Ever since high school, she’d disapproved of every woman I’d shown interest in. My one-night stands and occasional flings, which she feigned ignorance of, didn’t exactly make her jump for joy either. My siblings had chosen partners she deemed appropriate—equal standing, proper background, the right kind of polish. This was very important to her. She had readily given her approval for their choices, but not when it came to me.
When I was twenty-five, I’d brought Caroline home, a family friend. My mother had finally been pleased.A lovely girl. A good fit forthe family.Her disappointment when Caroline and I ended things had lingered far longer than the relationship itself.
“Darling,” my mother said now, snapping me back to the table, “women respond to strength. That’s what drew me to your father. Be a man. Take control.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “Do you want me to find out more about her?”
I shook my head. “It’s fine, Mom. I can handle her myself.” I drained the rest of my wine. “I just need to find the right way.”
As she ordered another glass, I leaned back in my chair and imagined my next move.
Nyah Rodriguez thought she had me cornered.
She didn’t.
6
CALEB
Icalled Francois the next day from my office. I needed to show I wasn’t just some arrogant executive parachuted in to cause chaos. I wanted him to see that I respected what he did—even if part of me still believed my instincts were right.
“Francois,” I said over the phone. “We didn’t get an opportunity to chat yesterday in the bar. I’d like to invite you over to my club tonight. What do you think?”
“Sure, Mr. Evans. I’m honoured.”
After the incidents in the hotel bar and with housekeeping, I’d been thinking about how I could redeem myself with Nyah. Not apologize—at least, not outright. But prove I wasn’t incompetent. Prove I could lead. I still didn’t subscribe to her idea that I needed to scrub floors or serve drinks to understand how the hotel worked, but maybe she had a point about spending time talking to the team. Listening didn’t mean surrendering. It meant gathering information. That was leadership, too.
That evening, when Francois walked into Temptations, I took him around the club.
“Bit busier than the hotel bar,” I shouted over the music. “And this is just a midweek crowd. You should see it Friday and Saturday night.”
We watched a bartender pour drinks with one hand and make change with the other while taking an order from the next customer.
“This is how it should be at the hotel bar, don’t you think?”
“I understand your intention,” Francois replied, nodding, “but a hotel bar and a club—they are different businesses. The ambiance here…” he paused, lifting his Old Manhattan. “A hotel bar is more refined, no?” He took a sip, then continued. “But I will concede one point. I do envy your Friday and Saturday crowds. The restaurant performs well, but those are our slower nights in the bar because many of our business travellers have gone home.”
I nodded thoughtfully. This was what Nyah had been talking about. I needed to listen—really listen—for opportunities.
Francois enjoyed another drink with me, thanked me for my hospitality, and left. I realized I’d probably been a poor host; I couldn’t stop thinking about the empty hotel bar on Friday nights. Francois was right—you couldn’t turn it into a club—but since clubs didn’t get busy until ten or later, the hotel could cash in on the earlier time slot.
Louisa’s idea came back to me. A cocktail hour from seven to ten on Fridays. Catch the after-work crowd before they went out to party.
That night, I headed back to the hotel and went straight to Francois’ office to review the restaurant and bar rosters for Friday evening. Cross-referencing the staff list, I picked out a group of attractive young waiters and waitresses and reassigned them to the evening shift, moving the others back to daytime.
I was taking control—just like my mother had suggested. And I’d done it by following Nyah’s advice. That irony pleased me more than it should have. This time, she’d have nothing to complain about.
Friday morning,I received a phone call in my office.
It was Nyah.
“Could you please come to my office?” She didn’t sound happy.
“Sure. I’ll be right in.”
She must have found out about cocktail hour. But that was fine. She’d see the logic once I explained it.
I’d messaged Francois earlier, asked him to put it on the chalkboard out front and promote it on social media. I’d promised to do some private promotion myself, draw in a few recognizable faces. This was initiative. This was value. She was going to eat her previous words.
“I’ll just be in with Nyah,” I said to Amy as I stepped out of my office.
