My head snapped up at the sound of Dad’s voice. I hadn’t even realized I was looking at my feet now. I did as he said and took a seat across from him.
“What happened to your shoes?” he asked with a frown, tilting his head and running a hand through his closely-cropped hair. “I noticed you were barefoot when you came in. Is this some new trend with all you fashionistas? Hobo chic?”
“No.” I held up my left hand, dangling my broken stilettos in the air for him and Mom to see. “Apparently no amount of money can buy quality these days.”
“I see.” His voice was crisp, and I knew I’d done something wrong.
Again.
“So what did you want to talk about?” I asked, clasping my hands in my lap.
He turned his computer monitor to face me. On it was a set of photos taken at Mint nightclub last night: me doing shots with Serena, me grinding on a cute guy on the dancefloor, and an up-skirt shot some leering asshole had taken when I tripped on my way back to the bar.
When I’d taken it all in, Dad focused his piercing grey eyes on me. “I realize it was your twenty-first birthday, Peyton. But I’m afraid this socialite gig of yours is going too far. You work here, too, and it’s important that you behave like a role model. A hotel ambassador, if you will. It seems like I see photos of you partying every second or third night nowadays. It’s just too much.”
My brows pinched together. “I’m not doing anything illegal.”
“You only just turned twenty-one. So any drinking you’ve done before now was actually illegal,” he said frostily.
I waved my hand. “Okay, fine. I mean apart from that. Come on, Dad, everyone drinks!”
“That may be true, but I’m still concerned about your public image and the effect it could have on the hotel.”
“I’ve been doing this ‘socialite gig’, as you call it, for over three and a half years now. This is the first time you’ve mentioned having a problem with it, Dad.”
He sighed. “Then clearly you don’t listen. I’ve mentioned it a dozen times.”
I frowned. I wasn’t sure I was cut out to be a socialite for the rest of my life, but hell, Dad was making it sound as if I was out there tearing the Mirabella’s reputation into shreds every day. That simply wasn’t true. I knew for a fact that my social media influence had actually caused the hotel’s booking rates for the 18-25 age demographic to go up by twenty percent in the last year.
Young people didn’t look at typical ads anymore. Not as much as they used to, anyway. Nowadays, they mostly looked to their favorite people on social media sites to watch what they were doing and buy what they were buying. That had a tremendous effect on where their money ended up being spent.
I outlined this to my father, and he nodded. “I do understand that, Peyton. And I’m grateful for the extra business you’ve brought in with this… whatever it is you’re doing.” He paused to clear his throat. “All I’m asking is that you tone it down a bit with the partying so we don’t scare off our other guest demographics.”
I stood up and narrowed my eyes. “Fine. Got it,” I said, picking up my handbag. “But for the record, the only reason I was out last night is because neither of you really acknowledged my birthday, aside from a text at nine P.M asking where I was and if I wanted a birthday dinner. So thanks for that. Good to know I’m so important.”
I breezed out of the room with my head held high, not even waiting for a response from either one of my parents. I loved them, but I wasn’t happy about the fact they’d missed my birthday.
If it was any other birthday, I probably wouldn’t have cared, but it was tradition that the twenty-first was a big important one. And they didn’t even send a freaking birthday card to my suite, let alone anything else.
“Peyton! Wait!”
I turned in the hall to see Mom following me. I sighed and stopped, waiting to see what she had to say. I’d always been closer with her than Dad, so I couldn’t storm away if it was only her following me.
“Sweetie, I’m so sorry about yesterday,” she said, her hazel eyes filled with remorse. She tucked a strand of perfectly-highlighted caramel blonde hair behind her ear before continuing. “We’ve both been so busy with the hotel that for some reason we thought yesterday was still the tenth. We didn’t realize it was already the fourteenth until later in the evening. We felt terrible when we realized it was your birthday. That’s why we texted you. We were hoping you’d come home so we could take you out to an amazing dinner. But you never texted back.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she held up a tanned hand. “Before you say anything, I know it’s no excuse. Your dad and I messed up, and we’re sorry.”
“Then why did I just walk into an ambush?” I said, crossing my arms.
“It wasn’t an ambush, Peyton. We were going to apologize and discuss family plans for your birthday, but you stormed out before we could get to that subject.”
I rubbed my eyes and sighed. “Well, maybe Dad should’ve led with that instead of attacking me over my lifestyle.”
“I know. I’ll talk to him. But Peyton, you have to understand the way he sees things. He worries.”
“Why?”
“Because of me. You know I was a lot like you when I was your age, right? I was a socialite too.”
I nodded. Of course I knew that. Because of her heiress status, Mom was a popular socialite back in the day, before Allegra and I were born. It was because of her that a certain handbag style had grown so popular in 1991.
“I was a lot like you in some ways, but things were also a little different back then,” Mom went on.
I frowned. “How?”
“I know you aren’t an angel. You like to go to parties. You like to drink. But you’re still a good girl most of the time.” She paused and looked down at her feet for a few seconds, then went on. “Let’s just say back in the eighties and early nineties, it was a lot easier to be a bad girl and get into trouble.”
I raised my brows. “Mom, are you saying you had a coke problem or something?”
“I’m saying I was headed down a bad path if someone didn’t pull me out of it. And that’s what your dad did when we met. Some people assume it was the other way around, because I was the one with the money, and he was the big, tattooed guy who almost looked… dangerous. But it was the other way around. He helped me.”
“But what’s that got to do with me?”
She sighed and gave me a sad smile. “Darling, you look just like I did when I was younger. I think he sees my old self in you as a result. He worries that with all your partying, you might end up heading down a bad path too. That’s why he’s so hard on you.”
“And what about you?” I asked, my forehead wrinkling. “What do you think about the things I do?”
Her eyes crinkled around the sides as her smile warmed up. “I think you’re doing just fine. You were a bit rough to deal with when you were seventeen, but I trust you to do the right thing now. And I’m actually very proud of how you managed to turn a silly Instabook photo into what is essentially a social empire.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Mom. And it’s Instagram. Not Instabook.”
She waved her hand. “Oh, whatever,” she said with a smile. “Look, all your dad really meant to say was that you’re always representing the Mirabella. Every time any of us are seen in public, or any situation we find ourselves in… our responses and actions can reflect on the hotel. Either poorly or positively. He just wants you to try to remember that more often.”
I nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Listen, why don’t you go and take a shower, get changed, and meet me in the Glass Lounge at twelve for lunch? It can be a late mini-celebration for your birthday.”
The Glass Lounge was one of the Mirabella’s most popular eateries. I returned Mom’s smile, much calmer now that we’d had a little chat. “Sure. We can do that. Plus it looks good for us to eat in our own restaurants, right?” I said with a mischievously-arched brow.
Being seen doing cert
ain things either in the hotel or in public was important to Mom and Dad. I became aware of that at a very early age.
Mom smiled. “It does, but this lunch is all about you and your birthday. I promise.” She made to leave, then turned around. “Oh, Peyton?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to wear shoes,” she said with a wink.
I laughed at that and nodded. My mom was the best. She wasn’t perpetually serious like so many other adults in our world, and I could always count on her to listen to me.
I just hoped we always stayed that way.
After showering, washing my greasy hair and freshening myself up, I got dressed and did a few hours of work on my laptop. After replying to over a hundred emails from fans and possible sponsors, I yawned and stretched, noticing that it was nearly twelve now. Time to meet Mom.
I slipped on some shoes (flats this time—I was still mentally scarred from this morning’s heel incident) and headed out. Mom happened to be in the same elevator as me, and we rode it down to the lobby together.
“You should try the new seafood dish at the Glass Lounge,” she said. “It’s amazing.”
I nodded. “I think I will. Hopefully it makes up for the awful breakfast I had this morning.”
She puckered her brows. “What was it?”
“Something supposedly healthy. But it was gross. Say no to kale smoothies, Mom. They should be listed in the Geneva Conventions as a war crime.”
She laughed and pulled out a compact to quickly check her hair, and then we stepped out of the elevator together as the doors opened. The Glass Lounge was a short walk across the lobby into the outer western wing of the hotel. The main wall of the restaurant was actually just one giant picture window with a stunning view of a nearby marina. No doubt that view was a major factor in the restaurant’s popularity.
“And this is the beginning of the western wing. This part of the hotel contains several of our bars and restaurants, as well as the hotel kitchens. You’ll need to memorize the quickest way to the kitchens to collect room service orders from guests.”
I turned at the sound of the HR head’s voice, and I smiled as I saw that the gorgeous dark-haired guy from earlier was still amongst the crowd of new employees that she was showing around. He noticed me and winked, and I stopped short, nearly tripping over my own feet.
Christ, I was clumsy today.
“Peyton, are you all right?” Mom asked, grabbing my arm to keep me steady. Then her gaze followed mine, and she playfully pinched my side. “Oh, I see… cute bellboy, huh?”
“What? What bellboy?” I said, putting on an air of innocence.
She smiled mischievously. “I’m not blind, and neither are you. That young man is hot,” she said. I groaned. Mom using the word ‘hot’ to describe a guy was so cringe-worthy. “That reminds me,” she went on. “They’re doing orientation for the new staff today, aren’t they? We should introduce ourselves. Maybe you can find out your hottie’s name, huh?”
“Mom, no!” I said, already mortified at the thought of her trying to push me into the arms of the cute guy. It was one thing to flirt with someone of my own accord, but having my mother drag me over to him and introduce me was embarrassing as hell. It would make me look like such a socially awkward reject.
“Too bad. It’s important that we get to know all our staff,” she said, putting one hand on her hip. “You know that. It makes us look better.”
I sighed, knowing it was impossible to change her mind. I also knew that I definitely wanted to get to know the hot dark-haired guy, although probably not in the way Mom was thinking. “Okay. Fine.”
She flashed me a smile, then waved at the head of HR. “Nadia! Bring everyone over here! There’s someone I’d like you all to meet….”
4 Kaden
So this was Francine Cadwell.
Tanned skin, long legs just like her daughter, honey-blonde hair and a warm smile on her face. No shoulder pads in sight.
I kept the smile firmly plastered on my face when she beckoned our group over. The head of HR, Nadia, smiled brightly and led us to them with a grin so wide it took over her whole heart-shaped face. We all tottered behind, and I saw at least a few nervous smiles between us as people obviously recognized either Peyton or Francine. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I couldn't help sneaking another glance at Peyton.
She'd put her hair up in a chic updo, with a few wispy strands of strawberry blonde hair framing her pretty face, and she looked good enough to eat. The moment she saw me, I knew she felt the spark glowing inside me, because she averted her gaze shyly and pretended not to see me.
Finally, our little group reached them, and Nadia beamed with pride as Francine and Peyton looked us over.
"The new group of hopefuls starting their careers at Mirabella," Nadia said, gesturing to us. Then she looked directly at us. "Everyone, this is Ms. Francine Cadwell and her daughter Peyton."
An awkward hello followed, and Francine laughed, shaking her head.
"No need to be nervous," she said. "I know what it's like to be in your shoes. My father made me work as a maid in the Mirabella for two years when I was in my twenties, and I always say they were the most challenging two years of my life."
She must have noticed our expressions falling, as she quickly corrected herself.
"Of course, it was challenging in all the best ways," she added. "I learned more about the business, and about myself, than I had before in an entire lifetime. Welcome to the Mirabella. I hope you enjoy working with us."
Even the simple way she described the act as working with them, not for them, endeared her in my eyes. She seemed like a sweet woman, and I had to make myself look away so I wouldn't fall for her charm. My parents needed me focused on the task at hand, and Francine Cadwell was, as far as they saw, their number one enemy.
Francine and her husband Vincent owned the most luxurious hotel in the whole town, and my parents were dead set on competing for the spot. Whereas the Mirabella had been a family owned business for decades, my parents had built their own empire from scratch. They started a hotel, a name, out of nothing, and since I was born, they'd managed to put it on the map and get quite a high-profile list of frequent guests, courtesy of my mother's past in modeling.
Of course, the Pierce Resort couldn't compare to the Mirabella, no matter how much money my parents poured into interior design, landscaping, and our menu, put together by a Michelin Star chef. The Mirabella had a history of its own, decades upon decades of it. Competing with it was like a young Hollywood starlet trying to best a siren from the twenties—it couldn't be done.
Of course, there was no way I could explain all that to my parents. They believed they could take over, take the title from the Mirabella as the place to be, and make the Pierce Resort the next big thing. And hell, maybe I was wrong. Maybe they could.
So I fully supported them in their endeavors, even when they pushed it too far like they’d done now by making me get a bellboy job at the Mirabella to spy for them. They wanted me to find out everything I could and hopefully find something they could use against the Cadwells to take business away from them.
At first I liked the idea of spying at the Mirabella. It seemed fun and dangerous. A nice distraction from the usual shit. But now it made me slightly uncomfortable as the hours passed and I got to know the people I was working with.
Then again, I wanted to keep supporting my parents. They’d worked so hard to get where they were, which I’d greatly benefited from, so it was important to me that I help them in return for everything they’d provided me with, even if it made me feel a little shitty for going behind people’s backs.
"You know, you look very familiar."
Francine's words snapped me out of my daydream, and I offered her a big smile. "Excuse me?" I said, trying to hide my nervousness at the thought of being caught out so soon.
"You just…." She looked me up and down before glancing at her daughter. Peyton was looking away, her eyes on her handb
ag. "I feel like I've seen you before. Have you been working with us for a while?"
"Cade just started today," Nadia jumped in. "Just like everyone else here. We also have Andreas, another bellboy, Bianca—she'll be a maid, and DeeDee as well..."
She nudged each one of them forward gently, and they all waved awkwardly at Peyton and her mother. Peyton finally looked up and met my gaze for a second.
Once our eyes locked, it seemed impossible to look away. There was a quiet intensity about her, a fire that burned brighter than the shade of her beautiful hair. She definitely felt it, too. I could tell from the way her fingers knotted nervously, from the way she tried to avert her gaze but failed to do so.
"DeeDee, are you all right?" Nadia asked in a nervous tone, and we finally snapped out of it.
My eyes left Peyton's and I looked to my right, where DeeDee was still standing a little up front, her whole body trembling.
"I... I'm not sure," she said shakily, raising a hand to her chest. She looked terrified, her eyes widening as we all stared at her. She was the girl with the hair like Peyton's, who'd approached me a little earlier in the lobby. The confidence she displayed mere minutes ago was nowhere to be found now. She looked like she'd seen a ghost.
Her legs gave out and everyone gasped as she collapsed. I was next to her, thankfully, and she went flying into my arms. If I'd moved a fraction of a second too late, she would've crashed right on the floor when she passed out.
"Somebody call an ambulance!" Nadia shrieked. Peyton's mom calmly motioned for her daughter to call for help, then got up and approached me. She placed a cool hand on my wrist holding the girl, and another on her throat. She felt for a pulse and nodded at me once she found it.
The next few minutes flew by. I barely registered Peyton speaking to the emergency operator. Someone brought over a bottle of cold water, and we wet a dishcloth someone had rushed over from the main nearest restaurant kitchen before placing it on DeeDee's forehead.
"I think she had a panic attack and fainted," Francine said, her brows knitted in worry. "She should be fine in a few minutes, but she should definitely see a doctor anyway."
Suite Hearts (Hot Hotel Nights Book 1) Page 3