“I wonder what Mrs. Ruiz or Mr. Danforth would say if they knew you were fraternizing with a guest,” Sierra says. “And not just any guest.”
The Montclair has strict guidelines about employee interactions with hotel guests. I’d probably get fired. And I can’t afford to be without a job right now.
“Hopefully they don’t find out,” I reply, meeting her gaze. The only way they would find out is if Sierra tells them. Or Tony. But he doesn’t seem likely to.
“Yeah,” was all Sierra said.
I return to my textbook with better luck this time. Sierra walks away. I wish we could get along, and part of me wants to say something to that effect, but I don’t think she’s looking to be my friend. Kumbaya moments with people like her happen in kid movies, not so much in real life.
But maybe I should give her more of a chance?
Unable to concentrate on price elasticity, especially since I keep thinking about how I was spanked with this book back at The Lair, I decide to change and go downstairs and see what everyone else is doing. Eric and Tony are down in the bachelor room.
“This resort is going to rival Half Moon Bay for sure,” Eric is telling Tony as he cycles through television channels with the remote. “Maybe even Monterey.”
Tony is sitting in a sofa opposite Eric, smoking a cigar. “Isn’t Pebble Beach there?”
“Yeah, but you got to have aspirations. My dad is known for developing some of the world’s best golf courses. If anyone can give Pebble Beach a run for its money, it’s us. All we need are some visionary investors.”
“Like the Lee family.”
“Exactly. Since you guys have a lot of hotel experience, we might even let you advise us on that piece.”
Seeing me, Tony puts out the cigar. I feel a tiny bit guilty that he’s cutting short his smoking. But it’s better for him.
“Don’t mind me,” I say as I walk toward the billiard table. “I was just going to shoot some pool.”
Eric spares me a glance, then goes back to talking to Tony. “Your family should stick to development. Forget all that tech investment. This resort I’m developing is going to return so much more for your family if you get in on the ground floor.”
“Undertaking large development projects in California isn’t easy from what I’ve heard.”
Eric puts down his glass of bourbon and helps himself to a cigar. “Which is why we’re not doing it in or near the Bay Area where liberal politicians are going to make us jump through hoops convincing them that our project isn’t going to damage the environment or force us to sign fucked-up project labor agreements.”
“Aren’t project labor agreements about living wages?” I venture. I know next to nothing about real estate development, but it just so happens I read an article in the newspaper last week about some housing project being delayed over project labor agreements.
Eric looks at me, then back to Tony. “You picked a crazy one.”
Tony turns to me. “Living wages is a major reason a politician would support PLA’s.”
I nod a thank you for answering my question, then look at the balls on the table. I’ve only played pool a few times, and these balls are not the multi-colored ones I’ve seen before. The balls look smaller and most are red.
“No,” objects Eric. “Democrats support PLA’s because they want to shore up their base of support among the unions. And because they’re fucking communists.”
Tony gets up and walks over to where I’m standing. He picks out a cue stick.
As if worried that he might have offended Tony, Eric quickly follows with, “Your family’s not what I would consider communist. If you didn’t embrace capitalism, you wouldn’t have made the kind of money you did. I heard that your family didn’t lose all its property to Ho Chi Minh because of its triad connections.”
Tony doesn’t say anything and passes balls my way, sliding them across the table.
“I understand one of your family members is the head of the Jing San Triad.”
Tony tells me to rack the balls. I start sticking a bunch of them into the triangle.
“How close are you and your brother to that part of the family?”
Tony comes up next to me and pulls out the non-red balls inside the triangle. I can smell the cigar on him, which isn’t my favorite, but my pulse skips a beat at his nearness.
Eric takes a puff of his cigar, his gaze keenly on Tony. “What’s it like to kill a man?”