I stood in the lobby of the Claremont, my eyes taking in every detail: the check-in desk created entirely of reclaimed wood. The original marble floor restored, polished, and gleaming. The replacement art installation. And the view of the bay as the sun cast its last bit of light over the water, making everything sparkle and shine.
There was a flurry of last-minute activity, with waiters hurrying this way and that, champagne towers beginning to flow, and the earliest of guests starting to arrive. I took a final look around, pronounced it good, and tried to turn my brain from Plan This to Enjoy This. It was time to kick up my heels a bit and dance them across the marble floor.
This entire project had been overwhelming, stressful, gray-hair inducing even, but it had also been the most rewarding, the most fruitful, and the best example of what I could do. And I did it on my own. That’s saying something.
And what it was saying now was get a glass of bubbly, toast your damn self, and—holy shit, Max Camden was here! He was early!
I smoothed my dress, took a deep breath, and hurried down the steps to greet him.
“Mr. Camden, good evening.”
“Evening, Caroline. Are you ready to show off our little hotel?” he asked, shaking my hand. “I thought I’d come by early and walk the space again, before everything gets too hectic.”
“A wonderful idea, sir. Would you like some company?”
“No, thank you. I always do this alone right before we open a new property. It lets me breathe it in a bit.”
“Of course,” I said, watching as he walked past the reception area and down one of the corridors. It was always a bit tough, turning over a space once it was complete. But this job was done. What would be next?
“Caroline,” I heard from behind me, and turned to see Jillian, accompanied by Benjamin.
I greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “I’m going to vomit. That’s normal, right?”
“Perfectly. I’d worry about you if you didn’t feel like that. Remind me to tell you about the first time I hosted a launch party like this. I’ll just say I never used a chafing dish again.”
I stifled a laugh, then turned to Benjamin. “Hi, Benjamin,” I said, blushing as he leaned in for his cheek kisses. He was just too fantastic looking.
“Caroline, you look lovely as always.”
“Hey, babe, why are you so pink?”
I turned and admired Simon. Charcoal gray suit, black tie, clean shaven, wonderful jaw and cheekbones. And a smirk—don’t forget the smirk. He knew I’d been school-girling over Benjamin.
“Oh, be quiet,” I shushed, letting his strong arms catch me up tightly against him. I kissed his nose and his eyes danced.
“So, do I get a private tour?”
“Semiprivate. I thought I’d wait until the girls and Ryan get here, then I’ll walk you around, show the place off a bit.”
“It looks amazing so far; I can’t wait.” He took my hand and squeezed. “So proud of you.”
I glowed.
And then I hosted. Guests were starting to arrive more quickly, photographers were milling about, and I needed to make sure that everything went smoothly. I waved to Mimi and Ryan when they arrived, and when Sophia sailed in a few moments later, I took a quick moment for a sip of champagne and an ass slap. I couldn’t help it, she looked amazing.
All my friends were there, and when Max Camden proposed a toast to Jillian Designs and more specifically little ol’ me, I was glad to have them all here to celebrate with me. It was big-time, baby, and in the big times, you want the people you love around you.
The evening was perfect and lovely, and in between talking with the various newspapers and posing for photographers, I mingled with many of the local business owners, who were delighted to discover that I was now a resident. It was a good feeling, beginning to belong to a community as close-knit as Sausalito. I adored this seaside town, and I could see myself settling in here for years to come.
Settling in. Not settling. Big difference.
I laughed with my friends, indulged in more than a glass of champagne, and was almost ready to pronounce the night a success. But while chatting with the mayor about how beautiful the hotel was, and how high expectations were for the new business it would be generating, I saw a certain sportscaster enter the lobby, scan for leggy redheads, and zero in the hottest cellist on the West Coast. Continuing to make small talk while channeling Mimi telepathically (it could work), I watched as Sophia and Neil met in the middle of the lobby. And began to argue. Loudly.
I excused myself from the mayor and swiftly made my way through the crowded lobby, where a production of Take Me to Petty Town was taking place.
“I still can’t believe you. It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“I still can’t believe you don’t understand that you will never be up against this brick wall again.”