Chapter 4
NYAH
“You!” The word burst out of me before I could stop it.
He was the handsome letch from the restaurant.
My mouth opened again, and for a moment I thought more words might come out, but there were none. Numbly, I let him take my hand and shake it, not even registering the contact.
“You two know each other?” Randall asked, ushering us into the office and guiding me toward a casual meeting space with armchairs and a settee.
“He assaulted me,” I said, not sure why those words were the ones that came out.
Randall looked like I’d slapped him, but then the other man—Caleb… good God, it’s Caleb Evans—stepped in and guided his father to the settee.
“That’s not quite true,” he said, calmly lowering the temperature. “Although I did proposition her. Poorly. And unwelcomingly, if that’s a word.”
Randall frowned at me, seeking confirmation. I nodded and sat down in the armchair.
Caleb turned back to me, fixing me with an earnest look. “And I do apologize. I should have done so at the time.” He paused. “By which I mean, I’m sorry. I used poor judgment.”
Randall laughed, lightening the moment. “Not for the first time around a beautiful woman, I might add.”
“This is true,” Caleb said, nodding sagely at both implications—that he’d behaved poorly before, and that I was indeed very beautiful.
“But Nyah straightened me out. I’d be grateful for a second chance if she’d let me start over.
” He extended his hand again, brows narrowed, looking very contrite indeed. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Caleb Evans.”
My heart was still pounding, though I’d come back down out of fight/flight/freeze mode. As far as apologies went, Caleb’s had been… well, perfect. Was it heartfelt? Time would tell. Steeling myself, I held out my hand.
“Nyah Rodriguez. Pleased to meet you, too.”
Caleb sat forward, smiling broadly, and took my hand.
That same electric charge I’d felt when he’d taken the champagne from me fizzed through my fingertips, and suddenly the trepidation was gone, replaced by an assault of fresh sensations—the smell of his cologne, the sharp line of his beard stubble, the gentle squeeze of his hand. Why did this man make me feel so…?
I retrieved my hand, and Randall explained to us both that I was to take Caleb under my wing and introduce him to the various departments throughout the hotel. Whatever I had done to acquaint myself with operations, I was to do the same with him.
Randall looked at Caleb. “You will learn much from her. She manages a hotel like a woman possessed.” Then he turned toward me. “If he ends up half the manager you are, my dear, I shall have to put you in charge of training across the chain.”
He said it lightly, but I recognized the earnestness beneath the tone. There was undoubtedly a promotion in this for me, and the only thing standing in my way was Randall’s possibly misogynistic, but handsomely enigmatic son.
The gardener would have been easier.
When I’d accepted the General Manager’s job, the first thing I’d done was get up from my desk and walk a mile in everybody else’s shoes.
Front desk and concierge, of course, I already knew, but the restaurant—both kitchen and front of house—valet, function rooms, even housekeeping and laundry—I’d spent two weeks, sometimes more, understanding the challenges of the staff and managers I would lead.
And this was exactly what I had planned for Caleb.
How the team would react to the owner’s son in their midst, I didn’t know, so I started gently by first showing him around.
He was politely interested in touring the booking desk and my old domain, Guest Services, shaking hands and asking the occasional question.
It was hard not to see him as a visiting dignitary, though—I’d seen the same smiles and nods from the Prince of Wales the last time he’d breezed through Canada.
Would I ever get Caleb in an apron, scrubbing a toilet or running laundered underwear up to a suite?
Probably not, but it was amusing to imagine.
His interest kicked up when we moved back into the offices.
He engaged Will Burke from Marketing in an animated discussion about luring big spenders into four-day weekends instead of three.
Will said they’d tried Thursday-night restaurant vouchers and complimentary spa packages, and while there’d been a small uptick in bookings, it hadn’t translated into increased business through in-room services, the bar, or the specialty shops in the lobby.
Caleb just smiled and shook his head. He perched on the edge of Will’s desk and gave him a come-to-Jesus speech about marketing to rich people.
“With packages,” he said, “not discounts. Give them something money can’t buy—a Captain’s Table dinner with my father and whatever A-listers we can shake out on the night.
And charge them for it—a thousand a head. ”
“A thousand? Dollars?”
“Too cheap? You’re right. It’ll depend on who else we can get to the table, though. Celine would be good for two, especially if she cranked an unplugged version of that Titanic theme, but if we got Gretzky, we’d be turning them away at five grand.”
I shook my head. Charging more for a night a guest didn’t want and an event they didn’t need? I’d been around VIPs long enough to recognize he was right, but it was something I’d never truly understand.
We walked out afterward, took the stairs up to the next level, and I scanned us through the fire door into the purchasing department.
Caleb held the door for me, and I caught him glancing at my backside as I stepped through.
Nothing overt—and when he closed the door again, he immediately met my eyes, not my chest. I didn’t mind men looking; it was the ogling that crossed the line.
“I heard you on the phone earlier,” I said. “Do you do a lot of work marketing to VIPs?”
“I’m not sure ‘work’ is how I’d describe it,” Caleb said, smiling.
“Then…?”
“Socializing,” he said. “At Temptations—that’s my club—I run the private rooms. Make sure they’re full, get the right people in, keep the wrong people out.
You can’t fill a place with celebs—you need a bunch of starry-eyed kids for them to show off to, otherwise they won’t spend. It’s like mixing a good cocktail.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine how you meet them all and then get them to come.”
“They’re my friends,” he said with a shrug. “Or friends of friends. I just invite them.”
We stopped outside an office, and I rapped a knuckle on the open door. “Hi, Katie. Got a minute?”
“Nyah, come in.”
“Katie Powers, Head of Purchasing, this is—”
“Caleb Evans,” she said, standing and coming around the desk to shake his hand. “The magazines don’t lie, do they? You’re every bit as handsome in person.”
“Flattery is always welcome,” he said, giving her that beaming smile. “I’m trying to cut down, though. It’s been getting me into trouble lately.”
Katie laughed. “I read about Milan on Twitter. How unfortunate.”
She was beautiful, about my age, and impeccably dressed as always.
Clearly, there was an attraction—Caleb would have to be blind to miss it and a monk not to reciprocate.
And yet, he didn’t. He took her hand only long enough to be polite, parried her flirtation without embarrassing her, and—just as with me—kept his eyes firmly above her chin the entire time.
Perhaps I’d caught him at a weak moment in the restaurant.
“Katie,” I said, “Caleb’s doing a tour of duty as VP of Operations before Mr. Evans takes him on at HQ. I’m taking him around to show him the ropes.”
“Ooo, be careful,” Katie said to Caleb. “She’ll have you polishing shoes in Guest Services.”
“I was going to start him scrubbing toilets,” I said. “He’ll have to prove himself before I let him into Guest Services.”
“You think she’s joking,” Katie said, “but she’s not.”
“No doubt,” Caleb said, peering into a cardboard box and pulling out a plastic satchel. “What are these?”
“Samples,” Katie said. “Men’s overnight kits.”
Caleb nodded. “I know. I’ve been caught overnight enough times. Why are they here?”
“It’s a new contract. A bit cheaper than the last one.”
Caleb turned the package over, frowning. “Remember those Milan photos on Twitter? I was there with the Attorney General’s son. He told me these guys were about to be implicated in child-labour allegations.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”
“Listen,” he said. “Just a thought, but have you ever been caught overnight in a strange city?”
“Not really.”
“You get one of these,” he said, swinging the bag between his fingertips, “and you smell different, you can’t get your hair right, and your skin feels weird because the moisturizer’s always too milky.”
Katie nodded. “They’re supposed to be a little opulent, aren’t they?”
“This one time,” he said, “I got held over in Paris, and they gave me a Ralph Lauren bag... Or maybe it was Chanel, I don’t remember, but I smelled great. Every time I go to Paris, I stay at that hotel.”
“Just for the toiletries?”
“No, I bring my own. I go there because they got it right. And I know if anything does go wrong, they’ll fix it. It’s a great feeling.” He put the bag back in the box. “I know the head of sales at Ralph Lauren—”
“Not Chanel?”
Caleb laughed. “No, definitely Lauren. He’s in Europe, not North America, although I’m sure he could hook you up over here. It’d depend on volumes, but you might be surprised how close they could get to those other guys.”
Katie wrinkled her nose. “We’d definitely have volume. The contract is done for the whole chain, but that means it’s not my call. I’d have to kick it up to head office.”
“It’s your game,” Caleb said, “so your call. If you need any help shaking the tree at the head office, you know where to find me.” He turned back to Nyah. “We’d better keep moving if you want to get me shining shoes before five o’clock. Where to next?”