“Slacks?” he asks with a smirk.
“Half a fucking pantsuit,” I mutter, and he laughs.
“How did that go over?” he asks.
“I took her shopping,” I answer, taking another sip.
“Shopping? You hate shopping.”
“I know,” I say.
“So why didn’t you just remind her what the dress code is and send her off on her own? Why supervise one of your least favorite pastimes?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer.
“She wouldn’t have picked out the right stuff,” I tell him.
“Assistant attire isn’t hard to choose. It’s like…a short story. Long enough to cover the subject, short enough to keep it interesting,” he says, laughing at his own joke.
“She’s not used to spending money on herself,” I answer, and he lets out a low whistle.
“You really found a keeper,” he says as his eyes follow a girl up a pole.
Unfortunately, I think he’s right. I’ve never wanted an assistant like I want Annelise. She makes me feel feral. Animalistic. Like I’m constantly battling my self-control. It’s not something I am used to. Lack of control for me is unacceptable in any area of my life. The benefits clause in the contract is just that–a benefit. I don’t need it. It’s not weakness. It’s icing on the cake, and who am I to deny myself some extra icing once in a while?
“So I didn’t want to bring it up,” Diego starts in, and I cut him off.
“So don’t.”
“I’m hearing rumors,” he goes on.
I take a sip of my drink. “About?”
“We’ve lost a lot of customers this past month,” he says, and I drag my eyes over to him.
“Lost them how?” I ask.
“Canceled reservations,” he states.
“We have a non-refundable policy,” I point out.
“I know,” he answers.
“Any idea why?”
Diego takes another pull from his beer. “I mean, I have a theory,” he says.
“Which is?”
“I think that new high-rise down the street is buying people off. Offering an extra night and restaurant vouchers for people who duck out of their reservations with us and go there instead.”
My jaw clenches. “What makes you think that’s happening?” I ask.
“Because I’ve heard other owners saying they have the same suspicion.”
“When?” I ask with a furrowed brow. I don’t love that Diego has information I don’t.
“Top Golf,” he smirks. “You know that party you skip out of every month.”
I take in a frustrated breath. “Remind me again who owns that hotel. The King Diamond, right? I thought it was Abernathy.”
