“Is there one brown-skinned woman in Hollywood making moves?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what’s stopping you from making it two?”
Her mouth drops open, and I know it's time for me to exit. I will see her again. But I have to leave, or I won't be responsible for my actions. Which is beyond my typical response to a woman. Then I look at Rachelle.
“Carson, are you challenging me?”
I shrug. “It won’t be easy, but nothing is impossible.” I walk to the door and glance back at her. “I’ll see you soon.”
Merrilyn’s waiting in the hallway. Her expression mirrors Rachelle’s.
“I’m impressed.” She falls in step with me.
“So am I, Merrilyn, so am I.” We turn left at the end of the hall, heading walking towards the lobby. "I want to know her room and the details of her stay. Today."
“Yes, sir.”
We're meeting with the interior designer to complete the holiday decorations and furnishings for next door. Pierce gave me the keys, and I'm paying a crew to turn the ground floor into an elegant entertainment space.
“This was a brilliant move. I never considered adding another space.” Merrilyn takes pictures with her phone.
“I kicked it around once or twice. If this goes well, I might place a bid.”
She nods. “It would help with your efforts to attract conferences.”
I see the space with fresh eyes. “Renovate to add ballrooms on several floors.”
“Office rentals, conference rooms…”
“Meeting rooms.” I turn and face her. “Sounds like I need to schedule another meeting with Pierce.”
The room is perfect, so is the thought of owning two properties in Times Square.
“Move the Christmas party here, the conference kickoff and closing sessions, and all the live music sessions.”
Merrilyn scribbles on her notepad. “Excuse me. I need to update the schedule.”
“I’ll be there in a few.”
“Sir, your father would be proud.” She turns to leave and grips my shoulder. “I’ll see you back at the office.”
“Thank you.”
I inherited Merrilyn as my executive assistant. She worked for my father for years, and she's friends with my mother. They share notes and constantly pressure me to think about more than The Wellington. I tolerate her personal comments because she knows this place inside and out. Plus, she's the best. Addressing our scheduling glitch is now the solution we need to impress our guests and take another step in the right direction.
This means watching the bottom line. Pierce is a friend, but business is business. This place is prime real estate, and I won’t bid if I can’t see it increasing our revenue. My father never wanted more than one location, even when offered millions by major hotel chains. I won't put our existing business in financial jeopardy, so this space will have to pull its weight.
The Wellington is my priority, and Pierce has this place on the market. That means I need to watch the numbers and the customer feedback if I want to place a bid on the building. Suddenly, the potential of spending a little time with Rachelle disappears.
I walk back to the hotel and slow as I approach the business center. Rachelle’s hard at work as her hands glide over the keys. She’ll be in and out of town. She’ll move on, and so will I. That’s life in the hotel business.
The facts ring true in my head. But there’s a part of me that wants to know more about her, a woman who believes she needs a dick to get a promotion. I shake my head and chuckle. “Another day, another time.”
“Mr. Wellington?”
I see my hospitality manager walking in my direction.
“You ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s start with reviewing your schedule.”
I glance once more at Rachelle and pivot. A beautiful woman like her is a poster child for upending every plan I have. I lead by example. All distractions—including a gorgeous one—must be avoided.
Chapter 5
I rush around the suite to the mirror near the bathroom. I wiggle into a pair of denim jeans and turn around, loving how they make my butt look big. Then I toss on a chunky, off-the-shoulder sweater. I rock to my tiptoes, pretending I have on heels, inspecting my reflection in the mirrored closet door with every light in the suite turned on.
“This looks cute, but this won’t work. Daiya was dressed.”
She finally arrived, and now we’re meeting for dinner.
I push around my clothes, searching for something to make this sweater pop, and stop at a pair of ripped white jeans.
Like a magician, I change in the pants and find my white open toe booties. I slick back my hair into an elegant bun and add burnt red lipstick and a pair of dramatic lashes. I stand in the mirror once again.
“Bish… I see you! All white everything.” I rock into my hip and snap several selfies.
There is no reason for me to be this excited, but I'm going to a lounge in New York City. That's all I need, that and the potential to see Carson in proper attire.
I shake my head. It feels like I’m settling for the first man I met. But he was cool. Levelheaded. Nice. And mature.
Granted, he’s not chocolate. But he’s tall, with beautiful blue eyes and a salt-and-pepper goatee.
His smile followed me for the past three days. I keep looking around every corner and inside every elevator, hoping to see him. But I haven’t.
I can’t believe I told him the truth, and he didn’t laugh. It’s been so long since I dreamed aloud or shared them with someone. And I shared it with Carson. Why did his encouragement feel like a missing piece? I don’t know the man. Maybe this is why I flew across the country.
My phone rings and I don't have to answer it to know it's Daiya. She's a different person when she's hungry, and I want to hear about her date. How did she get into town and find a date on the first day?
I should be offended. But I’m proud of my girl. She jumped off the bench, swinging. With that thought, I spray myself with perfume and put on my diamond earrings.
I huff at the sound of my phone ringing again, and instead of answering, I leave the room.
Hot damn!
I feel like new money strolling through the lobby with purposeful strides. More than one head turns. They haven't seen brown skin like this, and I need to get out after spending the last three days in the business center. I've been flooded with emails for and from Denzel. I'm working harder now than when I'm in the office, all because I'm sure he doesn't realize I took my vacation time without his permission. Technically, it's up to human resources, but he's my direct boss.
But even after seeing the quality of the applicants, I find myself thinking about my conversation with Carson. I asked myself, how can I turn this situation in my favor? How can I ensure I come out on top? How can I ensure my name is the next ‘it’ name in Hollywood?
I came up with two solutions. First, apply for the writer’s assistant position. The deadline is the last day of December. Second, I need a spec script.
The pressure of writing it with no experience in less than a month feels asinine. I don’t even have a catchy idea. So, until I land on a solid idea, Google is my best friend since this is the first time a position’s opened in my department in at least two years.