by Rosie Pike
The girl dropped her silver tray to her side and moved infinitesimally closer to him.
2
Holy shit!
It was happening, it was finally happening. After a two-year, £300 million refurbishment, the Gloucester Hotel in London's Mayfair was finally reopening. Technically, the hotel had soft launched a couple of weeks ago, allowing the friends and family of top executives, and even some hotel staff to stay, all to confirm that there wasn't so much as a hair out of place in the entire hotel.
But that didn't count, at least not for Chloe, because her job wasn't to worry about the experience of the hotel's ordinary guests. No, Chloe was an employee of the highly exclusive Kingsland Group – the executive concierge service, membership of which marked out London's truly outstanding hotels. The Group wasn't just something a hotel could apply for – they had to be invited. And only eleven, now twelve, hotels in all London were exclusive enough to merit receiving access to the Kingsland Group's staff.
"We really are incredibly grateful," the hotel's general manager began, "that Kingsland saw fit to offer us your services. I do look forward to examining how best you can work for us going forward…"
Chloe examined the grey-haired man critically before replying. He was dressed in the same single-breasted grey suit as the rest of the hotel's male staff, all provided from the same Savile Row tailor, and he was undeniably handsome – but there was something about the way he held his chest puffed out in front of him that made Chloe take an instant dislike to the man.
"I assume you've read the documentation my employers sent over?" she began, holding herself slightly aloof, as she'd been trained.
"Well, Chloe –."
"Miss Rouhani, please," Chloe interjected firmly. She might be two decades younger than the manager, she thought, but that was no reason for her to be treated with anything other than complete professional courtesy.
"I do apologize, my dear. Miss Rouhani, you must understand," the man blustered, "I have been awfully busy, what with the relaunch of the hotel and all." He smiled, as if to excuse the fact that he hadn't bothered to do so much as understand Chloe's actual purpose there.
"Of course," Chloe began, her response broadening the man's smile. "But nevertheless, I really do think we should set some ground rules. The Gloucester, after all, isn't my employer – so going forward," she emphasized the words, "I'm not sure exactly what work you expect I'll be doing for you."
"My dear Miss Rouhani, I was under the impression that the Kingsland Group is London’s premier concierge agency, perhaps even the world’s?
"Am I to understand that that isn't the case?"
"No, my dear Mr. –?" Chloe dangled, waiting for the man's name.
"Dance. James Dance."
"My dear Mr. Dance, your original supposition was entirely correct – we are indeed the most prestigious, best connected concierge agency around. However, as you'd know if you'd read through the information we sent over, we don't work for the hotel, just the clients staying in your Presidential Suite."
"But that's absolutely preposterous!" the affronted Mr. Dance wheezed.
"How so?"
"Well, my dear, exactly what are we paying you for if not to work for us?"
"Mr. Dance – exactly what is your experience of ultra-high net worth individuals?" Chloe asked, slightly exasperated.
"My dear," the man began, using the same diminutive greeting as before, a fact which was now beginning to grate on Chloe, "I do have some experience working in the hospitality industry, as I'm sure you'll understand."
"Yes, of course," Chloe began politely, not wanting to needlessly antagonize the man who she would doubtless be working closely with, even if not under. "But at least from my experience, working with the super-rich is an entirely different kettle of fish than you might be used to. How much does your Presidential Suite go for per night?"
"£45,000," the manager said, proudly. "It'll be the most expensive in London."
"And your regular rooms go for what, £1,000 a night?" Chloe asked, guiding the man to the inevitable conclusion she wanted him to reach.
"Well, I suppose so, sometimes perhaps slightly under," the man allowed. "Ah. I do rather see what you're saying…"
At least for the moment, Chloe decided, that would have to settle in place of an apology for the man's behavior.
"Exactly," she continued, ensuring that she didn't sound the slightest bit smug at her victory. "And the room rate is really just the start of the financial rewards of entertaining these extremely wealthy clients – they demand the best of everything, and that's our job to source."
"Yes, of course," Mr. Dance replied, to Chloe's amusement almost beginning to argue her own case for her. "And the Gloucester must of course be known for providing the very best in service."
"So you see, it wouldn't possibly be worth the hotel's investment in my services to deploy me in any other capacity than ensuring that the residents of your Presidential Suite are anything other than absolutely satisfied with their stay."
"Of course, my dear." Chloe decided to ignore that one. "And we wouldn't dream of asking you to do anything else, not at all."
Chloe fought hard to avoid rolling her eyes at the size of the man's ego, and how easily she had managed to play him.
"I don't want to take up any more of your time – I'm sure you must be extremely busy with the opening. Could you ask one of your staff to show me around?" she asked sweetly.
"Yes, of course, very busy," he replied, gesturing one of the smartly dressed young women behind the check-in desk over. "Katie, my dear, will you show Miss Rouhani around? Anything she wants."
"Of course, sir," Katie replied. "Miss, how can I help?"
Chloe waited until the overbearing Mr. Dance had left earshot and asked, "Is he always like that?"
"Who, James?" Katie giggled. "He's not so bad once you get to know him, he's quite sweet actually. I think he's a little bit stressed at the moment."
"Perhaps that's it," Chloe agreed. "Could you show me around, Katie? The whole place if you don't mind."
"Of course. Do you want to start with the Presidential Suite?"
"No, let's leave that til the end. Just walk me through like you would any other guest."
Chloe was in fact a guest of the Gloucester Hotel – it was one of the stipulations of Kingsland's contract that a suite was always to be made available for her usage, even if that meant turning away paying guests, so that she could always be on hand to help out clients.
Katie led her through the hotel lobby, and Chloe couldn't help but be impressed by the attention to detail that had been paid by whoever had renovated the large hotel. Even as small a detail as the material of the floor was impeccable – everywhere she looked, Chloe saw the most extraordinary marble she'd ever come across. Instead of going for a more conventional plain black, the designers had chosen a stone that seemed to be flecked with rubies, creating an impression that the floor was consumed with fire every time the light reflected off it.
It was a clever touch, and one that helped create an extremely intimate atmosphere without ever straying too close to being too dark, too morose. As the two women walked through, the sound of their clicking heels drifted into nothingness in an oasis of absolute calm.
"So what do you know about the hotel?" Katie asked.
"Honestly, just the top line details," Chloe replied, ticking them off on her fingers. "Most expensive hotel renovation in the last decade, most expensive Presidential Suite in London, most exclusive clientele in Europe – that's the kind of thing my customers are interested in."
"It wasn't always that way, you know," Katie said. "Before the renovation, this place was getting a bit, well, dated."
"It's got a very good reputation, doesn't it?" Chloe said, surprised – it wasn't often that the Kingsland Group took a chance on a hotel, especially one that was described as dated.
"Oh, of course," Katie said airily. "But we were trading off our reputation a bit. A lot�
�� In the fifties and sixties, this was the only hotel worth staying in, in London. Everyone stayed here – the Beatles, the Stones, even President Eisenhower when he flew over to meet with the government."
"So what happened?" Chloe asked, interested.
"Nothing drastic. The service here has always been second to none, but the old girl has needed money spent on it for a long time. We were bought out by a consortium of Middle Eastern investors a couple of years ago and, well," she spread out her hands, "you can see how much they've invested."
Chloe certainly could, and the more she walked around the hotel, the more she realized that she hadn't picked up upon a single flaw – very unusual, given how critical she usually was. She had to hand it to the manager, he might be an overbearing old ass, but he knew how to run a hotel. It put her mind at ease.
"Can you show me to the Presidential Suite please, Katie? How close is mine?"
"Your suite?" Katie asked, clearly impressed. "It's on the same floor. If you don't mind me asking…" she began, before falling silent as if worried she was about to broach a topic that she shouldn't.
"Yes?" Chloe prompted, knowing what the question would be.
"Well – you're quite young, aren't you?"
"Twenty-six," Chloe agreed.
"So…" Katie prevaricated, still beating around the bush.
"So, how did I get a job like this?" Chloe asked, smiling and putting the girl out of her misery.
"Exactly," Katie agreed gratefully.
"To be honest, I got lucky. I was doing a job just like yours four years ago, but at the Winchester Hotel. It's another Kingsland hotel, and from time to time I did a favor for the concierge there. I guess I was good at it."
"Do you have to be, you know, pretty?" Katie asked, a little less nervously.
"What do you mean?"
"Well – look at you. If you don't mind me saying, you're gorgeous!" Katie exclaimed excitedly. "Do you think that would be a problem?"
"For you?" Chloe asked, surprised. "Hell no, honey, you're hot!"
"But there must be an element of looks to it?" Katie pressed.
"Perhaps," Chloe allowed. "But let me tell you, Kingsland doesn't just let you stroll into a position like this. I've been training for four years now, and this is the first time I've been given a hotel of my own."
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't trying to imply that you got the job because of the way you look!" Katie apologized, looking mortified.
"No, no, that's not what I meant," Chloe hastened to add. "Of course, they train you to do the normal day-to-day activities, but there's a whole lot more than that – they sent me on a three-month course to Switzerland just to learn how to present myself: how do my hair, my makeup, even how to use a fish knife…" She laughed. "It was nuts, but definitely worthwhile."
Katie was looking up at Chloe with a glow of almost unhealthy hero worship, and it made Chloe feel slightly uncomfortable – she clearly had no idea how nervous she was at the prospect of taking on her own hotel. When they'd asked whether she thought she was ready to make the step up, she'd had to say yes – of course she had. Now she was here, it was an entirely different proposition.
The girl opened the door to the Presidential Suite just by laying her hand on it and pushing forward.
"How did you do that?" Chloe asked, intrigued. "Isn't there a key card?"
"Nope!" Katie replied, a smug look on her face. "We're the first hotel in the world to use it – keyless entry. Apparently it's a Japanese technology, but it's pretty cool, right?"
"How does it work?" Chloe asked – she hadn't noticed Katie do anything at all to actually open the door.
"That's the clever bit. There are three sensors – here, here and there." She pointed each out in turn. "The camera up there takes a facial reading that is about 99.8% accurate."
"What about the other 0.2%?" Chloe asked, worried. She couldn't imagine explaining to some of her extremely wealthy clients that they were only 99.8% secure…
"There's a sensor running through the door handle that measures people's individual electric fields and another sensor overhead which takes body temperature readings. It's basically impossible to cheat all three – there's something like a one in fifty trillion chance of something going wrong."
"Great," Chloe said, relieved. "But wouldn't a key have been easier?"
Katie grinned. "You of all people must know how the kind of people who stay in a hotel like this think. It doesn't need to be practical, just exclusive."
"Fair point," Chloe agreed, walking through the door into the suite. "So, tell me about this place."
She could tell that Katie was slightly put out that she wasn't more impressed by the grandeur of the hotel room – but Chloe had seen so many hugely, unbelievably impressive presidential suites over her time working with the super-rich, it took a lot to impress her. That was precisely the thing that made her so well-suited to her job – where most people would simply be overawed, Chloe had a nose for the precise flaws that her clients would pick up on.
"It's five thousand square feet, which makes it the largest Presidential Suite in London, and the real estate alone is worth at least £15 million – though really it's priceless."
Chloe whistled – five thousand square feet was big anywhere, but particularly London, where hotel rooms were known for being cozy.
"It's completely resistant to nuclear, chemical and biological attack for up to twenty-four hours – and the door would take at least three hours to break down using a military grade battering ram, so customers should feel pretty safe," Katie continued, a wry smile on her face that Chloe understood well – a silent comment on the absurdity of the requirements of some of their clients. After all, in what world was it likely the police wouldn't show up if someone was using a military grade battering ram inside a top London hotel? And how would they even get it in?
"My clients will feel very relieved…" Chloe agreed dryly.
"The whole place is soundproofed, so guests can do more or less what they want in here without disturbing anyone else. Rumor has it when the Rolling Stones used to stay here, they turned the whole place into a nightclub."
"I'm not surprised," Chloe snorted. "I bet there are all kinds of stories…"
"Well, don't tell anyone I told you, but if you talk to some of the old hands in housekeeping, they'll tell you they were vacuuming cocaine out of the carpet for weeks…"
Chloe walked around the suite, cataloging amenities as she went. She was glad to see the designers had equipped the plush living space with all the usual must haves – a cocktail bar, an infinity-pool-style Jacuzzi on the roof terrace looking out over Mayfair and Chelsea, wireless sound system, sauna, steam room, in short – everything anyone might desire.
"Everything looks good. No one's stayed here yet, I take it?"
"No. No one."
"And our guests land in..?”
"About," Katie checked her watch, "three hours."
"Excellent. Can you sort out three cars, to be ready in about an hour and ten minutes to take me to Heathrow?"
"No problem."
"Oh, and Katie?"
"Yes?"
"Where am I staying? I want to freshen up before I go."
3
"I hope you found our facilities up to scratch?" the hotel manager asked, the smile on his face suggesting that was exactly what he expected to hear.
"I did indeed. I think your guests will find the suite perfectly adequate."
"Only adequate, Miss Rouhani?"
"It's lovely, Mr. Dance," Chloe continued, copying his tone of voice, "but don't forget, my clients are amongst the world's richest men – they're used to the height of luxury…"
"My dear…" the manager began, returning to his usual blustery self.
"Chloe, please," Chloe replied, cutting him off. "What can you tell me about our first guests?"
"Of course, please do call me James," the manager replied, seeming to forget his initial train of thought. "We have the
honor of welcoming Prince Tariq Al Saud to christen our Presidential Suite."
Chloe's blood ran cold. "Of the Al Saud family?" she whispered, face turning white with shock.
"Indeed." James smiled warmly, not having noticed her displeasure. "The Saudi Sovereign Wealth Fund was one of the first organizations to take an interest in funding our recent refurbishment, and the Prince was most excited to hear that we were finally reopening our doors."
"They paid for all this?" Chloe gestured around her, indicating the millions of dollars worth of fine furnishings, upholstery, and polished marble that surrounded them. Suddenly, her new workplace felt very different from just a few moments before – it had changed in an instant from a place that had seemed full of possibility to one that reminded her of her family's dark past.
"Most," James agreed. "Not quite all, but most. Are you all right, Chloe?" he asked, his voice suddenly concerned. "You've gone all white."
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Chloe murmured, doing her best to reassert control over her emotions – she was a professional, after all – and she needed to do her job. She knew that she couldn't let anyone know why she'd just experienced that reaction.
"It's not," James ventured, "something to do with the guest is it?"
Chloe wouldn't have expected that the man standing in front of her could be quite so perspicacious, but perhaps she'd underestimated him – because he was quite correct.
"No, not at all." She smiled, forcing her voice to remain calm and level. "I should have had a better breakfast, that's all. Just blood pressure…"
"Well, if you're sure that's it?" James replied doubtfully.
"I am," Chloe replied firmly, her professional demeanor now entirely restored.
"Well, in that case, you'd best get a move on! You wouldn't want to be late…"
"No," Chloe said thoughtfully. "That simply wouldn't do, would it?"
She strode off to the convoy of cars waiting for her, leaving a slightly befuddled hotel manager in her wake.
4
"Fuck." Tariq massaged his temples and checked the screen on the other side of the room – about twenty minutes til they landed.