“Congratulations on an excellent weekend,” she says, setting down the tablet. “I’ve had dozens of calls already this morning from people looking to come back or referrals. That’s the best metric.”
I smile. “I’ve seen the same chatter. Brunch numbers were strong. Guest services said checkouts were smooth.”
“Good.” She taps her nail on the desktop, a quick, satisfied sound. “What can I do for you?”
I pull my legalpad from my tote and lay it flat. “I wanted to walk you through something I saw last night in the comp reports.”
Her posture doesn’t change. “Okay.”
“I know we were generous this weekend by design,” I say. “The majority of it followed what we outlined—teasers tied to measurable play, targeted offers to the cohorts we’re trying to convert. There were three offers, though, that don’t fit our rules. I flagged them, and when I checked authorizations, the approvals were yours.”
“Which comps?” she asks, open palm, no defensiveness. Just direct.
I slide the pad around so she can see my notes. “Suite upgrade with lounge access and a spa credit for next month,” I say, tapping the first line. “Held for a guest with modest spend and short table time.”
She nods once.
“Second,” I say, “tickets to the headliner for the Martinez reservation. Their on-property spend was mostly food and a few low-limit spins. Third, an upgrade pathway on a return visit for the S. Yang profile. No table play logged, just bar receipts and gift-shop purchase.”
I flip the page to the comp policy we drafted together and run a finger down a paragraph. “Our rule was: offers at that level require either verified play thresholds or PR value clearly tied to a campaign. These three didn’t have eitherin the notes.”
Caterina sits back and laces her fingers. “They were mine,” she says.
“I saw.” I pitch my voice neutral. “That’s why I wanted to ask. They don’t follow the rules we set.”
“We set rules for the program overall,” she says, measured. “We didn’t set rules that bind me when I make judgment calls.”
I hold her gaze. “I understand you have discretion. It’s my responsibility to review comps for consistency and make sure we’re not creating expectations we can’t repeat. If we’re going to shift policy in practice, I need to document it.”
She tilts her head. “And if we’re not shifting policy?”
“Then I’d like to understand the exceptions,” I say. “So I can factor them in when I’m coaching the team.”
“There are no exceptions for the team,” she says simply. “I made the call on these, and I don’t have to run them through you.”
I’m a bit confused over the reaction. So far, we’ve discussed everything related to the casino at length. I’m perfectly aware that she’s ownership and doesn’t have to discuss everything with me, but she’s never been so… blunt about it before.
“I understand that,” I say carefully. “I’m just trying to get the paper trail and flag where they don’t align with policy so I can advise the hosts, the floor, the desk. I’m not second-guessing you. I’m trying to keep the program from drifting out of our control.”
Caterina studies me. She’s the same age I am, we went to the same school, and graduated at the same time. But she outranks me by several layers of blood and ownership. “I hear that,” she says. “But when you see my initials, you can assume there was a reason—even if it isn’t written in.”
“I can assume there was a reason,” I agree. “I’d still like a way to log it so the team doesn’t use it as a precedent for the wrong thing.”
“The team shouldn’t be using my approvals as precedent,” she says, sharper now. “They have their bands. They have their thresholds. If they’re using my comps to push theirs, that’s a training issue.”
“It is,” I say. “Which is part of my job.”
“Your job isn’t to use my work as training examples. You shouldn’t even be accessing them,” she says, and it’s not exactly kind.
More like… accusatory.
That puts my back up, and my voice stiffens because of it.
“They were routed to me because of how they were entered,” I say stiffly. “Not because I was snooping. If that’s what you’re implying. If you don’t want me reviewing them, reroute them around my queue.”
She sighs. “That’s not what— Olivia, that’s not what I meant.” She softens. “I’m not trying to slap at you. You’re doing exactly what I hired you to do. You’re detail-oriented. You catch drift. But there are lanes. Mine includes things yours doesn’t.”
“I know that,” I say.
