Maybe she wanted the overdue opportunity to grill him about where he’d been. I’ve got you now, Harrison Montgomery. He wasn’t getting away from her this time. Not without an explanation.
Steady footfalls approached from the corridor off the lobby and Mr. King appeared. “Ms. Mosconi, thank you for coming in.”
Harrison stepped back, always an expert at making a quiet exit. But she felt his withdraw all the same.
She tucked all thoughts of Harrison away with the room key and took Mr. King’s proffered hand. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Of course. The others are waiting in the boardroom.” He waved a hand toward the corridor. “Right this way.”
Others? She didn’t allow herself to glance back. Her focus was firmly on her future.
The further she moved away from Harrison, the easier she breathed. Until they stepped into the boardroom, greeted by Perrin King’s cold glare.
“Mariella Mosconi, this is Mauricio, our banquet manager, Aaliyah, our lead groundskeeper in charge of landscaping and maintenance, and I believe you know my wife, Perrin.”
Mariella’s hope deflated. She knew, then and there, she wasn’t getting the job.
CHAPTER 2
Disguising her discomfort, Mariella flattened a firm hand on her knee to stop the incessant tapping of her foot beneath the boardroom table. Luckily, the carpet muffled most of the sound, but the pitcher of water set at the center of the meeting table quivered with each nervous twitch.
She grinned at the four faces seated across from her. Mr. King provided each of them with a leather portfolio and notepad, emblazoned with the hotel’s logo, in case anyone wanted to jot down notes during the interview.
As the orchestrator of the interview and person with the final say, Mr. King made a few notes based on her answers, but his handwriting was too small for Mariella to read from her position across the table. Mauricio asked several questions about her experience with events and her preferences when working with a team. Aaliyah didn’t say much, and Perrin mostly glared at Mariella, as if imagining ways to burn her at the stake.
“Outside of your experiences listed on your resume, what kind of proficiency could you bring to the Brick Hotel?” Mr. King asked.
Mariella’s resume wasn’t what anyone would call extensive, but every bullet point—big or small—had earned her best effort. She was a hard worker who put pride in everything she attempted.
“I know managing a café isn’t as elaborate as managing a hotel, but I did that job while earning my bachelor’s in business administration. No matter how challenging my classes were or how busy the café was, I never lost my cool. We had diverse customers with different needs, and I met those needs, every day. I made sure the other employees knew how to meet those needs as well. I took great pride in remembering the preferences of our regulars and our…not so regulars. People notice my attention to detail and appreciate it. I think it’s important to put others at ease and always make sure the clientele feels valued and heard. That’s how you get them to come back.”
She didn’t see the point in mentioning that the café was owned by her mom and two aunts, a front for their competitive and highly skilled obsession with out-baking each other. Of course, she was the manager. The three sisters knew very little about running a business and would give the inventory away for compliments alone if left unsupervised. Mariella had actually been able to turn a lucrative profit from the place.
Perrin tapped her pen over the closed leather cover of her portfolio. “If a guest requested a service that went beyond hotel policy, what would you do?”
It was the first time she addressed Mariella directly. Mariella wasn’t ready to make eye contact, so she focused on the shoulder of Perrin’s flannel shirt. Despite being more dressed down than the groundskeeper, she was still intimidating.
“I suppose I would offer whatever was within the hotel policy, based on my training for such situations.”
“But this is a very particular, and difficult, guest. We wouldn’t want to lose him as a future guest.”
“In that case, I’d defer to Mr. King.”
“Would you now?”
Her question felt like a trap, so she glanced at her prospective boss.
Mr. King cleared his throat, and Mariella wondered if his wife’s interrogation made him as uncomfortable as it made her. He didn’t intervene, and Mariella’s feet started to sweat inside of her boots.
“Suppose Mr. King isn’t around,” Perrin persisted.
“I could call him—”
“Have you made a point of contacting past employers at home on their days off?”
“No, I mean, my aunt owned the café, and if there was ever a problem I could always—”
“As manager, the tough decisions won’t always allow time to confer. You would be expected to think on your feet. Mr. King might own the hotel, but his presence is needed elsewhere. It would be inappropriate to contact him when his focus is needed somewhere else.”