Page 17 of Room for Improvement

Jordan. I’m doing my best, but you haven’t given me much that I can defend you with.

“Tony isn’t a fool, and he knows if anything gets back to New York, he’ll be the first person we would suspect. He’s not going to risk his career to help Jordan.” Bryce thought for a moment, carefully considering his next words. He hated having to ask, but he had to know. “Speaking of Jordan, has he reappeared at the offices yet? Have you spoken to him? He’s sent me several emails, and I have been dodging his calls all day. I shouldn’t have to hide from my own brother.”

For another long minute, silence sat heavy on the other end of the line. Finally, Edward let out a tired sigh. “I know, and I am sorry, son. I promise I will make it up to you when you get back to New York.” Bryce caught the sound of his mother’s voice in the background. Alice Royal didn’t approve of late night business calls. If she knew it was her eldest son on the line, she would be yanking the phone out of her husband’s hand.

“I’d better let you go, Dad.”

“Thanks. I have meetings in the morning from seven o’clock. Call me tomorrow, when you have time for an update. Good night, Bryce. And thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.”

His mother’s voice became louder. “Is that Bryce?”

The line went dead. Bryce winced. He had no doubt that right this minute Alice would be giving Edward a hard time about not allowing her to speak to their son.

He fired off a quick text.

Sorry Mom. Had to go. Catch up soon. Love you. B.

Bryce pushed back from the table and got to his feet. He was tired, but at that stupid point of almost being over tired. He had traveled across the Atlantic, snatched a few hours’ sleep, then come all the way out to LA. He glanced at the bed and gave a brief shake of his head.

If he went to bed now, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Hours of tossing and turning would likely follow.

His father had said he needed to use the resort facilities to their fullest. Bryce couldn’t get to the day spa at this hour, which left no other option. It was time to go and sweat out some of his frustration in the twenty four hour gym. After that, he would see how the restaurants were doing, and for his brother’s sake, hopefully find them busy with happy, paying customers.

* * *

After returning to reception from the bar and her disappointing cocktail, it was another long and testing forty minutes before Vivian was finally able to strip off her clothes and hop into the shower. The valet who had delivered her luggage had given her a quick run-down of the room, including how to use the TV remote, but he could only offer up a blank look when she enquired about the dining options for the evening. She tipped him and let him go.

It seemed that whoever was in charge of training the staff was only getting through to a certain number of them. The service levels were patchy at best. Nowhere near the standard that a resort such as the Royal Resorts Platinum Collection, Laguna Beach, should be delivering to its guests.

After drying off and brushing her hair, Vivian picked up the remote. She was pleased to see they had at least managed to get her name on the welcome screen.

The online menu of offerings for guests was impressive. She had to hand it to them, any hotel that offered a near round the clock room service knew its market. A quick check of the spa menu had her opening her laptop and googlingmyofascial release therapy.

“Impressive. That’s more than most resorts offer.”

But her heart was set on a pedicure, she clicked on the link and searched for available time slots.Damn.They were fully booked for tomorrow, and she would have to call to be placed on a wait list.

“Oh, well. Let’s see if we can find somewhere good to eat for tonight.”

The first night in a resort was always an odd experience. She would seek a nice dinner, maybe have a glass or two of wine, then make it an early night. Tomorrow would be a big day. With Lionel wanting her review as quick as possible, she would have to be up with the sun and putting the resort through its paces. Taking magazine worthy photos on the sly involved a particular skill set, and she was keen to be able to send plenty of good shots for her boss to have his pick for the next issue. Seeing her initials on the tiny tagline next to the photos in articles always gave Vivian a thrill.

From her suitcase she took out a green cotton dress dotted with tiny white flowers. It was super girly, and she loved it. The green went perfectly with her blue-green eyes. If one frock in her whole wardrobe spoke of long walks on the beach and soft kisses, it was her fifteen dollar JC Penney bargain. She could still recall the moment her mother had spotted it during the sales at the department store near their family home in Queens. Vivian snapped off a quick selfie and sent it to her mom.

She slipped her feet into the only summer sandals she owned. A tan low-heeled cross-strapped pair that went with every outfit. They made packing for review trips an effortless affair.

Her long light brown hair was held off her face by a thin silver hair clip. Simple little touches like this helped to turn her look from every day to evening stylish. A matching clutch purse was big enough to hold her cell and room key card.

It was time to go out and do some people watching. Her job tonight: observe how the bar and dinner service went, while keeping a keen eye on the other guests. People might not say what they thought of their meals or the wait staff, but few could keep their faces from telling the true story. Vivian loved to read people.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Supper in the main dining room was an uneventful and uninspiring event. Vivian could have counted the guests seated at the nearby tables on one hand. In the end she put it down to her six thirty booking being a little too early. She hated eating late.

If there was one thing she could never get her head around, it was people who thought it perfectly acceptable to eat their evening meal at nine o’clock. Most nights, especially post-Pete breakup, Vivian was already in her PJs and reading in bed or else lying on the couch mindlessly scrolling through Netflix’s menu at that hour of the night. If she did eat at such a late hour, it was usually a salty snack from the kitchen cupboards.

Her forty dollar pasta had been nice, but nothing to write home about. The twenty dollar sticky toffee pudding fortunately lived up to its hype, and she was still running her finger around the inside of the bowl when the waiter came to clear it away.

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