“Good night, Roman,” I reply as I shut the door softly behind him, then lock up.
That wasn’t so bad. We can do this friends thing. There were a couple of hiccups along the way, a few too many times of me checking him out, but that’s not so bad.
Chapter Nine
Roman
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I bark into the phone as I pull up social media.
Penelope sighs into the receiver. “I wish I weren’t. She posted it about an hour ago.”
I find the A-list actress’s account, and there it is in black and white.
Sometimes, you think you’re staying at the best of the best … then you see how others are getting the star treatment elsewhere, and you realize you might be wrong.
“She’s fucking unbelievable. Do you think she’s talking about Zenith Manor?”
Penelope goes silent. She does it when she’s hesitant to deliver bad news to me.
“Just spill it, Penelope.”
“We did some digging. One of her biggest enemies in the business just posted about how they were getting the red-carpet treatment. Turned out, she was staying at Zenith.”
Celebrities these days. They can take you down with one single post to their social media. Luckily, she didn’t post where she was staying … this time. But it’s a clear message that we aren’t doing enough for her.
“What the hell does she want?” I ask as I massage my forehead.
“I say we go all out. Have the chef whip up some incredible five-star dinner and dessert. Go to Fifth Avenue and buy the latest trending clothing and accessories that we lay out for her. She has forty million followers. We can’t afford for her to go back to LA without making sure we right this wrong.”
“Fine,” I snap back. “Do whatever you need to keep her from talking any further. Give her our rarest wines. Offer to jet her back to LA on us. We can’t afford for her to leave unhappy.”
I slam the phone down and pinch the bridge of my nose to try and ward off the looming headache. There are customers you love to spoil because they are grateful and pleasant to the staff, and then there are the ones who feel entitled to everything. If you don’t cater to them every second of their stay, they feel like you’re not doing enough.
A knock at my door pulls me from my moment of self-pity. Eva’s standing there with a worried look that immediately gives me an odd sense of comfort.
“Everything all right?” she asks.
I wave my hand in the air. “Nothing that I’m not used to. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to get your approval on the concierge area, but it can wait.”
“Of course. Come on in.”
“I was going back and forth between where I wanted the desk to be. I ultimately decided just off to the right of the main entrance. I didn’t want it too close to the front desk for logistical reasons.”
She comes around my desk and places her laptop in front of me, then leans forward. Her long brown hair hangs inches from my face, and I smell the scent of her shampoo—some kind of floral with a hint of honey.
It’s sweet but strong—just like her.
I look down at the floor plan, where she is pointing.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t suspect the reason for my distraction.
Luckily, she runs through it one more time for me. I take a minute to think through the process of checking in at the front desk, then walking over to talk to the concierge.
Close enough to the front desk, but out of the way, in case the main area gets congested.
“I like it. Logistically, it works. I approve.”