Chapter Forty-Four Gemma
Chapter Forty-Four
Gemma
“I had a dream last night that I turned up to the hotel launch party topless.”
Henry eyes me over the lip of his coffee mug.
“What?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
A crease forms between his thick brows. “You literally turned up to Nate’s fortieth birthday party topless.”
I gawk at him. “In my defense, I wasn’t wearing my glasses when I received the invitation.”
“Even with your abhorrent eyesight, I still don’t understand how you confused ‘Champagne and Canapés’ for ‘Champagne and Cha-Chas’.”
“The email was very pixelated!” I retort, straightening in my chair. “I thought it was one of those trendy new concepts—you know, like those naked restaurants in New York.”
“It was at his aunt’s private member club in SoHo,” Henry deadpans.
I sigh, dipping my shortbread in my coffee. “At least the bartenders appreciated it.”
Henry shakes his head, setting his mug down on my desk. “The marketing team sent out invitations to influencers last night and put some money behind Instagram and TikTok ads.”
Excitement fizzles through me like sherbet. “That’s so exciting! Have we seen any engagement metrics yet?”
Henry nods, a small smile softening his features. “Thousands of saves, reposts, and comments so far. The Reel concept you came up with is performing extremely well.”
“Excellent,” I say, crossing one leg over the other. “I’ve finalized the spa narrative with the manager for the press kit, and I had a call with the copywriters yesterday about the room descriptions for the website.”
“I reviewed the copy deck. Good work. Looked flash without sounding pretentious.” He shifts in his seat, checking his watch.
“I’ve organized for us to visit the hotel with Max this afternoon for a final walkthrough.
Can you review the signature cocktail menu with the bar manager while we’re there?
I want to make sure the presentation and names align with the brand,” he says.
“Of course.” I slip my professional mask firmly back in place, ignoring how my stomach almost bottoms out at the mention of spending another afternoon with Max.
“It’s interesting, actually.”
“What is?” I ask, my eyes snapping up to meet Henry’s, which gleam playfully. He smooths a hand down his tie.
“Just that since last week, Max has developed quite the enthusiasm for our client meetings.” Henry’s eyes gleam.
“Especially those with your name on the invite. He was rather insistent on only having you join him for the Harrington Estate visit.” He pauses briefly.
“And he confirmed today’s site visit two minutes after I sent the email. ”
I tilt my head. “All right, smart-arse. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
A slow, cocky smirk unfurls across his lips. “I don’t think I need to say anything at all, do I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I bite into my shortbread.
He taps his fingers on the mahogany desk, narrowing his eyes at me.
“What now?” I ask.
He crosses his arms. “Admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“This isn’t just a little crush anymore. You like Max Browne.”
I scoff, sliding my mug across the desk as I open my email.
“And I think he has feelings for you.”
“I’m not talking about this with you,” I say, tapping away at my keyboard.
“Gem.” Henry’s voice takes on a soft, serious tone that he rarely uses, and I pause, reluctantly meeting his gaze. “It’s okay to like someone. To let someone in.”
I roll my eyes. “Christ—you sound exactly like April.”
“Well, maybe April’s right.”
I raise an eyebrow. “If you don’t drop this right now, I swear I’ll take off my top and recreate the Cha-Cha incident right here in my office.”
His face contorts with disgust. “God, please don’t.”
“Then get out.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “And take your relationship advice with you.”
“Don’t forget, Gemma—you report to me,” he says, standing and leaning over my desk. “And you can repress your emotions all you like. Have at it. But whatever happens, don’t mess up this launch. Be ready at 1 p.m. for the site visit.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, waving him off.
The smell of fresh paint, wood varnish, and fabric treatments cloaks us as we stride through the hotel foyer. My stilettos tap a steady cadence against the burnished stone.
I crane my neck, inspecting every nook and cranny in awe. Despite workers still mulling about with ladders and tools, I can already envision how spectacular this hotel is going to look in five weeks when it opens to the public.
Elegant guests will glide through and be greeted by two doormen, valet services available.
Concierge to the right of the entryway, ready to direct guests to the best the city has to offer.
Beyond them, bellmen in crisp charcoal uniforms will run errands, assist with luggage, and escort guests to their rooms.
The property is gorgeous, and the Gray Hotel vision come to life is a true masterpiece.
I note the available space opposite the concierge desk and mentally file it away. A barista station would be perfect there. Guests arriving after transatlantic flights and facing hour-long waits before check-in would kill for a proper coffee. I must remember to tell Max at dinner tonight.
My body throbs at the memory of his hands on me yesterday.
We follow Max through to the hotel cocktail bar, which is the real showpiece of the ground floor. I force my gaze upward from his perfect arse to enjoy the big reveal.
Pendant lights drip from the ceiling, casting a warm, amber glow. Everything is wrapped in smoky blues, plush velvet, and sleek burnished copper.
I step forward, running my fingers along the bar’s surface.
“Wow. Max… this is incredible.” I turn to him, standing behind me in a two-piece navy suit, looking like an Adonis. “It’s beautiful.”
Henry nods approvingly beside me, and I know he’s thinking the same thing—this is exactly the sort of space we imagined for the launch party.
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?” I say to Henry.
“This is where the content happens,” Henry replies, scratching his jaw as he surveys the room.
I gasp dramatically. “You mean you finally agree with me?”
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, tipping his head to look down at me, and I roll my eyes.
This will be the heart of our campaign. Cocktails, immaculately dressed guests, and modern fusion dining that everyone who’s anyone will be posting, tagging, and raving about on socials.
“So,” I say, turning my attention to Max. “How do you see guests interacting in this space? I want to make sure it’s communicated in the marketing.”
Max smirks. “I think it will be a versatile space—businesspeople sipping on cappuccinos in the morning before transitioning into an ambient space in the evening.”
“Perfect,” I reply, mentally ticking off all the features to pass on to the PR, events, and design teams.
This is why I love my job. As a creative director, I live for these moments when everything aligns—finally seeing the space through the same lens that everyone else will view it once our campaign launches.
Max points to a booth near the far end of the bar. “We’re also adding discreet power outlets under the tables, for guests working remotely or holding meetings during off-peak hours.”
I feel his enthusiasm. It’s infectious, and it makes me grin.
“This hotel is really special, Max. You’ve done a wonderful job,” I say, my eyes softening as they meet his.
“Thank you, but I can’t take all the credit.
The Livingstone team coordinated all this.
They’ve done an exceptional job,” he says gently, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the time.
“The bar staff will be joining us in about fifty minutes to go over the signature cocktails for the launch party, but I’d love to show you the rest of the property first.”
“Lead the way,” Henry says.
“I can’t wait to see the spa,” I whisper, leaning into Henry.
Max’s expression shifts when his eyes flick to Henry, as if he doesn’t like him being too close. I should tell him Henry’s gay, but what would be the fun in that?
Without a word, Max nods once and gestures for us to follow.
The guest floors are finished and just as impressive as the rest of the venue.
As we approach the penthouse suite, Henry’s phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket.
“You gonna take that?” I ask, eyeing him sideways.
Henry glances at the screen and sighs, stopping mid-step. “It’s Chadwick. I need to take this.”
“Do you want us to wait?” I ask. I try to keep my tone friendly but I’m boring holes through him, silently begging him to say no.
“No, you two go ahead. I’ve seen the other suites—I’m happy with that. I’ll see you back at the office.”
“You’re leaving?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.
“This won’t be a short call.” Henry reaches out to shake Max’s hand. “Thanks for showing us around, and congratulations—it’s all looking brilliant.”
I hide the victory party being thrown in my head.
Max shakes his hand, his voice cool and even. “My pleasure. Appreciate it.”
With that, Henry disappears, his voice echoing down the corridor.
Max’s eyes meet mine and the air between us crackles. Need scales my body, and lust coils up my spine like a serpent. He tilts his head toward the large double doors at the end of the short corridor.
“I want you to see the view.”
We both know exactly what’s going to happen the moment we step inside that suite.
Naturally, I follow.