The fire in my gut soars. I traveled the world to meet with brands and CEOs. But it was a meeting with Lin, an ex-classmate that now manages a consulting firm based in Hong Kong, that got me in the door, and I closed the deal.
I hope this is one of many to come. But first, to ensure my team is ready.
I grab my iPad and head to the conference room. The clock in my head ticks. A full month at over ninety percent occupancy means this will be the best year in this hotel's history.
Mother’s words about a date remind me to send an invitation out. I can’t arrive alone, but I have no time for a relationship—a fact I can't share with Mother. Settling down for me won’t happen anytime soon.
The sound from the conference room welcomes me the second I round the corner. The staff bubbles with unspoken energy. The moment I open the door, all eyes turn in my direction.
"Mr. Wellington," and slight nods acknowledge my presence as I stroll through the room to my seat at the head of the table.
"Thank you for your patience. We'll keep this meeting short because I want to review the full itinerary with management and team leads. Thirty days of nonstop activity will take a toll on the team. You must prepare your schedules accordingly. Limit doubles and shift swapping. Overstaff, if necessary.
“Managers know who’s working at all times. Failure to follow hotel policies will result in immediate termination. This is game day for us. And when we successfully cross into the new year, there will be a bonus for you all.”
For the next hour, I cover their questions about everything from having translators on-site for the month to how we’ll handle our annual Christmas party.
I’ve left no detail to chance. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll visit each department to review the steps required by each department before our guests arrive Sunday. See Merrilyn for your specific date and time. Thank you all for making The Wellington the top-rated hotel in New York City. Now let’s do it again. Have a great day!”
The conference room clears, and I call Merrilyn. "Walk with me."
She keeps pace as we walk through the executive suite and out to the elevator. The hotel staff occupies several floors in the hotel. We ride the elevator down to the main floor.
“I need to fly out to my family gathering on New Year’s Eve. Send the gifts too. Oh, and schedule dates for the banquet and the New Year’s event. Who did I take last year?”
Merrilyn clicks around on her device. “Adele for the banquet. Yasmine for New Year’s Eve.”
“What about Thanksgiving?”
“Blaire. But you told me to remove her from the list.”
I can't remember why then I recall. She was hinting at marriage. "What about Khloe?"
“You took her to your brother’s wedding.”
“Then who do I have left?” I face her.
“You seem to enjoy Sage. But you took her last year.”
I have a system. No double-dipping in the same year. It keeps the expectations low. These women know who I am, how I run my life, and I'm not commitment adverse, but I don't want a New York socialite for a wife. They're expensive, stuffy, and what everyone expects.
As Carson Wellington, III, the expectations of my life started before my mother gave birth, and they persist. I embrace it, but growing up, I drove my parents insane.
If there was a rule to break, I broke it.
If there was a line not to cross, I crossed it and had a party on the other side.
If there was a beautiful woman, I had her and her friends at the same time.
I was a wealthy asshole with a recognizable name, endless finances, and no discipline. Because I could.
I woke up rich and went to bed richer. But my father's death changed me because my family's future rests on the success of this hotel.
I vowed to uphold the family legacy. The Wellington will remain alive and vibrant in New York City, and it will remain family-owned and operated. But with that comes the pressure of having Carson Wellington, IV.
My brothers have no interest in the hotel, which is insane to me. Our father groomed us for this. It runs through our veins. I can't see my life without this hotel, and therefore my life requires a special woman. She’ll understand my obligation to my family, and this hotel is my utmost priority.
I figure I'll know her when I see her. Until then, I'll rotate out the hot girls in the city because we'll be seen in the local press, which puts The Wellington front and center.
“What about Lena?”
Merrilyn skims her notes. “It’s been a couple of years.”
"That's right. She left for grad school." I nod. "Extend the invitation to the banquet and find someone else for New Year's Eve." I stop by the coat closet and call for my driver. Merrilyn and I discuss the last details for the Friday meeting.
Deacon steps inside the hotel lobby and tips his head in my direction. I slip on my heavy winter coat.
“Will you return?” Merrilyn asks.
“Yeah, in a few hours. I’m going to talk with Pierce about his place next door.”
Merrilyn points her pencil in my direction. “I see where you’re going. I thought it’s for sale.”
“It is. But I think he’ll let us borrow his first floor for the month. That means we must hire more kitchen staff. Run it by Chef Raphael.”
“I’ll have the details on your desk.”
"Thank you. Be careful driving home, and I'll see you in the morning."
With a smile, she heads in the opposite direction, and I step out into the cold evening. The wind instantly freezes my face, and I jog over to the warm SUV.
Deacon drives, and I work out the logistics of the additional space. Decorating, staffing, and reshuffling the entertainment schedule when Pierce grants permission to use his building. Then I place the calls necessary to make it happen—the interior designer and head of our Human Resources department. The rest Merrilyn and I can manage.
Success is never by happenstance. Success is the intersection of preparation and opportunity. And I know this will be the greatest month of my life.
Chapter 3
After fighting traffic, I head straight to the shower to scrub off the residue of my day. The water flows from my head to my feet, ruining my silk wrap, but I need a restart. Today, I wanted to bake cookies, decorate my office, and listen to Christmas music.
Damn. Why’d he have to ruin it?
Because it’s what Denzel does.
Refreshed, I grab a bottle of chilled wine and drop to the couch. I turn on the television to drown out my thoughts. But nothing catches my attention. I channel surf drinking from the bottle like a wino until I land on Sex in the City. By the time I reach the middle of the bottle, I’m not concerned about Carrie and her problems. I’m reminiscing about mine.
Would my life have been different without that night?
I have one person to blame, and it's not Denzel but me. I broke my number one rule: Don't mix business with pleasure. It was an accident—an accident I've paid for over and over for three years.
In Hollywood, industry circles are small. And the number of African Americans with the power to make moves is even smaller. And if you start counting Black women, the number is damn near obsolete.
We’re unicorns in these streets.