Page 75 of The Playboy

The example was the housekeeping department at my hotel. I’d done a complete analysis of how they operated, how many shifts and employees were on at all times. The amount of supplies used. How I could save them money by tweaking things.

But these were things I wouldn’t know unless I worked for a hotel, and that wasn’t going to be mentioned tonight.

I had to pick something else—something I knew just as well.

“Let’s say we’re talking about a restaurant-slash-bar.” I glanced around the diner. “Not a place like this. I’m talking about somewhere that serves alcohol and is open until one or two in the morning.”

“I like where this is going.”

I laughed. “It sounds like you’re turned on.”

“I am.”

“Because I’m talking business?”

“Because you’re breathing.”

My eyes widened, my skin starting to prickle with sweat.

“And because you’re talking business. Go on.”

I pulled the shake closer and took another long drink, stopping before I got an ice cream headache. “I’m not saying it happens at every restaurant, but I’d say, at most, there’s an epic amount of alcohol that either gets wasted or given away for free.”

“I agree.”

“As a business owner, I wouldn’t be all right with that. Not when liquor and wine are top money producers with massive profit margins.” The more I said, the harder he looked at me. “On the flip side, there’s nothing worse than those automatic pourers that control the amount of booze allowed in each drink. They’re impersonal. When a patron sees one, they think the restaurant is cheap.”

“Again, I agree.” He was nodding.

“Therefore, it boils down to the bartenders. If you give them an incentive, they’re far more likely to care about the amount that’s dispensed.”

His head now turned. “You mean, a bonus?”

“Yes.” I traced my thumbs down the glass, feeling the cool condensation on my skin. “When you’re talking about the fruit that’s served, the straws that are used, mixers, garnishes, and then you factor in the alcohol, there’re many layers to it. But if you make them conscious of certain numbers, keeping them in a reasonable perimeter, giving them a monthly bonus if they maintain, say, five hundred to a thousand, that would, in the long run, be losing the business only a little while saving them a whole lot.”

His head now shook. “You’re fascinating.”

“I could keep going.”

“I want you to.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to gaze at me. “So, I’m going to put you on the spot—is that all right?”

“Try me.”

“Toiletries have always been something we offer in our hotels, and it’s a high expense. The lotion and soap are custom-made for our brand, incorporating our signature scent. The soap, for instance, comes in small bath bars that are placed by the sinks and within the shower. All unused bars get thrown away. If a guest runs low, a new one is given. Some guests pack the bars into their suitcases, so housekeeping will leave a new one the next day, and that continues until they check out. How would you eliminate the amount of waste that goes into this practice?”

“That’s easy.” I smiled. “I would provide body wash instead of bars. Will guests use more squirts than they need to? Sure. But if the bottles are bolted into the shower and the wall above the sink, the guests can’t take them with them. The bottles won’t have to be replaced in between stays, only refilled, which eliminates most of the waste you mentioned. And if I had to guess, it’s cheaper to have liquid soap manufactured than a bar because there are less steps involved, so by trading one for the other, that’s also going to save you money.”

He was quiet, taking in my face like he was memorizing every freckle. “With bottles bolted into the shower and sink area, won’t guests find that tacky?”

“Not if it’s done right. You might have to splurge on a fixture that’s on the fancier side or have a product engineer design something for you. That’s certainly an investment, and I obviously don’t have any numbers that I can run for you, but I bet, in the long run, it would be well worth it.”

“You’re good.”

My lips moved back into a grin. “That’s because I love it. It’s a passion.”

He reached across the table, placing his hand over mine. “I want to know something … what are you doing after you graduate?”

I glanced at his fingers.

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