomorrow, in fact. Now, before you say anything else, he’s a CEO, an accomplished figure in the hotel industry, a billionaire mogul, with a track record of turning struggling properties into extraordinary successes. In fact, his success in the field is unparalleled—nobody does it better than him. He’ll be good for this place, and for you?—”
“Who is it?” I interrupt him.
“Mr. Blackwood of Blackwood Holdings Inc.”
Blackwood? I gulp. I’ve certainly heard of Blackwood—everyone in the hotel business knows that Blackwood Holdings Inc. is a colossal conglomerate holding “Blackwood Hotels Resorts” under its umbrella. However, I’ve never had the privilege of meeting the company’s mighty chief executive. They label him as cold, calculating, and ruthless.
But one should never take rumors at face value. These same allegations had once swirled around Norman, and we all know how that turned out—he’s a secret softie who showers his wife with handwritten love notes. Perhaps the new mystery CEO has a hidden fondness for kittens and cries during romantic comedies.
“The meeting with Mr. Blackwood is scheduled for tomorrow at 11:30 a.m.,” he says.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I sigh heavily, grappling with the desperate reality of it all.
To be fair, a small part of me does understand why he brought someone else on board. If I’m completely honest, it makes perfect sense. Taking on all the responsibility of managing the hotels would be a monumental task (not to mention the added challenge of incurring debt), and although I don’t doubt that I would have crushed it, it definitely would have taken over my entire life. Norman has a wife and kids—kids he freely admits he wasn’t around for as much as he would have liked. I would like to have a family someday. And running the chain on my own wouldn’t leave room for anything else.
Anyway. What’s done is done.
“I understand,” I tell him, trying a weak smile. “And I really am happy that you’re finally retiring. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too, kid.” He gives me a brief hug before he pulls away and straightens his tweed jacket. “Come on, let’s do our morning walk-around, and I’ll brief you on what you’ll need to handle for a while until you re-delegate the tasks. But first…” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a big envelope, his eyes glinting with mischief, “…here’s a little something for you.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“A ticket to the charity auction next month.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “But they were sold out! And the prices are through the roof!”
He chuckles. “Well, someone cancelled, and I may have sweet-talked my way in. Perks of persistence, you know?”
I pull the thick burgundy ticket out of the envelope in disbelief, and choke up. My fingers run over the intricate smooth finish. Its opulence is overwhelming. The words “Grand Hospitality Affair” are elegantly embossed with gold metallic accents. Norman must have invested a substantial six-figure amount for the high-profile auction.
“Enjoy, I know you’ve always wanted to go.”
I’m over the moon, and the idea of attending alone doesn’t bother me in the slightest. “Norman. You shouldn’t have?—”
“Think of it as an investment in the right art piece for the lobby… and a small gesture to mend any lingering grievances between us. So you keep me in good memories.”
My shoulders drop. “Well, I suppose that’s a pretty clever move,” I tease.
He brings me into a fatherly hug. While Norman’s news has thrown me for a loop, it’s hard to stay mad at him, and I’m determined to look on the bright side.
Change is good.
It’s a normal part of life.
Change shouldn’t be feared.
Maybe the new owner won’t be so bad. At least it won’t be me training a newbie with zero experience. I’ll be working with a peer who understands. Perhaps he can offer valuable insights. Maybe I can learn a thing or two from Mr. Billionaire Mogul.
These positive thoughts get me through the rest of the day and help me look forward to our meeting.
Everything is going to turn out perfectly fine.