by Vi Keeland
I shook my head. “Of course you do.”
He held up his pointer. “Number one. I want you to call me Weston, not Lockwood.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. Why does it matter what the hell I call you?”
“It’s what everyone calls my father.”
“So?”
“If you’d prefer, you can call me Mr. Lockwood. I might actually enjoy hearing you call me that more.” He shook his head. “But not Lockwood. It’s confusing to the staff.”
I guess he sort of had a point. Though there had to be more to it than that. Weston wasn’t about to waste one of his three genie rubs to appease employees, that was for damn sure. But I could live with the request.
“Fine. What else?”
Weston lifted a hand and cupped it around his ear. “What else, what?”
I shook my head. “You said you had three conditions. What are the other two?”
He tsked. “You were missing something at the end of your sentence. You said, ‘Fine. What else?’ But what you should’ve said was, ‘Fine, what else, Weston?’”
Ugh. It had sounded like such an easy thing to do. It wasn’t like I always called him Lockwood; sometimes I used asshole. So it should be easy enough. Hell, I should be able call the asshole Your Highness and not flinch, yet calling him Weston now after he’d told me to just felt obedient.
“Fine,” I gritted out between my teeth.
Again he cupped his hand to his ear. “Fine…what?”
“Fine, Weston,” I said with my jaw clenched.
He flaunted a gloating smile. “That’s it. Good job, Fifi.”
I squinted. “I have to call you Weston, and you’re going to continue to call me Fifi?”
Ignoring me, he folded his hands on the table. “Number two. You’ll wear your hair up at least twice a week.”
“What??” I scoffed. “You’re insane.” Then I remembered last night he’d tried to get me to agree to a bet where I’d wear my hair up if he could give me two orgasms. I’d kicked him out after one, though. “Why do you give a shit how I wear my hair?”
He neatened a few files stacked on the table in front of him. “Do we have an agreement on number two or not?”
I thought about it. Honestly, did I give a shit if he had some nefarious reason for wanting me to call him Weston and wear my hair up? It wouldn’t kill me, and he could certainly request much worse. “What’s number three?”
“You’ll have dinner with me once a week.”
My entire face scrunched up in disdain. “I’m not going out with you!”
“Think of it as a business meeting. We’re running a hotel together. I’m sure there will be plenty of things we’ll need to discuss.”
He had a point, yet the thought of sitting across from him and sharing a meal really made me feel unsettled.
“Lunch,” I said.
He shook his head. “My conditions are not negotiable. Take it or leave it.”
I growled. “If I agree to your ridiculous conditions, you have to keep your end of the bargain. You will not mention what happened last night—not to one of your stupid friends, not to a staff member, certainly not to any of your obnoxious family. My momentary lapse in sanity will be forever locked away in your birdbrain, never to be spoken of again.”
Weston held out his hand. I hesitated for so many reasons. Though in the end, I was going to have to work with him for a while, and it was my idea to put everything behind us so we could move forward as professionals. And professionals did shake hands. So while every bone in my body told me to avoid him at all costs, I nevertheless placed my hand in his.
Like in a sappy romance movie, the jolt that ran through my body made every hair on my arm jump to attention. And my luck, the idiot had to notice.
He took in the goose bumps prickling on my skin and smirked. “Dinner at seven tomorrow evening. I’ll let you know where.”
Thankfully, our nine o’clock appointment knocked and put an end to our private discussion. The hotel’s general manager opened the door. He walked to my side of the table first. “I’m Louis Canter.”
“Sophia Sterling. It’s very nice to meet you.” We shook.
Louis then reached out to Weston, and the two men shook while Weston introduced himself.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “I know you usually work from eleven to seven, so I appreciate you arriving early so we can spend a little time before your busy day starts.”
“No problem.”
“I read that you’re the longest-running employee at The Countess. Is that right?”
He nodded. “It is. Started when I was fifteen, doing odd jobs for Ms. Copeland and both your grandfathers. Pretty sure I’ve held just about every position there is to have here over the years.”
I smiled and motioned to the chair at the head of the table, the one between Weston and me. “That’s incredible. We’re very lucky to have someone with so much knowledge and experience. Please, have a seat. We just wanted to discuss the transition and listen to any concerns you might have.”
“Actually.” Weston stood. “Something’s come up, and I need to step out. I probably won’t be back until this evening.”
I blinked a few times. “What are you talking about? When did something come up?”
Weston spoke to the general manager. “I apologize, Louis. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. I’m confident you and Ms. Sterling will be able to handle anything that needs to be handled for the time being. Sophia can fill me in tomorrow evening on what I’ve missed.”
Seriously? We had a half-dozen meetings scheduled with key employees today, the entire purpose of which was to assure people their jobs were safe, and everything would continue to run smoothly. Everyone knew the Sterlings and the Lockwoods despised each other, which made them extra nervous. And he decides to ditch the meetings? What kind of a message would that send? One of the new owners doesn’t even have time for you?
“Umm…” I stood. “Could I speak to you a moment before you go, Lockwoo—Weston?”
He flashed a gratified smile.
I nodded toward the conference room door. “Outside in the hall.” I turned back to Louis. “Excuse me for just one minute, please.”
“Take your time.”
Once we were in the hall, I looked around to make sure no staff were in the vicinity. Planting my hands on my hips, I attempted to keep my voice down. “What the hell? We have a full day of meetings. What’s so important that you’re ditching?”
Like he’d done last night, Weston wrapped a lock of my hair around his finger and gave it a firm tug. “You can handle it, Fifi. You’re a people pleaser. I’m sure you’ll have all the staff feeling like the old bat kicking the bucket was a good thing by the time you’re done.”
I slapped his hand away from my hair. “I’m not your secretary. What you miss is your problem. Don’t expect me to report back to you.”
In response, the jerk winked. I freaking hated winkers. “Have a good day, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that!”
And just like that, Weston Lockwood walked away.
The man made me nuts. Good riddance to the jerk.
I definitely didn’t need him in the meetings.
I definitely was better off without him.
In fact, come to think of it, the only place the jerk was useful was in the bedroom.
And I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
That was for damn sure.
***
I settled back in for my meeting with Louis.
“So, as you know, the hotel is now owned by the Sterling and Lockwood families,” I said. “Each family owns a forty-nine percent share, and two percent is owned by a local charity Ms. Copeland supported here in the City.”
Louis smiled fondly. “Easy Feet.”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
The charity Grace had left a two-percent stake to was an interesting one—run by one man with an annual budget of less than fifty-thousand dollars.
The two-percent stake in The Countess was worth probably a hundred times that annual budget. No wonder the guy had been so anxious to sell his stake to one of us.
“Did Ms. Copeland have a personal reason for such a large donation to that charity? Not that it isn’t a great organization, but it’s pretty specific.”
Louis leaned back into his chair and nodded. His eyes were warm as he spoke. “Leo Farley. He works in housekeeping.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. “An employee got her interested in the charity?”
“About six years ago, Leo was homeless. Long story, but he’d had a rough year. Lost his job, wife died, got evicted from his apartment, daughter committed suicide—all within the span of a few months. He sometimes slept in the alley around the corner, right next to the hotel’s service entrance. Ms. Copeland went out for two walks a day, like clockwork at ten AM and three PM, just a few blocks each time. One afternoon, she ran into Otto Potter outside, and he was treating Leo’s feet.”
“Otto Potter is the guy who runs Easy Feet?”
Louis nodded. “That’s right. He’s a retired podiatrist. A lot of homeless people have trouble with their feet—untreated diabetes, walking around not wearing shoes, infections—all sorts of issues. He started Easy Feet to help the people here in the City who weren’t walking on Easy Street. He and a few other volunteers go around and treat guys like Leo, right on the street.”
“But Leo works here now?”
“Ms. Copeland took a liking to him. Once his feet got better, Leo started walking with her. Eventually she offered him a job. He’s been employee of the month more times than any other employee. Works hard.”
“Wow. That’s a great story.”
Louis smiled proudly. “Got plenty of ’em when it comes to Ms. Copeland. She was a real good person. Very loyal.”
Considering what she’d left to the two men who’d once loved her, I’d say that was an understatement. It was good news for me, because loyal employers usually meant loyal employees, and I was hoping for smooth sailing while stuck here overseeing the hotel and protecting my family’s interest.
Steering our conversation back to the reason for our meeting, I lifted a pen from on top of the notebook I’d brought. “So, tell me about the operations at The Countess. Is everything running smoothly? Are there any issues or concerns you’d like to point me to as I become familiar with how things run?”
Louis pointed to my pad. “Good thing you brought that notebook.”
Uh-oh.
“First, there’s the looming strike.”
“Strike?”
“Ms. Copeland was generous and loyal, but she also kept the reins very tight when it came to managing things. I’m the hotel’s manager. I oversee all the day-to-day operations, but she personally handled the business aspect of things. She was sick for a long time, and some of the things that needed handling didn’t get handled.”
I sighed and wrote down: Strike. “Okay, tell me all the details you know about the union issues.”
Forty minutes later, I had six pages of notes on just the first problem.
“Anything else?” Please say no.
Louis frowned. “I’d say the next biggest problem is the double-booked weddings.”
My brows rose. “Double-booked weddings?”
He nodded. “I’m sure you know, The Countess is one of the most in-demand venues for events.”
“Yes, sure.”
“Well, we have two ballrooms. The Grand Palace and The Imperial Salon. They book up to three years in advance.”
“Okay…”
“About two years ago, we started to take reservations for The Sundeck. It’s an exact replica of The Imperial Salon but also with a private rooftop sundeck.”
“I didn’t realize there was a rooftop sundeck.”
He shook his head. “There isn’t. That’s part of the problem. Construction is barely even started up there, or in the new main ballroom space. And the weddings we booked two years ago are approaching pretty fast. The clients booked expecting to have an outdoor cocktail hour or service. We have the first one coming up in only three months. As you can imagine, the hotel serves some very influential families. The first event is for the niece of the mayor.”
My eyes widened. Shit.
Things continued to go downhill from there. While from a visitor’s perspective, the grand hotel appeared in tiptop shape, it had a laundry list of major issues that had been building over a long period of time. And now those issues were my issues. Over the next three-and-a-half hours, Louis unloaded problem after problem. We had so much to discuss that I had to reschedule the other appointments I’d made with senior managers this morning. By the time we finished our meeting, my head was spinning.
I stood at the door of the conference room. “Thank you so much for filling me in on everything today.”
He smiled. “I guess it’s a good thing there are two of you. There’s a lot of work to do.”
Weston Lockwood was the last thing on my mind, and Louis saw the confusion on my face.
“I was referring to Mr. Lockwood,” he said, “meaning it must be nice to have someone in the trenches with you to handle all of this.”
I smiled rather than tell him getting the Sterlings and Lockwoods to agree on anything might be the top problem for this hotel.
“Yes.” I feigned the best smile I could muster. “It’s nice to have someone I can count on.” To disappear, like he did today.
“Let me know however I can help.”
“Thank you, Louis.”
After he left the conference room, I slouched in a chair, trying to organize my thoughts. I’d believed I was coming to New York to babysit a hotel while my family worked on buying out the minority owner. Apparently, I had my work cut out for me. While I sat feeling a bit shell-shocked, my cell started to buzz on the table.
I picked it up and sighed audibly.
There was only one man I wanted to avoid discussing everything I’d just learned with more than Weston Lockwood. So naturally, he had to call at this very moment. Taking a deep breath, I figured it was best to get the tirade over with. So I swiped to answer.
“Hi, Dad…”
Chapter 4
* * *
Sophia
“How the hell did this happen?”
My father started barking before we sat down at our table. He’d hung up on me five minutes after he’d called earlier today—the moment I’d mentioned a looming strike. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about the rest of the issues. A half hour after he’d slammed the phone down in my ear, his secretary emailed to tell me my father would land at seven and dinner would be at Prime, one of the restaurants in The Countess. She didn’t ask if I was available, rather she’d told me where we would be eating.
Not to mention, it had also been the first I’d heard that my father was even planning on coming to town tonight. And I definitely had no idea my half-brother, Spencer, would be accompanying him. Though in hindsight, I should have suspected as much on both counts.
“Well,” I said. “Ms. Copeland was sick, and she let some things slide, thinking she would take care of them when she felt better. She obviously never had that opportunity.”
The waiter came over to take our drink order. My father didn’t give the poor man an opportunity to finish asking what we wanted before he rudely cut him off and barked “Scotch on the rocks—Glenlivet XXV Single Malt.”
Because alcohol had to cost more than five-hundred dollars a bottle for him to find it worthy of consumption.
My puppet of a half-brother raised his hand. “Make that two.”
No please.
No thank you.
And clearly neither of them had ever heard of ladies first.
I attempted to make up for their rudeness when it was my turn to order. “May I please have a glass of merlot? Whatever you have open is fine.” I smiled. “Thank you very much.”
If my father noticed my over-the-top abundance of manner
s, he didn’t seem to care.
“Spencer can handle the union,” he said. “He has experience dealing with Local 6.”
Uh, no. “Thank you. But I can handle it on my own.”
“I wasn’t asking, Sophia,” my father said sternly.
I’d let a lot of things slide with my father over the years, but this wasn’t going to be one of them. Grandfather had given me the job of managing the hotel, and I planned to make him proud, on my own.
“With all due respect, Dad, I don’t need Spencer’s help. And if I do need some assistance, I’ll reach out and ask for it.”
My father’s ears turned red. “You’re in over your head.”
“Grandfather has faith in me. Perhaps you can try having some, too.”
Spencer joined in. “The guys who run the union are used to working with a man. Things can get pretty heated.”
Did the jerk really just tell me the reason I needed help was because I was a woman? Now my ears pinked up.
Luckily, the waiter arrived with our drinks, allowing me a few seconds to calm down. As much as I wanted to explode, I wouldn’t stoop to yelling or bullying to get my point across—that was my father’s way. After the waiter passed out our beverages, I asked him to give us a few minutes since none of us had looked at the menu yet.
I gulped a healthy dose of wine and turned to give Spencer my full attention.
“I didn’t realize union negotiation depended on the size of my dick. But don’t worry, Spence, they used to stick us in the tub together when we were kids. I can assure you, mine is bigger than yours.”
“Sophia!” my father interjected. “Act like a lady and watch your language.”
As if being belittled by my father and half-brother wasn’t bad enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Weston walk into the restaurant. Our eyes caught, and he did a quick sweep over my dinner companions before heading right for us. I downed the rest of my wine like it was a bottle of water.
“Mr. Sterling. How nice to see you.” Weston put his hand on the back of my chair and graced our table with his most dazzling and annoying smile.
My father looked him up and down and snarled, “Jesus Christ, does anyone give a shit about this hotel? Here I was concerned that the Lockwood family would send someone to try to take my daughter for a ride. At least that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about if they sent you.”
