Chapter 8
EIGHT
Avril
It’s been an exhausting couple of days. Since my conversation with Ben, I’ve called all the commercial realtors in Boston to see if anything had come on to the market.
A couple of places had, but nothing suitable.
Since then, I’ve been focusing on New York.
Today, Poppy and I are going to visit a few places to see if there’s anything we like that we can show Worth.
I can’t believe I have to focus on a second hotel in New York just because Ben East wouldn’t help.
What a dick.
“This is a great location,” Poppy says, coming toward me up West Forty-Fourth Street, wrapped up in her padded black long coat that makes her look like she’s wearing a duvet.
“I suppose,” I say, glancing up at the impressive facade. We wouldn’t have to do any work on the exterior. Three stone steps lead up to the entrance, which is flanked by imposing Doric columns. “The realtor will be here in a sec. He just messaged.”
“You seem irritated,” she says.
“I just really wanted Boston to work.”
“So why don’t you ask that guy who Worth mentioned. He was pretty sure he could help. You want me to ask?”
I shake my head. “I did already. He said no.”
“He did? Because he’s too busy? It’s too small a project?”
“No, because he’s into me.”
Poppy pulls in a sharp breath. “The guy you sat next to at Aurora and Deacon’s engagement party?” Her mouth pulls into a wide smile. “He’s into you?”
I shrug. Maybe this is all of my own making. If I hadn’t asked him to take me home, then I wouldn’t be in this mess. Ben couldn’t argue that we were mixing personal with business because there would never have been anything personal between us. Now I’m not just mad at him, I’m mad at me.
“He doesn’t want to mix personal and business,” I say. “And I may or may not have gone home with him on Saturday night.”
“How in the heck didn’t you tell me?” Poppy asks.
It’s a good question. Normally, I share everything with Poppy.
It’s always been the same between us. But there was something about the night with Ben that felt a little different.
And there was part of me that wanted to keep it to myself.
“I was going to tell you,” I say. “I haven’t seen you much since then, and—”
“We’ve sat opposite each other in an office every day this week.”
“I know, but I’ve been on the phone nonstop to the Boston realtors. I kinda forgot about it.” That’s a complete lie. I don’t think I’ll ever forget about that Saturday night. Ben was…probably the best lover I’ve ever had. And there’s no “probably” about it.
From the outside, it was a simple one-night stand.
But it felt like much more than that—and not just because of the omelet.
It was the connection I felt with him. It was how completely cared for I felt.
And when I saw him outside his apartment the other day, I knew it wasn’t in my head.
When I’m close to him, I feel protected.
It’s like some kind of invisible force field that surrounds us and blocks out the rest of the world.
It’s unnerving. But I also want to feel it again.
“So, are you two dating now?” Poppy asks.
“Of course we’re not dating. It was just sex.”
“But he said he’s into you.”
“Why would I date a guy who won’t help me?” I ask. “Doesn’t he realize that I’m much more likely to sleep with him if he helped me?” I cringe. “That sounds wrong, even to me.”
“Maybe that’s what he was getting at. He didn’t want a gratitude fuck.”
“I would never.”
“I know that.”
“He also knows that,” I say.
“It sounds like he’s made up his mind and it’s a definite no. We have to move on. Look at the bright side. I know you had your heart set on Boston, but New York will be easier logistically. And we can keep in touch with the Boston realtors and maybe our third hotel is in Boston.”
I blow out a breath, white tendrils curling out in front of me. “I hate February. I need a drink!”
“We have dinner with Aurora and Deacon and Scarlett and Ryder.”
“Oh, I forgot about that.” I check the time on my phone. “If we go now from here, we’d only be a little early and we could do a couple of shots before everyone arrives. Maybe that will improve my mood.”
“Do I need to worry that you’re using alcohol as a crutch?”
“Well, I’m definitely using alcohol as a crutch, but you don’t need to worry about it.” I grin at my sister. She rolls her eyes and, lucky for me, the realtor arriving interrupts us before Poppy can give me a lecture on my alcohol use.
The fact is, I don’t misuse alcohol. But next to Poppy, I look like I should be living under a bridge.
She never drinks more than one glass and she does that a maximum of three times a month.
She’s always been the same. I tease her about having a secret cocaine habit, but it’s only teasing.
Poppy is just a Goody Two-shoes. That’s who she is, and who she’s always been.
“Sorry for my delay,” Sujoy says, hurrying toward us. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
Urgh. I hope this site sucks. I follow Poppy and Sujoy inside.
“As you can see, it’s all set up as a hotel,” Sujoy says, as he takes us into the dark lobby. “It closed about a year ago because of various code violations.”
“Perfect,” I say sarcastically.
“I think it’s got great potential,” Sujoy says. “I know you wanted to find a hotel if possible, so the build was less substantial.”
“Yes,” Poppy says. “Our current hotel was a complete gut job. It would be quicker and less expensive if all the walls were in the right place. Then it’s mainly cosmetic work.”
“How many bedrooms does it have?” I ask, hoping he tells us it’s either three or three hundred and three. I’m not mentally ready to like something in New York City. My heart is still set on Boston.
“A hundred and twenty rooms at the moment, although, I think using Hotel on Ninth Street as a guide, you might want to lose some of the rooms to create bigger suites.”
Typical! It’s the perfect number of bedrooms. The Boston site we were looking at had a hundred and fifteen.
“That’s a really good size,” Poppy says. “Isn’t it?”
I shrug and follow them through the ground floor of the hotel. It looks like a ghost town. Everything’s just been abandoned. I pick up one of the dead flowers from where it’s dropped from the arrangement on the table in the middle of the lobby. How sad. “We could call it Hotel Miss Havisham.”
Poppy laughs. “It does have that vibe.” She glances up. “But that chandelier is incredible.”
I follow her gaze. Above the dead flowers is a grand chandelier that looks like it might be as tall as me.
It’s huge. And I bet it would look gorgeous, cleaned and illuminated.
“It’s not very Art Deco,” I say. Hotel on Ninth Street is a very different vibe.
Much less Victoriana and more cool Art Deco meets mid-century modern.
“No,” says Poppy simply.
We walk around the ground floor, taking in the kitchens, the laundry rooms, the staff quarters, as well as all the guest areas, then we take the stairs to look at the first floor of bedrooms.
“They’re all the same on this floor,” Sujoy says. “And every floor repeats this one except the top, where it’s all-suites.”
We enter the first bedroom. It’s a typical hotel setup. Closets on one side as you come in, bathroom on the other, with a bedroom beyond. They’re not huge, but they’re not as small as a lot of New York bedrooms.
“We wouldn’t be able to make each room individual in the way we have in Hotel on Ninth Street,” I say.
“Why not?” Poppy asks.
“Because every room is the same. It’s not the same at Ninth Street.”
“Because we have the corner rooms. But it hasn’t stopped us making each room unique. We can do that here as well.”
I shrug. She’s right, and there’s an advantage to having each room the same. It keeps it simple.
I’m just looking for reasons not to like this site. I’m still holding out hope that while we’re looking in New York, there’s going to be a Boston miracle and the owner of the site we found will change his mind and decide to put it back on to the market.
“I think this has great potential,” Poppy says.
“We need to look at more places,” I reply.
“Totally understandable,” Sujoy replies. “You want to make the right decision. Actually, something else just came up this morning. We don’t have a site plan or even photographs, but I can take you now if you have time? If you like this place, then I think you’ll love this new one.”
I internally groan. This place is good enough. I don’t want to see another place that’s even better. I want the commercial real estate opportunities in Manhattan to completely dry up for us. I have to believe that if I just get a little more time, I can still make Boston happen.