Edward Lee - The Chosen

“Oh, and that instantly means you’re going to be doing more business than me?”

“Of course it does.”

“Back in the city I used to run a hundred and fifty dinners a night—that’s a lot more than ninety.”

“No it isn’t, not really. I’ve got ninety rooms, sure, but the average room books two people, and that’s three meals a day, not just one.”

Vera paused. He had a point… sort of. Perhaps she was letting a petty jealousy cloud her ability to see facts. “Well,” she attempted, “some of those people will be coming in to The Carriage House to eat.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Kyle baldly told her. “Mr. Feldspar figures that most of your business will be from the locals.”

“Is that so?” she huffed.

“Like it or not, the majority of The Inn’s business will be from wealthy out-of-towners, a select clientele. That’s why he needs me running the RS.”

“Oh? And why is that? You’re saying that my people aren’t good enough to serve your ‘select clientele’?”

“Hey, you said it, I didn’t. I’m more experienced in this gig. I’m sure your man over there is a great chef, but there’s a difference between a great chef and a great room-service chef. It’s a different job.”

All right, all right, Vera tried to settle herself down. She was falling right into Kyle’s trap, fighting already for higher ground—and losing. “I see what you mean.”

“We’re a team, Ms. Abbot—Vera.” His grin remained subtly sly. “Let’s be friends. I’m not out to compete with you.”

Bullshit, she thought for sure. She’d run into plenty of Kyles in her career, people who come on as nice guys, yet they’re stabbing you in the back whenever they get the chance. Everything Kyle said made objective sense; nevertheless, she didn’t trust him for a minute.

At least he’s cute, she thought next. A moment later, though, when she considered the thought, she felt shocked. Vera was not a libidinous woman. Her sex life with Paul had been good, but that was over now. It didn’t seem part of her character to suddenly acknowledge her attraction, however remote, to some kid she’d met fifteen minutes ago.

Be a good girl, Vera. Forget about this guy’s tight ass and start acting like an adult.

“Come on,” he prodded. “You’re gonna love it. Mr. Feldspar says you have your choice of suites.”

Nearing the end of the RS line, they passed two elevators, rs staff only, one read, and room service delivery read the other. But suddenly he was taking her through a door which opened up behind the reception desk in the atrium, between the twin winding stairwells.

“I still can’t believe how beautiful the atrium is,” she commented. Once again, her gaze strayed out over the array of plush carpet and furniture, and the gorgeous artwork, statues, and flower arrangements. Kyle, however, seemed to take it all for granted, turning up the left stairs without a second glance.

“Let me grab my bags,” Vera said. “I didn’t bring much in the way of personal effects.”

“Forget it.” Kyle waved her up. “I’ll have the dolts bring it up later.”

“The what?”

“The dolts, you know. The housekeeping staff,” Kyle designated. “That’s what we call them. They’re good workers but not much in the smarts department.’’

Vera’s lip pursed. Dolts, she thought. “I don’t know what school of management you come from, Kyle, but tagging your manual labor with derogatory nicknames doesn’t exactly do wonders for employee morale.”

“Jesus, you’re touchy. I hate to think what kind of nicknames they have for us.”

Vera grabbed two of her suitcases, which the movers had left in the foyer. “At least let me take them,” Kyle insisted.

“I can handle it,” Vera replied.

Kyle grinned. “You’re pissed off, aren’t you?”

“No, Kyle, I’m not pissed off. I just think you’ve got a lot to learn about dealing with people.”

Kyle laughed. “Hey, I’m a nice guy—I swear. I’ll bet my next check you’ll be calling them dolts a week from now. They’re all immigrants from eastern Europe or something. Most of them can’t understand a word you say.”

“Oh, so that means they’re stupid? That means they’re dolts?”

“All right already, I’m sorry. Boy, you and me really are starting off on the wrong foot.”

Vera sighed, following him up the stairs. “Do they have green cards?”

Now it was Kyle’s lips that pursed. “That’s the wrong kind of question to ask around here. Mr. Feldspar got them from one of the other inns.”

“He’s got inns in eastern Europe?”

“Sure. Eastern Europe’s a boomtown now, are you kidding? Since the cold war ended, all kinds of U.S. investors are setting up shop over there. We’ve even got an inn in Russia.”

“And it’s making money?”

“Hand over fist.”

Vera contemplated this as she stepped onto the landing. She’d read that the Radisson and some other major hotel chains were opening in eastern Europe, but they were for travelers and businessmen. But what kind of clientele could Feldspar possibly have attracted to Russia? She couldn’t imagine such a business risk.

“They’re cheap,” Kyle was saying. “That’s all that matters.”

“What?”

“The dolts—er, excuse me. I mean the custodial engineers.”

Vera ignored him. He began to lead her down a similarly plush, dark hallway. But then she stopped. “Wait a minute,” she queried.

“What’s wrong now?”

The stairs, she thought. What the hell?

The twin staircases led from the atrium to the second floor. And ended. But The Inn had four floors, didn’t it?

“Why do the stairs end here? How do you—”

“Get to the third and fourth floors?” Kyle finished her question. “VIP entrance in back, by the parking lot and helipad.”

Odd, she concluded. She understood the desire to separate the high-priced suites from the cheaper rooms. But separate accesses? It seemed an indulgent expense. She couldn’t imagine the additional construction costs for such a nicety. On the other hand, though, rich people were often eccentric, and the more their eccentricities were pampered, she realized, the more frequently they’d come back and, of course, the more money they’d spend. When executed properly, it was a system that always worked in the long run.

It was the short run, however, that she worried about. How could such an expensive venture survive during start-up? Just how extensive was Feldspar’s marketing influence? And could she really believe that the first four weekends were already booked?

Worry about The Carriage House, Vera, she reminded herself. One step at a time.

Kyle opened the first door on the right, which, like all of the doors, was solid oak, and ornately trimmed. He stepped back to give her room. “Check it out.”

Vera set her bags down and slowly rose. For a moment she lost her breath. What faced her past the entry was not a bedroom but a great chamber like an eighteenth-century French boudoir. Soft pastel papers covered the walls, with high pine skirtings. Dark, plush V’Soske throw rugs bedecked the rich hardwood floor. Most of the furniture was restored antique: a beige scroll couch, a cherry wood highboy, a walnut chiffonier and inlaid night stand. Heavy velvet drapes, a deep avocado hue, were tied back before the white vanity and mirror. The room itself seemed nearly as large as her entire former apartment back in the city. Best of all was the huge four-poster bed hung with quilted dust ruffles and white mesh trains.