Under The Mistletoe

Hadley snapped her portfolio shut. “I think some of the changes required are obvious, but to answer your question, I’m not coming in here on the fly. I spent three weeks reviewing major chain hotels and compiling a database. Almost across the board you’re spending dollars on services, amenities and staffing that they don’t. Your rooms are twice the size of a conventional room, which we can use to double the hotel’s capacity once we can afford to spend money on construction.”

Gabe straightened, his eyes sparking with temper. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are not a major chain hotel. We offer a totally different value proposition to a very different guest. Our client base is about couples and romance.”

“At least part of your client base is corporate, particularly during the week,” Hadley corrected. “They’re not looking for romance, they’re looking for value.”

“If they wanted that, they’d find a big chain hotel. They’re here because of the location, because we offer that something extra, the luxury that the others don’t. Your cost-efficiency models don’t apply.”

“That’s what you think. We succeed with new acquisitions because of our skill in finding and applying the right models.”

“Stone focuses on light industry and high tech, right? What was the last operation you managed?”

She glared at him. “Becheron Minerals.”

“Mining.” He nodded. “It’s got a lot in common with hospitality.”

“You’re about to find out how much, Mr. Trask,” she snapped. “If you’re lucky, that is. I can read a balance sheet and I can formulate a business strategy to address problems. And one of the problems I see here is the manager.”

“You think the hotel’s exhibiting signs of mismanagement?” His tone would have made anyone he knew take care.

“I think the manager’s exhibiting signs of bad judgment. Failing to recognize and deal with new fiscal realities, for one. Getting excessively familiar with the guests, for another.” Her voice rose as she spoke. “You have no business running around incognito, playing up to guests. You’re the ultimate representative of the hotel. We expect you to act like it.”

“Running around incognito?” His tight control slipped a notch. “What about you, coming in here without telling anyone who you are or why you’ve come? A professional would have called ahead instead of playing games. And as to talking with you, I’m the manager, it’s my job to put guests at ease. I saw someone who looked lost and unhappy, and I came up to try to help. I would have done it with anyone. It just happened to be you.”

The blood drained from her face. “I’d suggest you curb your friendly impulses going forward, Trask.” She fixed him with an icy stare. “And before you say a word about the other night, remember who you’re talking to.”

He stared right back at her. “And who is that, Ms. Stone—the new manager?”

“No, the head of the transition team.”

“And where’s the rest of your team?”

“I’ll know that when I find people who can get this hotel to stand up to inspection.”

“My operation does stand up to inspection and the revenues have always stayed to plan. If we’re not up to your numbers it’s because your grandfather was happy to put almost every penny of profit back into the hotel, trying to bring it back from where it was when he bought it.”

“And that’s the first thing that’s going to stop until your margins get to where they belong. When we’ve got money for construction again, it’ll go to cutting room size.”

“Are you out of your mind?” he demanded, rising to his feet. “You can’t stop renovations on a building like this. Do that and she’ll be falling apart in a year. This is a national historic landmark. It’s a public trust.” It was as though a house cat had suddenly transformed into a dark, dangerous panther. If she hadn’t been so angry herself, she’d have been alarmed. “This hotel meant more than just profit margins to your grandfather. Do you have any understanding of that?” he demanded. “Is there anything that means more than profit margins to you?”

His eyes blazed at her, green and furious, and for a moment, the words clogged up in her throat. In defense, she rose. “We’ve got numbers, Mr. Trask, and we are going to meet them. The only question is how. If you’re not willing to cooperate, I will be more than happy to bring in management with a better appreciation of our objectives.”

“Is that a threat?”

“That’s up to you. Now if we can continue the discussion—”

“Actually, I’ve got a telecon right now and meetings throughout the rest of the day. The earliest I can fit you in is tomorrow.”

“Fine. Eight o’clock.” Stifling her temper, Hadley rose and walked to the door. “Until tomorrow, Mr. Trask.”

She didn’t shake hands goodbye.

Chapter Four

Hadley stomped up the grand staircase, fuming. Gabe Trask had to go, pure and simple. The man was impossible. She’d come in with a simple list of action items and he refused to even talk about them. And he had the nerve to defend his unprofessional behavior by attacking her for coming in without warning. So what? Plenty of managers would do the same. Why should she have warned them so that they could put on a nice face? She wanted information, and information she’d gotten.

So she hadn’t worked in hospitality before and maybe she didn’t have any experience with this particular hotel. That didn’t mean she couldn’t draw conclusions and make business decisions.

And that didn’t give him the right to defy her.

Is there anything that means more than profit margins to you? Robert would have laughed at him. And Hadley?

She couldn’t go there. Her response didn’t matter; only satisfying Robert did. So it pained her to cut away the touches that made the hotel graceful. No matter. Her job depended on meeting the targets. And if Gabe Trask posed an obstacle to that, Gabe Trask would have to go.

She stopped and took a deep breath. She hated getting angry. Irritation was one thing. Irritation could be useful. As Robert had shown her, there was power in controlled emotion, in focused disapproval. Anger, on the other hand, only left her shaky and unsettled. She didn’t indulge in the kind of altercation she’d just had with Gabe Trask any more than she’d screamed on the roller coasters the time the twins had badgered her parents into taking them to Disney World.

Feeling jittery, she walked the rest of the way to her room. If she could get rid of the emotion, she could calm down, and the best way she knew of getting rid of emotion was working.

With a grim smile, she unlocked the door and headed for her computer. It was time to write a memo.

Gabe walked through his front door with the pizza box just in time to hear his mother’s voice on the answering machine. Cursing, he stepped swiftly into the living room, snatching up the cordless handset just as she was saying goodbye. “Hey, Ma.”

“Gabriel.” Warm pleasure filled Molly Trask’s voice.

“How’re you doing?”

“I’m well. How about you?”

Still carrying the pizza, Gabe headed down the hall to the kitchen. “Okay.”

“You doesn’t sound all that okay. Is something going on with you, too?”

“With me, too?” Setting the box down, he reached into a cabinet and pulled out a plate and a wineglass. “What’s that supposed to mean? What else is going on?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” She hesitated.

“Come on, Ma, you never just go quiet. Tell me what’s going on. Is it Jacob? Nick? Or both? I thought they worked things out at Thanksgiving.” And for all the times he’d played peacemaker, his mother had never been the one to ask him to do it.

“It’s nothing to do with Jacob,” she said quickly. “He and Nick have mended fences, I think.”

“So what’s going on?” Propping the phone against his ear with one shoulder, Gabe poured himself a glass of Chianti.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “I talked with Nicholas today and he didn’t sound right.”

“Define ‘didn’t sound right.’”

“Down. Frustrated.”

Frustrated? That made two of them. Gabe took a swallow of the wine. “Did he get the results of the firefighters’ exam yet? If he didn’t do well, that would be a good reason right there.”