Page 60 of The CEO Enemy

“I got it,” I say, coming to my senses, and regaining enough body control to detach my eyes from his lips and reach for the phone.

It’s Emma from the front desk.

After she explains her issue with the guest, I straighten. “All right, don’t worry, I’ll be down in a second. I’ll take care of it. Offer him drink vouchers for the bar and tell him dinner is on us.”

As soon as I hang up the phone, Sean reverts to Mr. Grumpy King, likely alarmed by my facial expression. “What’s wrong?”

“The new group coordinator arrived a day early, Mr. Grant from Schuster and Flint. Which wouldn’t be such a big deal, if we weren’t still deep cleaning his suite for his arrival.”

A dark shadow crosses his features, then he asks, “Can’t we put him in a different suite until then?”

“Emma told him that, and he started getting belligerent.”

“Oh, fantastic,” he says sarcastically.

“I’ll go talk to Emma, do damage control.”

“Good luck.”

Both of us leave my office, heading in opposite directions, him for his room and me for the front desk. Before I even get there, I already know the situation has escalated. I hear a rough male voice drowning out Emma’s soft, musical one. I brace myself for the confrontation and plaster on my best customer service smile.

When I round the corner, I find an older gentleman, in his mid-to-late sixties, with jet-black hair, which is obviously dyed, and an expensive suit that likely costs more than a week’s stay in our Presidential Suite. His hands rest on the front desk, and I notice a glittering gold Rolex just under his sleeve. His expression can only be described as disgust, like he stepped in something that smelled. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a snobbish person with their face physically turned up, but there he is.

The bold, abstract strokes of Metropolitan Reverie in the back of the lobby instantly catch my eye, effortlessly calming my mood. The art piece wouldn’t grace these walls if not for Westerlyn’s proven devotion to excellence and, let’s not beat around the bush, some downright unmatched triumphs.

“This is unacceptable,” he’s saying, his hoarse voice unnecessarily loud. “What kind of dump is this? The hotel knew I was coming, and my room should have been made available in anticipation of my arrival. Where is your manager?”

“I’m right here, sir,” I say as I approach the desk. “Are you Mr. Grant?” I ask, keeping my tone friendly.

“Obviously that’s who I am. Are you the manager?”

“I’m the general manager, yes. I’m Jessica Summers, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grant.”

I extend my hand for a shake, and he looks down at it with a sneer, as if he’s surprised I dare try to shake his hand. He ignores it. Ooo-kay. I lower it to my side.

“Well,” he says, “then maybe you can make sense of this enormous error on your hotel’s behalf. How is it that my suite is unavailable?”

“That particular suite will be available tomorrow, which is what we have on file for your scheduled check-in. The suite isn’t quite ready, seeing as it’s a day early. However, we have another lovely one that’s available that I’d be happy to show you to.”

“But isn’t that going to require me moving tomorrow? I’m a very busy man, Ms. Summers. I’m running this retreat and will have my hands full when the group arrives tomorrow, especially since we may be a handful of people short and won’t require all the rooms. It means I’ll have to juggle and adjust plans, thanks to this headache. As you can tell, I’m juggling a million things right now. Trust me, young lady, I do not have time for your nonsense because you were utterly unprepared.”

I’m not impressed with how he’s speaking to me and how he obviously was speaking to Emma. Never mind the fact that he definitely was not intending to check in early, nor did he seem to consider his early arrival as an issue. The man hasn’t even stayed here, and he’s already kicking up a fuss.

“The hotel would be more than happy to facilitate the moving of your belongings once the room is available,” I state calmly, forgoing to point out that if he had called in earlier, we might have easily accommodated. I doubt the fault is on our side, however, it is possible. “We understand that you’re a busy man, and we’d be more than happy to have our bellman take care of the change. You’ll be able to pick up your new keys right here at the front desk whenever you have a moment.”

“What about compensation? The hotel should do more to correct this oversight.”

There it is.

There are two types of people who complain at a hotel. Type one: people who genuinely have valid concerns that require attention. Type two: people who use such situations as a way to obtain benefits. I’m starting to see that Mr. Grant is the second kind.

Sean was right, dammit. I really should have insisted on the new hotel room prices for a group of his size, and the cancellation policy. Especially when Mr. Grant conveniently “forgot” to inform the bookings department about the guest shortage he just mentioned, as I was sure he had.

Still, having this guy causing a fuss over something that can be solved professionally and in a timely manner is really testing what little patience I have left.

I can’t believe I skipped my date for this.

I keep reminding myself to stay on the sunny side just like my parents taught me—no matter if it’s a person or a challenge—and channel my “I-so-want-to-kick-him-in-the-balls” energy into a beaming smile and a voice that could soothe a room full of squawking Pippins.

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