The Big
Dreams Beach Hotel
Lilly Bartlett
New York is where I fell head over heels for a bloke named Chuck. I
know: Chuck. But don’t judge him just because he sounds like he should be
sipping ice-cream floats at the drive-in or starring in the homecoming football
game. Rah rah, sis boom bah, yay, Chuck!
Believe me, I didn’t plan for a Chuck in my life. But
that’s how it happens, isn’t it? One minute you’ve got plans for your career
and a future that doesn’t involve the inconvenience of being in love, and the
next you’re floating around in full dozy-mare mode.
I won’t lie to you. When Chuck walked into our hotel
reception one afternoon in late October, it wasn’t love at first sight. It was
lust.
Be still, my fluttering nethers.
Talk about unprofessional. I could hardly focus on
what he was saying. Something about organising Christmas parties.
‘To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing,’
he confided as he leaned against the reception desk. His face was uncomfortably
close to mine, but by then I’d lived in New York for eighteen months. I was used
to American space invaders. They’re not being rude, just friendly. And Chuck
was definitely friendly.
‘I only started my job about a month ago,’ he told
me. ‘It’s my first big assignment, so I really can’t fuck it up. Sorry, I mean
mess it up.’ His blue (so dark blue) eyes bore into mine. ‘I’m hoping someone
here can help me.’
It took all my willpower not to spring over the desk
to his aid. Not that I’m at all athletic. I’d probably have torn my dress,
climbed awkwardly over and landed face-first at his feet.
Keep him talking, I
thought, so that I could keep staring. He looked quintessentially American,
with his square jawline and big straight teeth and air of confidence, even
though he’d just confessed to being hopeless at his new job. His brown hair wasn’t
too long but also wasn’t too short, wavy and artfully messed up with gel, and
his neatly trimmed stubble made me think of lazy Sunday mornings in bed.
See what I mean? Lust.
‘I noticed you on my way back from Starbucks,’ he
said.
At first, I thought he meant he’d noticed me.
That made me glance in the big mirror on the pillar behind him, where I could
just see my reflection from where I was standing. At five-foot four, I was
boob-height behind the desk in the gunmetal-grey fitted dress uniform all the
front-desk staff had to wear. My wavy dark-red hair was as neat as it ever got.
I flashed myself a reflected smile just to check my teeth. Of course, I
couldn’t see any detail from where I stood. Only my big horsy mouth. Mum says
giant teeth make my face interesting. I think I look a bit like one of the
Muppets.
‘Do you have the space for a big party?’ he said.
‘For around four hundred people?’
He didn’t mean he’d noticed me; only the hotel.
‘We’ve got the Grand Ballroom and the whole top floor, which used to be the
restaurant and bar. I think it’s even prettier than the ballroom, but it
depends on your style and your budget and what you want to do with it.’
Based on his smile, you’d have thought I’d just told
him we’d found a donor kidney for his operation. ‘I’ve been looking online, but
there are too many choices,’ he said. ‘Plus, my company expects the world.’ He
grimaced. ‘They didn’t like the hotel they used last year, or the year before
that. I’m in over my head, to be honest. I think I need a guiding hand.’
I had just the hand he was looking for, and some
ideas about where to guide it.
But instead of jumping up and down shouting ‘Pick Me,
Pick Me!’, I put on my professional hat and gave him our events brochure and
the team’s contact details. Because normal hotel receptionists don’t launch
themselves into the arms of prospective clients.
When he reached over the desk to shake my hand, I had
to resist the urge to bob a curtsy. ‘I’m Chuck Williamson. It was great to meet
you, Rosie.’
He knew my name!
‘And thank you for being so nice. You might have
saved my ass on this one. I’ll talk to your events people.’ He glanced again at
my chest.
He didn’t know my name. He’d simply read my name
badge.
No sooner had Chuck exited through the revolving door
than my colleague, Digby, said, ‘My God, any more sparks and I’d have had to
call the fire department.’
Digby was my best friend at the hotel and also a
foreign transplant in Manhattan – where anyone without a 212 area code was
foreign. Home for him was some little town in Kansas or Nebraska or somewhere
with lots of tornadoes. Hearing Digby speak always made me think of The
Wizard of Oz, but despite sounding like he was born on a combine harvester,
Digby was clever. He did his degree at Cornell. That’s the Holy Grail for
aspiring hotelies (as we’re known).
Digby didn’t let his pedigree go to his head, though,
like I probably would have.
‘Just doing my job,’ I told him. But I knew I was
blushing.
Our manager, Andi, swore under her breath. ‘That’s
the last thing we need right now – some novice with another Christmas party to
plan.’
‘That is our job,’ Digby pointed out.
‘Your job is to man the reception desk, Digby.’
‘Ya vol, Commandant.’ He saluted, before going
to the other end of the desk.
‘But we do have room in the schedule, don’t we?’ I
asked. Having just come off a rotation in the events department the month
before, I knew they were looking for more business in that area. Our room
occupancy hadn’t been all the company hoped for over the summer.
‘Plenty of room, no time,’ Andi snapped.
I’d love to tell you that I didn’t think any more
about Chuck, that I was a cool twenty-five-year-old living her dream in New
York. And it was my dream posting. I still couldn’t believe my luck. Well, luck
and about a million hours earning my stripes in the hospitality industry. I’d
already done stints in England and one in Sharm El Sheikh – though not in one
of those fancy five-star resorts where people clean your sunglasses on the
beach. It was a reasonable four-star one.
There’s a big misconception about hotelies that I
should probably clear up. People assume that because we spend our days
surrounded by luxury, we must live in the same glamour. The reality is 4a.m.
wake-ups, meals eaten standing up, cheap living accommodation and, invariably,
rain on our day off. Sounds like a blast, doesn’t it?
But I loved it. I loved that I was actually being
paid to work in the industry where I did my degree. I loved the satisfied
feeling I got every time a guest thanked me for solving a problem. And I loved
that I could go anywhere in the world for work.
I especially loved that last part.
But back to Chuck, who’d been stuck in my head since
the minute he’d walked through the hotel door.
I guess it was natural, given that I hadn’t had a
boyfriend the whole time I’d been in the city. Flirting and a bit of snogging,
yes, but nothing you could call a serious relationship.
There wasn’t any time, really, for a social life.
That’s why hotelies hang out so much with each other. No one else has the same
hours free. So, in the absence of other options, Digby and I were each other’s
platonic date. He sounds like the perfect gay best friend, right? Only he
wasn’t gay. He just had no interest in me. Nor I in him, which made him the
ideal companion – hot enough in that freckle-faced farm-boy way to get into the
nightclubs when we finished work at 1 or 2a.m., but not the type to go off
shagging and leave me to find my way home on the subway alone.
‘I hope you’re happy,’ Andi said to me one morning a few days later.
The thing about Andi is that she looks annoyed even when she’s not, so you’ve
got to pay attention to her words rather than the severe expression on her
narrow face. Nothing annoyed Andi like other people’s happiness.
But I had just taken my first morning sip of caramel
latte. Who wouldn’t be happy?
‘You’ve got another assignment,’ she said. ‘That
Christmas party. You’re on it.’
‘But I’m on reception.’ My heart was beating faster.
She could only be talking about one Christmas party.
‘Yes, and you’re not going to get any extra time for
the party, so don’t even think about it. I can’t spare anyone right now. You’ll
have to juggle. He’s coming in at eleven to see the spaces and hopefully write
a big fat cheque, but I want you back here as soon as you’re finished. Consider
it an early lunch break.’
Even though my mind warned me to stop questioning, in
case she changed her mind, I couldn’t resist. ‘Why isn’t Events handling it?’
‘They would have if he hadn’t asked for you
especially. It’s just my luck that it’s a huge party. We can’t exactly say no.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Then wipe that stupid grin off your face and next
time try not to be so frickin’ nice.’
‘I need to use the loo,’ I told her.
‘Pee on your own time,’ she said.
I didn’t really have to go, despite the
industrial-size caramel latte. I just wanted to put on some make-up before
Chuck arrived. Instead he’d see my green eyes unhighlighted by the mascara and
flicky eyeliner that I rarely remembered to use. Pinching my cheeks did bring up
a bit of colour behind my freckles, at least.
Every time the revolving doors swung round, I looked
up to see if it was Chuck.
‘You’re going to get repetitive strain in your neck,’
Digby pointed out. ‘And you know our workmen’s comp sucks, so save yourself the
injury. Besides, you look too eager when you stare at the door like that.’
‘I’m putting on a convivial welcome for our guests,’
I said. ‘Just like it says in the Employee’s Manual.’
He shook his head. ‘There’s no way that what you’re
thinking is in the manual.’
The weather had turned cold, which was the perfect
excuse for woolly tights and cosy knits or, if you were Chuck, a navy pea coat
with the collar turned up that made him look like he’d been at sea. In a suit
and dress shoes.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I hate wasting
people’s time.’
‘It’s not a waste,’ I told him. ‘I’m just working.’ I
caught Andi’s glare. ‘I mean, I’m on reception. I can show you the rooms any
time you want.’
Anytime you want,
Digby mimicked behind Chuck’s back. Luckily Andi didn’t catch him.
‘Thanks for agreeing to take on the party,’ he said
as we shared the lift to the top floor. ‘Not that I gave your colleagues much
of a choice. I told them I’d book the party if you were the one organising it.
I hope you don’t mind. It’s just that you seemed … I don’t know, I got a good
feeling about you.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I said, willing my voice to sound
calmer than I felt. Which meant anything short of stark raving mad. ‘Once you
decide which room is most suitable, we can start talking about everything
else.’
‘I knew you’d get it,’ he said.
The lift doors opened on the top floor into the wide
entrance to the former restaurant. ‘As you can see, there’s still a lot of the
original nineteen thirties decor,’ I said. ‘Especially these art deco wall
sconces. I love them. Ooh, and look at that bar.’
I’d only been up there a few times, so I was as
excited as Chuck as we ran around the room pointing out each interesting
feature, from the geometrically mirrored pillars to the sexy-flapper-lady light
fixtures.
‘I’m such a sucker for this old stuff,’ he said. ‘I
grew up in a house full of antiques. Older than this, actually, in Chicago.’
Then he considered me. ‘You probably grew up in a castle from the middle ages
or something, being English.’
‘That sounds draughty. No, my parents live in a
nineteen fifties semi-detached with pebble-dash.’
‘I don’t know what any of that means except for the
nineteen fifties, but it sounds exotic.’
‘Hardly. Let’s just say it looks nothing like this.
Will this be big enough, though? You said up to four hundred. That might be a
squeeze if we want to seat them all.’
‘My guest list has halved, actually,’ he said,
shoving his hands into his coat pockets. ‘The company isn’t letting spouses and
partners come. Isn’t that weird, to exclude them from a formal social event
like that? It’s going to be black tie with dinner and dancing. They were always
invited wherever I’ve worked before.’
The painful penny dropped with a clang. Of course
he’d have the perfect girlfriend to bring along. A bloke that cute and nice
wasn’t single.
‘Which company?’ I asked, covering my disappointment.
‘Your company now, I mean.’
‘Flable and Mead. The asset managers? Sorry, I should
have said before.’
Of course I’d heard of them. They were only one of
the biggest firms on Wall Street. No wonder Andi had to say yes when Chuck made
his request. We were talking big money.
And big egos. ‘I’m not surprised that other halves
aren’t invited,’ I told him. Surely he’d worked out why for himself. ‘They
usually aren’t invited in the UK either. The Christmas do is your chance to get
pissed and snog a colleague.’
Chuck laughed. ‘I’m really glad I’ve seen all those
Hugh Grant movies so I know what you’re talking about. So maybe it’ll be
everyone’s chance at Flable and Mead to snog a colleague too.’ When he smiled,
a dimple appeared on his left side. Just the one. ‘And as you’re working with
me to organise the party, I guess that makes you my colleague, right?’
Did he mean what I thought he meant? The cheeky sod.
‘Come on, I’ll show you the ballroom.’
But the ballroom had nowhere near the ambiance of the
top floor, and I knew before Chuck said anything that it didn’t have the right
feel. Whereas upstairs had character and charm, the ballroom had bling. I’d
only known Chuck for a matter of hours, but already I knew he wasn’t the blingy
type.
‘Definitely upstairs,’ he said. ‘So it’s done. We’ll
book it. Now we just need to plan all the decorations, the food, the band, DJ.
I guess the fee goes up depending on how much in-house stuff we use.’ He
laughed. ‘I’m sorry, I really am in too deep here. I talked my way into my job.
I have no idea how. My boss is a Northwestern alum like me and that must have
swung it for me. Before I only worked organising conferences and a few parties
at the local VFW hall. This is the big time.’
I knew exactly how he felt. When I first started at
the hotel I had to pinch myself. There I was, about to live a life I’d only
seen on telly. All I had to do was not muck things up. Digby had been on hand
to show me the ropes when I needed it. So the least I could do for Chuck was to
help him as much as I could.
That’s what I told myself. I was paying it forward.
‘We’ve got a range of decorations we can do,’ I told
him, thinking about how much I was going to get to see him in the upcoming
weeks. I could really stretch things out by showing him one tablecloth per
visit. ‘And we work with a few good catering companies, who I’m sure can
arrange anything from a sit-down meal to a buffet. One even does burger bars,
if you want something more quirky.’
‘What I’ll want is for you to help me, Rosie. You
will be able to do that, right?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Whatever you need. It’s a
whopping great fee your company is paying. That buys a lot of hand-holding.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he said. ‘The second I
came in and saw you, I knew this was the right choice. We’re going to be great
together, Rosie.’
I was thinking the exact same thing.
**************
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Big Dreams Beach Hotel to land on your eReader on August 18th!
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**************
Wriggle your toes in the sand and feel the warm breeze on your face at the hotel that’s full of dreams…
Three years after ditching her career in New York City, Rosie never thought she’d still be managing the quaint faded Victorian hotel in her seaside hometown.
What’s worse, the hotel’s new owners are turning it into a copy of their Florida properties. Flamingos and all. Cultures are clashing and the hotel’s residents stand in the way of the developers’ plans. The hotel is both their home and their family.
That’s going to make Rory’s job difficult when he arrives to enforce the changes. And Rosie isn’t exactly on his side, even though it’s the chance to finally restart her career. Rory might be charming, but he’s still there to evict her friends.
How can she follow her dreams if it means ending everyone else’s?
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