“Too cheap? You’re right. It’ll depend on who else we can get to the table, though. Celine would be good for two, especially if she cranked an unplugged version of that Titanic theme, but if we got Gretzky, we’d be turning them away at five grand.”
I shook my head. Charging more for a night a guest didn’t want and an event they didn’t need? I’d been around VIPs long enough to recognize he was right, but it was something I’d never truly understand.
We walked out afterward, took the stairs up to the next level, and I scanned us through the fire door into the purchasing department. Caleb held the door for me, and I caught him glancing at my backside as I stepped through. Nothing overt—and when he closed the door again, he immediately met my eyes, not my chest. I didn’t mind men looking; it was the ogling that crossed the line.
“I heard you on the phone earlier,” I said. “Do you do a lot of work marketing to VIPs?”
“I’m not sure ‘work’ is how I’d describe it,” Caleb said, smiling.
“Then…?”
“Socializing,” he said. “At Temptations—that’s my club—I run the private rooms. Make sure they’re full, get the right people in, keep the wrong people out. You can’t fill a place with celebs—you need a bunch of starry-eyed kids for them to show off to, otherwise they won’t spend. It’s like mixing a good cocktail.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine how you meet them all and then get them to come.”
“They’re my friends,” he said with a shrug. “Or friends of friends. I just invite them.”
We stopped outside an office, and I rapped a knuckle on the open door. “Hi, Katie. Got a minute?”
“Nyah, come in.”
“Katie Powers, Head of Purchasing, this is?—”
“Caleb Evans,” she said, standing and coming around the desk to shake his hand. “The magazines don’t lie, do they? You’re every bit as handsome in person.”
“Flattery is always welcome,” he said, giving her that beaming smile. “I’m trying to cut down, though. It’s been getting me into trouble lately.”
Katie laughed. “I read about Milan on Twitter. How unfortunate.”
She was beautiful, about my age, and impeccably dressed as always. Clearly, there was an attraction—Caleb would have to be blind to miss itand a monk not to reciprocate. And yet, he didn’t. He took her hand only long enough to be polite, parried her flirtation without embarrassing her, and—just as with me—kept his eyes firmly above her chin the entire time. Perhaps I’d caught him at a weak moment in the restaurant.
“Katie,” I said, “Caleb’s doing a tour of duty as VP of Operations before Mr. Evans takes him on at HQ. I’m taking him around to show him the ropes.”
“Ooo, be careful,” Katie said to Caleb. “She’ll have you polishing shoes in Guest Services.”
“I was going to start him scrubbing toilets,” I said. “He’ll have to prove himself before I let him into Guest Services.”
“You think she’s joking,” Katie said, “but she’s not.”
“No doubt,” Caleb said, peering into a cardboard box and pulling out a plastic satchel. “What are these?”
“Samples,” Katie said. “Men’s overnight kits.”
Caleb nodded. “I know. I’ve been caught overnight enough times. Why are they here?”
“It’s a new contract. A bit cheaper than the last one.”
Caleb turned the package over, frowning. “Remember those Milan photos on Twitter? I was there with the Attorney General’s son. He told me these guys were about to be implicated in child-labour allegations.”
Katie’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear.”
“Listen,” he said. “Just a thought, but have you ever been caught overnight in a strange city?”
“Not really.”
“You get one of these,” he said, swinging the bag between his fingertips, “and you smell different, you can’t get your hair right, and your skin feels weird because the moisturizer’s always too milky.”
Katie nodded. “They’re supposed to be a little opulent, aren’t they?”
