Page 32 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
I take a deep breath and push through the doors to the lobby. Suddenly, we’re engulfed in noise and flashing lights. A dozen reporters surge forward, their questions overlapping into unintelligible chaos. Hotel guests stand on the periphery, phones raised to capture the spectacle.
For a heartbeat, I freeze, the muscle memory of previous scandals threatening to take over—the Instagram meltdown when I publicly feuded with an influencer over a stolen outfit idea, the viral video of my drunken tirade at Club Azure that made TMZ’s homepage for a week, the tone-deaf vacation posts during a hurricane that devastated Love Beach’s working-class neighborhoods. Each time, I’d hidden behind publicists and Preston’s damage control. Each time, I’d run away rather than face consequences.
But then I think of Miguel’s patient teaching, of Carmen’s grudging respect, of the genuine pride I felt transforming chaotic rooms into peaceful havens. I think of Javi seeing beyond my disguise to the person I could become.
I step forward and smile—not the practiced, perfect smile from countless society events, but something more genuine.
“Good morning, everyone,” I begin. “I understand there’s some interest in why Teddy Hollister is wearing a housekeeping uniform today.”
A flurry of questions erupts, which I silence with a raised hand. From the corner of my eye, I see Javi slipping away, heading toward the administrative corridor.
“The answer is simple,” I continue. “I believe that to effectively join management at Hollister Hotels, I need to understand every aspect of how our properties function. That means experiencing firsthand the critical work done by our housekeeping staff—the true backbone of the hospitality industry.”
A reporter from the Love Beach Gazette pushes forward. “So this is some kind of publicity stunt?”
The question stings, but I refuse to fall back into old habits.
“No,” I counter, looking at him. “It was meant to be a private learning experience, which is why I used an alias. I wanted to be treated like any other employee, not as a Hollister.”
I pause, gathering my thoughts before continuing. “I’ve made mistakes in the past. I’ve cared too much about image and not enough about substance. This was my way of trying to change that, to earn my place in the family business rather than just assuming it was my birthright.”
The room grows quiet, my candor catching the reporters off guard.
“And what have you learned?” another reporter calls out.
This question lands differently. What have I learned? More than I expected, certainly.
“I’ve learned that housekeeping is possibly the most demanding job in the entire hotel,” I answer, finding my footing. “I’ve learned that the people who make your beds and clean your bathrooms deserve far more recognition than they typically receive. I’ve learned that management decisions made in boardrooms have real impacts on the staff carrying out those decisions.”
I look around at the faces watching me, no longer seeing just a media threat, but an opportunity.
“And most importantly, I’ve learned that Hollister Hotels needs to reevaluate how we support our housekeeping staff. Better schedules, better equipment, better compensation. Because after working alongside them, I can tell you they’re the heart of what makes a hotel experience exceptional.”
A murmur runs through the crowd—this isn’t the scandal they came for. I can see some reporters lowering their cameras, actually listening rather than just hunting for a sensational quote.
Roberts pushes through the crowd, his face blotched with red. “This is absurd,” he announces loudly. “Miss Hollister was working under false pretenses, violating hotel policy?—”
“With the full knowledge and approval of Preston and Brogan Hollister,” I interject smoothly. “As Mr. Roberts well knows, since they personally arranged my placement here.”
It’s a lie, but delivered with such confidence that Roberts momentarily falters.
“Then why the secrecy?” he demands. “Why not announce this... this ‘management training’ publicly?”
“For authenticity,” I explain. “How could I truly understand the housekeeping experience if I was treated differently because of my name?”
The reporters are captivated now, scribbling furiously. What started as a “fallen socialite” scandal is transforming into something totally different.
“And what specific changes will you recommend based on your experience?” asks a business reporter.
“I’ll be presenting a comprehensive report to the Hollister Hotels board,” I say with conviction. “Including recommendations on staff-to-room ratios, equipment upgrades, and compensation reviews. Particularly for our smaller properties like The Sandpiper, which face unique challenges during high-volume periods like spring break.”
Roberts looks like he’s about to explode, but he’s interrupted by a commotion at the back of the lobby. Javi appears, flanked by two uniformed police officers.
My pulse quickens—did he find something?
“Excuse me,” one officer announces, his voice cutting through the crowd. “Is the hotel manager present?”
Roberts straightens, visibly straining to appear composed. “I’m Mark Roberts, the manager. What’s this about?”
