It may be tiny, but I already see possibilities.
A plant on the windowsill. A framed photo of the ranch. A coat rack. Maybe a small bulletin board.
I run my fingers across the desk.
This is a stepping stone.
Learning the hospitality business from the inside. Understanding how a luxury resort actually runs.
So, one day …
I can build one of my own.
On Storm land.
I sit down in the chair behind the desk and smile.
Yeah … I think I’m going to like it here.
Lunch at the Belicourt feels like stepping into a different world.
I follow Diana through the wide stone archway that leads into the resort’s bar and lounge, The Elk Tavern, and my head swivels so fast that I’m pretty sure I look like a tourist.
Which … technically, I still kind of am.
The tavern is dim and warm, lit by wrought iron chandeliers that resemble antlers that hang from thick timber beams. A massive stone fireplace stretches along one wall, flames crackling lazily behind a black iron screen. Leather club chairs gather around low tables, and the long mahogany bar gleams beneath shelves of top-shelf liquor bottles.
A mounted elk head crowns the mantel.
Huge windows overlook the mountains, their peaks dusted with snow even though it’s early fall.
It smells like cedar smoke, whiskey, and some incredible aroma drifting from the kitchen.
“This is one of our most popular guest spaces,” Diana says crisply as we walk toward a small table near the windows. “The Elk Tavern serves craft cocktails, regional wines, and elevated comfort cuisine.”
“Elevated comfort,” I repeat, smiling.
She pulls out a chair and sits gracefully.
I sit across from her.
A server appears almost immediately.
“Ms. Fairchild.”
“Lunch menus, please,” she says without acknowledging him.
He places them down and disappears again.
I open mine and blink.
Everything looks incredible. Bison sliders. Elk steaks. Huckleberry-glazed trout. Truffle fries. Bourbon-marinated salmon. Wyoming lamb stew.
“Choose quickly,” Diana says without looking up. “Our lunch break is brief.”
Right.
Professional mode.
