“We could lean into that. Ghost tours, themed events, historical storytelling—”
“Harleigh.”
She pauses.
I meet her eyes.
“I don’t want my hotel turning into a circus.”
“It wouldn’t be a circus.”
“It definitely would be,” I snap.
Her enthusiasm falters slightly.
“But there’s real interest in it,” she insists. “I found hundreds of reviews from people who want to visit after reading the story in a book.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
She frowns. “How?”
“I don’t want ghost hunters wandering the halls at night.”
“But—”
“Internet sleuths digging through hotel history.”
“Don’t you think—”
“Guests getting annoyed because someone’s banging around outside their suite at midnight, looking for paranormal activity.”
Her mouth closes.
The excitement fades from her expression.
“I just thought—”
“I know what you thought,” I say firmly. And then soften my tone slightly.
“But this hotel sells peace. Luxury. Relaxation. Not haunted hallways. Not conspiracy theories. It courts adults and families, not amateur ghost hunters.”
“Understood,” she says flatly.
“Good. I don’t want you bringing it up again.”
The words land heavier than I intended.
Harleigh sits very still as she eyes me curiously.
Then she nods.
“Okay, Mr. Garrison.”
The conversation falls silent.
And for the first time tonight … she’s looking at me like I’m her boss.
Perfect.
