Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ryder
Damage control mode.
That’s where I am.
It’s a familiar place, a place I’ve spent years in. Analyzing the numbers, assessing the risks, and calculating the outcomes. I’ve spent my entire career making sure everything runs smoothly, with no room for mistakes.
But there’s one problem now: her.
Sunny Quinn.
I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she smiled, the sarcasm in her tone, the little laugh that escaped her when she tried to mask how out of her depth she was. It shouldn’t have happened.
One night. One mistake. But it keeps coming back to me.
I told myself it was just sex. Nothing more. We got caught up in the moment. She’s a beautiful woman, and I’ve had more than my share of random flings.
But there’s something about her. She has captivated me in ways that I can’t explain.
And that’s dangerous.
I push the thought aside as Nolan walks in, his face too eager for my liking. He’s been with me long enough to know when I’m about to lose my temper, and it’s obvious he’s trying to defuse it before it starts.
“Hey, I’ve got a good one for you,” he says, all casual, but there’s a twinkle in his eye.
I raise an eyebrow, already knowing where this is going.
“So, I heard the new boss lady is really making her presence known. Is it true?”
“Knock it off,” I mutter, glancing at the papers in front of me to avoid his gaze.
“C’mon, Ryder,” Nolan presses. “You’re telling me Dex didn’t see you flirting and leaving together the other night?”
My hands curl into fists. “Dex is a mischief maker who didn’t tell me who she was.”
Nolan shrugs. “I don’t think he knew she was the boss until the next day.”
I don’t know if I believe that, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.
“So…” Nolan teases. “Did you—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Don’t even finish that sentence. And if I hear anything else along those lines, I’ll have your resignation on my desk before lunch.”
Nolan holds his hands up, pretending to surrender, though I see the corner of his mouth twitching. “Just saying, man. You’ve never been the sleeping-with-the-boss type. Didn’t think you’d go that route.”
I don’t even respond.
Instead, I just glare at him. The last thing I need right now is to deal with this. He’s right about one thing: I’ve never let anything personal interfere with my professional life.
I’ve built my career on control, on being unshakable. But then I saw her again today, and the control? It’s slipping.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off the tension. “Let’s move on. I’ve got a meeting with the department heads this morning.”
Nolan doesn’t say anything more, but I can see the smirk tugging at his lips as he leaves the room. I tell myself not to let it bother me, but the heat creeping into my ears says otherwise.
The meeting with the department heads is as chaotic as I expected.
Chef Andre is already in a full-blown tantrum about the broken oven.
“It’s impossible to create the kind of dishes we’re known for if the kitchen is out of commission!” he fumes as his hands fly onto his hips.
I nod, trying to stay composed. “I’m aware of the issue. I’ll make sure it’s resolved by the end of the day.”
“But it’s ruining everything,” he insists, his tone rising, clearly trying to force me into a corner. “You don’t understand! Without a working oven, the holiday menu is doomed!”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I understand perfectly, Chef. We’ll fix it. We’ll figure something out for tonight’s orders.”
He narrows his eyes, but at least he stops shouting.
Next, Dex.
His idea? Turning the lobby into a burlesque brunch.
I blink, wondering if I’ve misheard. “Excuse me?”
“Think about it,” Dex says, leaning forward, a wild gleam in his eyes. “We’ve got the space, the atmosphere, and, let’s face it, the guests would eat it up. The holidays are all about extravagance. Why not give them something to really talk about?”
I stare at him, trying to decide if he’s serious or if he’s just messing with me. “Dex, the last thing this hotel needs right now is that.”
His eyes shine brighter. “You’re no fun, Ryder. Imagine the press!”
I pin him with a look. “I’m not going to entertain that idea anymore. We need a plan that focuses on the hotel’s integrity, not whatever that is.”
He shrugs and leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Finally, the maintenance manager, Eli.
Eli always finds the cracks in the structure. It’s why I trust him more than most.
“Ryder,” he says, evenly, “there’s a problem with the roof near the east wing. You might want to take a look.”
I frown. “What’s the issue?”
“Structural stress. It’s not visible from the ground, but we’ve got some foundation work that needs to be done before we can move forward with any renovations.”
I immediately make a note. “Get the engineers on it. I want a full report by the end of the day—”
The door crashes open.
I don’t even have time to look up before Sunny Quinn walks in, holding a folder in front of her as if it’s the Holy Grail.
The red folder practically screams budget crisis, with a series of bright, glittery Christmas stickers plastered on it. There are doodles of snowflakes, reindeer, and, of course, sprinkles of glitter that somehow make it look even more ridiculous.
She doesn’t notice my skeptical glance as she practically skips to the front of the room, her energy filling the space. I can tell she thinks she’s about to announce the best thing anyone’s ever heard.
“This,” she says, with an almost childlike excitement, “is the Holiday Miracle Plan!”
She slaps the folder down on the table with a flourish, her smile so wide I swear it could outshine the Christmas lights she’s dreaming of.
“It’s got everything! The Christmas gala, the holiday market, and a whole bunch of magical events to get guests and locals talking!”
I raise an eyebrow, already feeling a knot form in my stomach.
The others glance at one another, clearly unsure of whether to laugh or ask for a raise. I’m already mentally calculating the cost of glitter stickers, and I haven’t even seen the math inside yet.
I don’t say anything, letting the silence stretch as she flips open the folder, showing off more sketches of snowmen, Christmas trees, and was that a gingerbread man with sunglasses?
I can feel a sigh building in my chest.
“This is something we need to talk about, Sunny. A Christmas market, a gala, a festival of some sort? You want to turn this place into the holiday hotspot of Boston. Except that none of that is remotely in our budget. We’re barely scraping by on utilities.”
Her eyes flash at the mention of budget, but she doesn’t back down.
“Well, yeah,” she says, narrowing her eyes, “I’m not saying we can do it all tomorrow. But we need to drum up interest, get people excited about the hotel again. Something must change, and quickly, or this place really will be a ghost town.”
“I’m all for boosting interest,” I say, my words dropping to a sharp edge, “but the reality is we can’t even afford basic maintenance, let alone put on a gala. We don’t even have working toilets in half the bathrooms.”
She scoffs, her mouth twisting with impatience.
“And you really think people will come for the business-as-usual vibe? Ryder, this hotel needs a spark. It needs joy. The kind of joy that only Christmas can bring. People are desperate for it. Look at Boston. The whole city gets festive in the winter! We’ve got the potential, but you’re over here with a calculator, trying to squeeze pennies out of a piggy bank that’s already cracked. ”
The room has gone completely still, the tension between us crackling. I feel the pulse of frustration in my veins.
“You’re running a fantasy business,” I counter, colder now. “With candy cane fumes and glitter. This hotel’s not a holiday wish list. It’s a business. I don’t know what world you think you’re living in, but around here, we deal in facts, not dreams.”
Sunny’s cheeks flush a deep pink, the irritation radiating off her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not running some cold, heartless corporation.
What is it with you? You’re allergic to joy or something?
Scared of fun? It’s Christmas, Ryder! We can’t just wait for the bank balance to fix itself while we sit around doing absolutely nothing magically! ”
The words sting, though I refuse to show it. I’m not scared of fun. I’m afraid of failing. And right now, that’s all I see. Her bright ideas are nothing more than distractions from the reality of the mess we’re facing.
“I’m scared of you running the business into the ground,” I shoot back, meeting her gaze with enough force that I know it’ll cut through her. “Do you have any idea how many businesses collapse because they operate on nothing but optimism and glitter? You can’t wish your way out of debt.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to bring some hope into this place!” she snaps, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“Because someone has to, Ryder! I’m the one who inherited this wreck, and I’m trying to make it something people will want to be a part of.
If that means I have to fight against every penny-pinching, joy-killing number you throw at me, then fine. So be it.”
The argument is growing louder. No one’s even trying to intervene.
The rest of the department heads, who were once hovering on the edges of their chairs, have quietly excused themselves, retreating to the corners of the hotel, probably to find a place not to be caught in the crossfire.
I don’t care. This isn’t about the rest of them. It’s about us.
Her fiery energy challenges everything I’ve spent years building. Her reckless optimism, I can’t tell if it’s naive or brilliant. But all I know is that the more she fights me on this, the more I’m aware of her.
Her presence. Her ideas. Her passion. It’s driving me insane.
The silence after we’ve both said our piece is thick, suffocating.
I know we’re standing on the edge of more. Somewhere between confrontation and whatever happens next.
“Maybe,” I say, barely above a murmur, “you’re not wrong.”
Sunny blinks, thrown off by my sudden shift. She opens her mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand, cutting her off before she can dive back into another rant.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that we have no budget for this,” I say, more calmly now. “Not yet. We’ll have to be strategic. If we’re going to do something like this, it has to be sustainable.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, watching me, her expression tight.
And then, finally, she nods. “Fine,” she says, as if she’s still not entirely convinced, “but we’re going to find a way. And when it works, you’ll owe me an apology.”
I can’t help the corner of my mouth twitching upward.
“That’s a dangerous assumption,” I say, watching her carefully. “But I’ll consider it.”
We stand there in the stillness, neither of us moving. The tension is undeniable.
We’ll see who’s right.