“I’ve been thinking about it nonstop,” I said. “We will offer the most luxurious experience of any hotel out there. Anyone can furnish their hotels in expensive accoutrements, but we’re going to be the only ones who offer a completely luxurious, pampering experience and the best service on the planet.”
As Dante drove us home, he kept smiling. “What are you thinking?”
“Every room is a hotel suite.”
“What?” Dante laughed. “That’s impossible.”
“Yes, but we can give every guest a taste of the hotel suite experience,” I said. “The hotel has fifty floors, right? And the building has four sides, right?”
“Keep going.” He leaned forward and looked up at the skyscrapers surrounding us in the downtown area. Cars were stopped in a line in front of us. It was rush hour.
“What if instead of 1,000 rooms and two hotel suites like it has now, we make 200 rooms. That would mean four rooms per floor. Each room would have sweeping views on two full walls.”
“I’m getting it,” Dante said, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers.
“Depending on which room you have, you would get one of four views: The Golden Gate, The Pacific Ocean, The Bay Bridge, or Radio Tower. Obviously, the most expensive rooms would be with Golden Gate views, the least expensive the Radio Tower. People would book their rooms by views: Golden Gate, Sunset, Bay Bridge, Radio Tower.”
Dante was quiet for a few seconds and then he punched the steering wheel.
“Brilliant,” he said. “The hotel is already known as having the best views in the city, so now we capitalize on it to the max.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And then we make each room ultra-luxurious—like my hotel suite but even more over-the-top. Each room will have a small fireplace, and the beds will have eiderdown comforters and guests can choose their pillows from a menu. The furniture will be velvet and leather and covered in fur throws. There will be monogrammed bathrobes and each suite will have a Nespresso machine and a small cocktail bar. Guests can request their own personal makeup artist, hair stylist, barber, and manicurist to come to their suite. Guests can have a bubble bath, or they can request a champagne, rose petal, or even chocolate bath.”
“Oh Gia, you’re so naughty.”
I smiled, but didn’t pause.
Dante pulled up in front of the hotel.
“Question?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What does the guest in the real hotel suite get that makes her feel special?”
“Well, just so you know, I’m not designing this to attract the old, stuffy rich people. I want the edgy, adventurous rich. Whether they are twenty or eighty. So, if you are staying in one of the top three hotel suites, you get your own Ferrari to drive during your stay; you also get your own personal butler at your beck and call—the butler will draw your bath, pack your suitcase, iron your clothes, or whatever, and a free helicopter ride that takes off from the roof’s helipad and flies over the Golden Gate bridge at sunset.”
“You’re a fucking genius, Santella.”
“I know, right?” I said.
I was reaching for the door handle when he said. “I’m glad you want to buy the hotel with me.”
“Me too.”
I started to open the door.
“There’s just one more thing.”
Oh shit. I could tell by his tone that I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
“There’s this gala, a fundraiser for the San Francisco Opera, that’s being held in the restaurant next week.”
He paused.
I lifted my eyebrow. “Okay? Is that a problem?”
“Because we are planning to buy the hotel, I volunteered us both to be on the fundraising committee.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“Nope. I’ve been on it for six months. You’re going to join me now. There’s only one more meeting anyway. It will be a good chance for you to meet some of the city’s movers and shakers.”
“You know I hate shit like that. I hate the board of the company I own. I hate everything to do with it. It’s usually a bunch of people putting on airs and acting like their shit don’t stink and arguing over which fucking caviar to serve!” I said in a single stream of words.
Dante nodded seriously. “I know. But I need you there. Besides, it’s another way for us to get to know more people at the hotel and figure out who is embezzling. I need your street smarts.”
“My street smarts?” I said in a mocking voice.
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” he said, exasperated. “Please, Gia. We need to figure out who’s stealing from the hotel. All the big players in the hotel’s management are on the committee, along with some politicians and opera people. It’s a great opportunity to get to know the players in the city, as well. We’re going to need them on our side to do the remodeling. I need your help.”
“Fine. Only for you.”
“There’s more.”
Oh shit again. “What?” The fundraising committee’s meeting is tonight,” he looked down at his TAG Heuer watch.
“In four hours, actually. I’ll be at your door ten minutes early.”
I glared at him.
“One other thing,” he said.
“You’re fucking kidding, right?”
“One of the committee members turned up dead this morning. They’re investigating his death as suspicious. It’s pretty suspect given the animosity toward the opera house right now.”
“Hold up. No clue what you’re talking about. Remember, I’ve been overseas.”
Dante filled me in, telling me about the controversial musical, The Death of Engleberg, the New York protests, and the death threats.
Dante kept speaking, but all I could think was: San Francisco Police Department. Wheelchair. Death threats.
James.
One of the great loves in my life. And now I was in the same city as him.
He’d received death threats trying to expose corrupt cops in the San Francisco police department. Then, one of his own brothers in blue had shot and paralyzed him, condemning him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
We were ill-fated lovers: He was a man of the law. I
