Chapter 10 Caleb
CALEB
Icontinued working at the front desk for a couple of days.
To my surprise, I enjoyed it. I liked interacting with guests, checking them in, answering their questions, and giving them suggestions about what to do while they were in the city.
It was satisfying to be useful in a way I’d never really experienced before.
The staff started warming up to me. They even invited me to sit with them during their break in the cafeteria.
I hesitated for a moment before accepting, unsure whether I really belonged there, but I followed them anyway.
Sitting at one of the long tables, eating the same food they did, listening to their stories and jokes—those simple gestures made me feel like part of a team. Their team.
At one point, I stood alongside Marcus, the concierge. He had been helping make reservations for guests at a local restaurant while arranging porter service for another group. I stepped in, helping answer questions, recommending nightlife and shopping spots I knew they’d enjoy.
“Thanks, Boss,” Marcus said, his black, curly hair bouncing as he turned to me. “You saved me there. That was quite a line-up of people. I’ll definitely be putting your name in the Star of the Month box.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It was the GM’s idea,” he said, smiling widely. “Each department has one. Whoever gets the most votes wins a restaurant voucher along with their picture on the wall.”
I glanced at the board mounted on the side wall of the reception desk.
I’d noticed it before and remembered seeing Marcus’ photo honouring more than one spot on the panel over the past year.
I didn’t need someone to pay for a night out, but the recognition of a job well done stirred something in me.
I wished I’d thought of an idea like that myself.
Over the following two weeks, I moved from department to department, and I was fascinated by what I learned.
Every step, from making a reservation to checking in and escorting a guest to their room, was carefully recorded to ensure their stay was seamless.
Staff researched guests in advance, anticipated their needs, and made arrangements ahead of time to improve their experience.
The more I learned, the more I realized how little I actually knew.
It was embarrassing. Every manager I met knew their department inside and out, and every one of them rolled up their sleeves when things got busy.
This wasn’t how I’d imagined management.
I’d stayed in countless luxury hotels without ever considering the painstaking labour and coordination behind the scenes.
Anne Summers, the head of Housekeeping, assigned a senior housekeeper named Carla to train me.
“You know, sir,” Carla said with a proud smile as we entered our third room of the morning, “Ms. Nyah was the one who told Ms. Anne to have all the new ones trained by me.”
I smiled, understanding immediately why. She was efficient, organized, and fast, despite being sixty years old. The checklist all the housekeepers used—the one I’d confiscated during my first week—had been her idea.
“I vas zrilled when Ms. Nyah took over the hotel,” she said, her German accent still evident.
“It’s because of her I still have a job, and because of her, I was rewarded for my idea.
” She chatted as she stripped the bed and laid out fresh sheets.
“The old GM was horrible, always yelling and screaming.” She ticked off boxes as she completed each task. “Thank God for Ms. Nyah.”
Hmmm... interesting! Offering rewards for suggestions and ideas. I filed that away.
I stayed in contact with Amy and let her know I was working in housekeeping that week. More than once, I noticed Nyah out of the corner of my eye while I was shadowing Carla. She’d be passing through the corridor or standing a little too long nearby before moving on.
What is wrong with that woman? She hadn’t acknowledged my presence since the flower incident.
Couldn’t she see I was trying? Some of the encouraging words she gave the other staff would have gone a long way.
A mix of irritation and disappointment flared briefly, but I reminded myself why I was doing this.
It wasn’t for approval. It was to better myself.
Approval might come later—or it might not—but at least I’d know I’d earned whatever outcome followed.
I caught my reflection while wiping down the mirror. My posture had changed—I stood straighter now, shoulders back, head high. I finished the checklist with a growing sense of satisfaction.
While working in the restaurant, I saw Angelo for the first time since the red wine disaster. Unsure how to approach him, I walked up and stuck out my hand. “Angelo, I don’t know if you remember me—”
“Mr. Evans,” he said, clearly surprised as he shook my hand. “How could I forget?”
“I’m sorry for my behaviour that day,” I said, lowering my eyes. “The way I reacted was unacceptable. Please accept my apology.”
“Thank you, Mr. Evans,” he replied warmly, adding his other hand to the shake. “I appreciate it.” He patted me on the back and motioned toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll teach you how to carry a tray of red wine.”
I worked alongside him and the other servers that week—taking orders, preparing drinks, serving meals, clearing tables—all under his supervision.
Priya Gill was the Marketing and Sales Manager. She showed me photos of what the hotel had looked like before the renovation. The rooms had been outdated and lifeless.
“No wonder this place was sinking,” I muttered.
“Nyah brought in a hospitality expert, Anthony Malone, to turn it around,” Priya said. “Did you know she wasn’t even a GM when she was hired?”
I hadn’t known that.
She scrolled through the album to show me more pictures.
“She is the hardest working woman I know—never takes any credit for herself. She refused to have her picture appear in the hospitality magazine. She told the photographer to use pictures of the staff who were crucial to the hotel’s success,” she said, her eyes softening.
Now I was intrigued. Everybody liked to be recognized and appreciated, and yet here she was, the complete opposite. Perhaps she didn’t like publicity... but why?
“She immersed herself in everything,” Priya continued. “Hiring, negotiations, SOPs, performance reviews.” She removed her glasses. “When she finally became GM, no one deserved it more.”
That was when I finally understood why my father wanted me to learn from her.
I started noticing Nyah more often after that.
Not in an obvious way—she was careful—but I saw her.
She would appear in the staff cafeteria while I was sitting with the front desk team, pass through Security while I was training for a fire drill, or step into HR while I was reviewing new employee files.
Sometimes she didn’t even look at me directly.
Other times, I caught her watching for just a second too long before turning away.
I knew exactly what she was doing.
Trust issues. And honestly, I couldn’t blame her.
At first, that look of disbelief on her face irked me.
It felt like she was waiting for me to slip, waiting to say, There it is.
I knew it. But as the days passed, that irritation faded.
Somehow, I came to appreciate it. It meant she was paying attention.
It meant she was seeing the change—even if she didn’t want to admit it yet.
I started looking forward to coming to work. Not just because I was learning, but because for the first time, I felt useful and accountable. And, whether I liked it or not, I looked forward to seeing her.
What I wanted—more than approval, more than recognition—was for her to trust me. I knew that wasn’t something I could demand or shortcut. It had to be earned, one day at a time.
That weekend, the hotel was slammed. Two wedding receptions, a Bar Mitzvah, a Christening party, and two birthday parties were booked back-to-back. I came in both days instead of going out or wasting time on another meaningless date.
I saw Nyah on Saturday.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, stepping into my path. This was the first time she had spoken to me in over a month. “I would have thought you’d have some high-class party to go to. Or maybe an important golf game?” Her tone was sharp.
I knew better than to take the bait. “I came to help and learn,” I said evenly. “As you suggested… remember?”
“I don’t know what your game plan is,” she said, her eyes hard, “but I can assure you, it won’t work.”
She walked off before I could respond.
I exhaled slowly. “Hey, Caleb,” I muttered under my breath, “thanks for coming in on the weekend. We really appreciate it.”
Shaking it off, I headed into the banquet kitchen. I swapped my suit jacket for an apron and jumped in wherever I was needed—lifting trays, clearing stations, running plates, restocking supplies. No one treated me differently. No one hesitated to tell me what to do.
Later that night, I saw Nyah again, standing at the kitchen entrance—quiet and observant.
I helped load the dishwashers, laughing with the other staff as water splashed everywhere. I was having a good time. A real one.
For the first time, I understood what camaraderie actually felt like.