“New wallpaper,” I continued, feeling on a roll and running with it, “and an entirely new concept for that carpet, if indeed there will be carpet. There’s money in the budget for this, if we can—”
He exploded. All over the Camellia Conference Room and all over the department heads who’d been passing the economy-sized bottle of Tums back and forth between them. “The budget? How in the world do you expect us to pay for this overhaul, and reduce the room rates, and bring in additional entertainment for the summer season, and—”
“May I see you for a moment?” I asked, interrupting his tirade. “Privately?”
He looked as though he was about to say something else, but bit it back. Exhaling heavily, he pushed back from the table. “Everyone take fifteen.”
Stoically he followed me out onto the porch overlooking the lake. I usually took my breaks out here, getting a little hit of nature when I needed it.
I needed it right now. I needed to pitch him something pretty drastic and I needed to have him on board.
“Ms. Morgan, I realize I got a little heated back there, but you have to realize all these changes are going to be expensive and—”
I cut him off. “You’re going to have to close for a few months every year, for probably the next five to eight years, in order to keep this place going.”
He tilted his head like he didn’t actually hear me. “Come again?”
“Look, I’ve been over and over the books and it’s the only way I can see making the changes we need to make and keep within the budget. You’re literally bleeding money in your off-season, you’re barely at thirty percent full, it no longer makes financial sense to be a true winter resort. At least for a while. It’s drastic, but it’s what needs to be done.”
His lips pressed together hard enough that they turned white. “We have never closed, not one day since we opened our doors. Not for blizzards, not for wars, not for major repairs, not for anything.”
I sighed, knowing this was a lot to take in. “I realize that, and I know I’m asking for a lot.”
“You are literally asking for the impossible.”
I shook my head. “It’s not impossible. We did it at the Manor Crest in Colorado and at the Seaspray in Rhode Island. Granted, they’re still doing it, but Manor Crest is on track to reopen full-time in two years . . . a year ahead of schedule.”
He shook his head slowly. “You want to close Bryant Mountain House.”
I nodded just as slowly. “For ten weeks, starting in mid-January. Get through the holidays, have a helluva New Year’s party, and then close up shop. We can discuss reopening for Valentine’s Day, although I don’t recommend it, at least for the first year.”
“And we reopen?”
“Right before Easter. I’d say Easter weekend, but since that date is fluid each year, I’d aim for the third week of March.”
“The third week of March,” he whispered, the idea as foreign a concept to him as if I’d suggested we iron each other’s feet. “We’d miss the entire winter season, all the outdoor activities. We get snow before Christmas, sure, but the big stuff doesn’t really come down until January, and the lake doesn’t freeze until then anyway. No ice-skating on the lake, no snowshoeing through the woods, none of it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bryant, I truly am.” I had to make my hand into a fist behind my back, it wanted so much to reach out to him, touch him, soothe him and make this better. I resisted. “But we can make this work, and you’d be surprised how much we can do when the hotel is empty of guests and with only minimal staff.”
“The staff, what will we do with them? They depend on their salaries, many of them, they’ve worked here for years. We can’t just, I can’t just . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “This’ll never work.”
“It can work. But you’re going to have to trust me,” I said, stepping a little closer. We were within sight of anyone who might be walking around the lake or down on the dock, not to mention the rest of the team inside. But I still took that step, that very small step. He needed to know I was on his side. “I realize I’m asking for a lot here, but you have to trust that if you don’t come on board, if you don’t guide your team and your hotel through this, in a few years you won’t just be closed for ten weeks in winter.” I watched as his face went through a range of emotions: hopelessness, frustration, and finally, resignation.
“I’m going to need details, and details about those details. And I’ll ask a lot of questions. And it’d be helpful if you didn’t act like every time I ask you something you’re expecting World War Three.”
I bit down on a chuckle. “Agreed, but it’d also be helpful if you didn’t look at me every time I open my mouth like I’m trying to ruin you.”
He shot me a sideways look, then nodded. “But before we bring this to the group, to my father even, you’re going to have to lay out your plans in their entirety, tell me everything you want to do. No more surprises.”
“Agreed.”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. You’ll tell me everything.”
I exhaled. Why did that statement make me uneasy?
We went back into the meeting a united front, with plans made to have dinner, in town this time, to go over my plans. Neutral ground? Maybe. But for the first time with this guy, I felt hopeful.
Chapter 10
At five minutes to seven I descended the stairs to meet Archie in the lobby. It was funny how in the relatively short time I’d been here, I’d come to know certain parts of this hotel like the back of my hand. I knew the potted ferns on the fifth floor were a bit on the droopy side and looked like they weren’t being watered regularly. I knew that the last room on the right on the fourth floor always had afternoon tea in their room, the service still usually sitting outside by the time I went down to dinner. I knew that on the third step between the third and fourth floors there was an extremely loud squeak if you stepped on it just right.
The main staircase really was a thing of beauty, all carved wood and twisty columns. Between the second and first floors it became even grander, the showpiece of the center lobby. As I turned the last corner and saw Archie waiting at the bottom for me, a slow grin crept over his face as I moved down the steps.
“This feels very Titanic.” I chuckled. Though Jack Dawson in his borrowed finest had nothing on Archie Bryant in a sweater and jeans. The sweater being a soft-looking beige cashmere V-neck with just the edge of his white collared shirt poking out, so he was still neat and tidy but a bit more approachable than in his customary finely tailored suits. “You know, Jack and Rose, center staircase, all that?”
“That’s terrible, I don’t plan on hitting any icebergs tonight.”
“You shouldn’t plan on hitting anything tonight,” I said, raising one eyebrow and coming to a stop a few steps before the bottom. Eye level.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Let’s just try to get through dinner without yelling, that’d be a start, Ms. Morgan.”