“Ahh!” Christoph Teller claps his hands together. “You must be Ms. Hastings.” His voice rings out through the lobby, commanding but warm.
“That’s me. Lovely to meet you, Mr. Teller. I’m so sorry I’m late. Tube delays.”
“Please, call me Christoph.” His perfect smile beams as he speaks. He seems to radiate an infectious warmth and joy, definitely not what I was expecting for the heir to a multi-million-pound hotel chain. “Eric has told me all about you!”
“If any of his stories involve a cooking class, I swear I didn’t stab him on purpose,” I blurt without thinking.
Christoph bursts into a sharp peal of laughter that echoes off the black stone walls like sonar in a cave. I cut a side-glance at Bancroft, who is staring at me with an unreadable but intense expression. My eyes narrow back at him and he quickly returns his gaze to Christoph, who has stopped laughing and started telling the story of a guest who blinded himself attempting a sabrage on a bottle of champagne. I try to punctuatethe story with light laughter in the right places until he suggests we start the tour.
Christoph slides himself in between Bancroft and me, resting an arm against both of our shoulder blades and guiding us through a dark, moody corridor. He has an uncanny ability of not taking in a lot of oxygen between sentences, meaning his anecdotes weave into his guided tour and leave little space for either of us to get a word in edgeways, let alone speak to each other. Talking to Bancroft about our confrontation or the painting today is melting off the agenda like ice cream in this heat.
Christoph leads us to the sun-soaked gym with parquet oak floors where we pitch him the idea of yoga classes as shared-experience first dates set in an enviable location.
“You would like to try the yoga class?” Christoph asks us in ever-so-slightly fractured English.
“Oh.” I laugh nervously, glancing at a blank-faced Bancroft for backup. “That’s OK. We don’t want to put you out.”
“Not at all!” he exclaims. “I will tell my assistant to book you in for the next session.”
“Really, it’s OK. We don’t have anything to wear for a fancy yoga class!” I laugh, panic rising.
“I have my gym gear with me. I’ll wear that.” Bancroft shrugs, the hint of a devious smile appearing on his face. Of course he does. Of course he will. His eyes flick to me. “Isn’t the whole point to try before we buy?”
“And we have a partnered sportswear brand stockedat the gym reception. Tell them I sent you and they will give you anything you need.” Christoph beams at me and I have no choice but to beam back.
“OK!” I relent with a huge, forced grin.
Christoph leads us through the equally moody but sophisticated Michelin-starred restaurant and bar where we discuss throwing the most incredible launch event to bring coverage to the app and the hotel, then he gives us a tour of a deluxe king room where users who sign up within the first three months of launch will receive a discounted stay. Finally, he shows us the crown jewel of the Heimach Hotel: the penthouse suite.
Christoph throws his arms up to the vaulted ceilings and announces that it is his favorite place in the world.
“Hard not to agree with that—it’s beautiful,” Bancroft says, crossing his arms and staring at the 360-degree city landscape. My attention snags on his tall frame, shadowed by the bright light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Christoph’s phone rings and he excuses himself to the other side of the suite, leaving us alone in the kitchen overlooking the skyscraping office buildings, piercing the clouds like cotton candy on sticks, the afternoon sun blazing through the gaps.
There’s a sense of reluctance between the two of us. I haven’t fully recovered from the hurt, but I appreciated his attempt at making amends. I creep up next to him with my best attempt at a teasing, mood-lighteninggrin. “You probably don’t get to see a view from this high very often, no?”
He stares at me confused for a moment until he clicks his tongue and returns to the window. “Because I’m from hell, gotcha.”
A pang of guilt pokes me in the stomach when he doesn’t smile back. We linger in awkward silence until Christoph abruptly reappears.
“My apologies,” Christoph says as he bursts around the corner. “One of our guests has brought her eight Pomeranians to stay with her but the room was not prepared to have dogs in it. Are you OK heading back to the gym for your yoga session while I fix it?”
We follow him out into the warmly lit hallway.
“No problem. It was great to finally meet you.” Bancroft reaches out to shake his hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow to finalize the details of the contract.”
“Of course, and such a pleasure, Ms. Hastings. I do hope we meet again.”
“Oh, we will. I just booked a room for me and my twelve cats,” I counter with a smile. Christoph lets out a final bellowing laugh and pats our still-shaking hands.
We watch him skip off down the hallway and Bancroft whispers, “I don’t think there was a single sentence you said that didn’t make him laugh.”
“What can I say, I’m a funny gal,” I deadpan in a neutral tone.
“You’re funny, yes, but not ‘funny ha-ha’... more bizarre. Must be the language barrier.”
My chest warms as the smirk returns; he puts his hands in his pockets and saunters off toward the lift. I’m relieved he’s still willing to joke around with me.
