The Suite Life (The Family Stone Book 1) Page 5

  I thought to myself that with those looks, he would definitely have lots of women staying there. "How many rooms?"

  "Forty-one. Forty-two, counting my place. It's the perfect amount for me to manage and really keep it running how I like it. There are two penthouses on the eighth floor. The guest suite is the mirror image of mine with just a few minor differences."

  "Is it a new structure?"

  "Yes. The previous building was a three-story shopping center, but it had seen it's better days. Some of the stores had closed. I got a good price on it considering the real estate in that area is crazy." He grinned. "We had to do some serious renovations to expand it to eight stories, so it's a good thing I had a visionary for an investor."

  "I would invest in you," I said. "I've only known you for five minutes, and I already want to come stay at your place. Patterson Place. I'll have to remember that. Is it here in Boston?"

  "No, California, actually. I'm just here visiting like you."

  I wondered absentmindedly if I already knew that piece of information. I felt like I knew in the back of my mind that he wasn't from Boston, but I had no idea he was from California.

  "Where abouts in California?" I asked.

  "Beverly Hills," he said. "What about you?"

  I laughed. "I guess the real estate is crazy. I'm from Ventura. I was born in L.A. My dad still lives over there, so I'm there quite a bit, but I mainly stay with my mom in Ventura. I could move out, but she's got room, and I travel a lot. I like seeing her when I'm in town."

  "I rarely travel," Taylor said.

  I smiled. "You're traveling right now."

  "I am. I left my job a month ago to go ahead and go full-time on the new place—oversee the finishing touches. I have a couple of trips planned between now and the first of the year. I wrote a book, and I've got to do some promotion for that and a few of these consulting gigs. I enjoy my experience when I travel, but I'm a homebody. I'm more accustomed to entertaining others when they travel. I hear their stories while sitting in my own living room."

  "Do you actually sit and have conversations with these people?"

  "Yes, I do," he said. "Most nights, I eat dinner in the hotel restaurant—somewhere real approachable, like up at the bar. Sometimes, I'll ask one of the hotel staff to join me so that we can talk. People know I do it, and they know I don't mind being approached. I usually hang out from about 7 to 8:30. It's not set in stone, but I try to make a casual appearance most nights. Most of my guests are repeat people who I've gotten to be friends with over the years. Locals come in to eat at the restaurant and see what's going on. It's always really busy. "

  "What's the other hotel gonna do now that you're not there anymore? They're gonna lose all their clientele. Everyone's gonna come to your new place."

  Taylor shook his head. "It's a little bit different price range," he said. "By now, with the book and everything, people are anxious to book a stay at the new place. I didn't cut corners on the construction. I oversaw the whole process. I could have opened a hotel twice the size, but I chose to do it smaller and nicer. I've only got about forty rooms, so I've paid attention to each of them individually."

  "You mean they all look different?"

  "Yes, they do. I mean, we bought repeats of some things, different lamps and fixtures, and my style is evident through the whole place, but yes, all the rooms are different. Each floor is different, too, as a group."

  "Oh, now I really want to stay there," I said. "Which one's your favorite?"

  "Which room?"

  I nodded.

  He grinned. "Well, mine is. I'm putting all my favorite things in there. And it has my clothes and shoes."

  I squinted at him for joking around, and he smiled at me. "But, seriously, if I had to pick another favorite, I'd say the other penthouse… or the third floor. That whole floor has more of a midnight in Paris vibe."

  "I can't believe you live in the same building where you work."

  "Like you said, I get to make a living by having people come spend the night at my house."

  I stared at him. The car windows were tinted, and it was relatively dark in the backseat, but my eyes had adjusted, and I could clearly see his light eyes as he regarded me. It seemed like a great distance between us. "That's crazy," I said, finally.

  "What's crazy?"

  I shrugged. "You. The fact that you live at a hotel. The fact that you're famous for it. It's just so… different. I'm amazed by all the people in the world and how different and weird you all are."

  "You're weird too," he said.

  "I am? How so?"

  He gave me a shrug. "You're you. You're…" he trailed off, staring at me. I didn't know if he was going say something about my dad or about my appearance. I just had the feeling by the way he stared at me that he was about to say something about me and not my father, but he was choosing his words carefully. Seeing him that way made my insides all warm and gooey.

  "Your dad is the king of rock-and-roll," he said with a shrug. "I think that qualifies you as weird."

  "That's Elvis," I said.

  "Who's Elvis?"

  "The king. You said my dad was the king, but that was Elvis."

  "Your dad is as big as Elvis," Taylor said.

  "No, he's not. Not even close."

  "You're still weird," Taylor said. "Even if your dad's not technically the king. You're not what you'd call a regular girl."

  "If my dad was the king, that wouldn’t make me weird. It would make me a princess."

  "You're already a princess, Blue," Taylor said. He shifted in his seat, pulling back a little and regarding me. He scanned my face, wearing a serious, thoughtful expression. "You're precisely a princess. That's exactly how I would describe you. And not in a spoiled way, but in…. I don't know… in the best way possible."

  Chapter 6

  Taylor had said I reminded him of a princess on our way to Mitch's, and he meant it for all the right reasons. He regarded me with admiration, intrigue, sincerity, and maybe even a little confusion.

  "Name one thing you like to do besides work and travel," he said, studying me.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but I closed it when I realized I wanted to think about my answer. We were about halfway to Mitch's when he said that. I knew we had about fifteen or twenty more minutes of traveling, so I decided to give him the long version.

  "That's hard to say," I said. "Vi and Indie knew all along what they wanted to do. Vi started acting when she was still a kid, and Indie, well, all she ever wanted was the wedding, and baby, and house. They both knew exactly what direction they were going."

  "And you?" Taylor asked.

  I shook my head absentmindedly. "I basically just followed my dad around. I mean, I like investing or whatever, but it's not something I think about constantly or I have whole lot of fulfillment doing. I was being serious a while ago when I said I just try to stay up on trends and buy what I think the kids are gonna want. I like being able to make money and everything, but investing is definitely not something I dreamed of doing when I was younger. The truth is, I don't know what I love to do. I'm still trying to figure things out. I think I like the simple moments in life rather than any big, grand event. I feel happiness when I have a cup of coffee on a rooftop, or I sit somewhere with a view, or I see a really good street performer or band. I like people-watching, too."

  He nodded. "I get to people-watch all the time."

  I squinted at him. "When do you ever have time to people-watch?"

  He regarded me with a patient, confident smile. "I'm never in a hurry," he said. "Even if I'm in a hurry, I'm not in a hurry."

  "How's that possible?" I asked.

  He gave me a little shrug. "I don't know, but it is. Get to know me a little bit more, and you'll see that it's the truth."

  His words were innocent, but I took them as a proposition. I wanted them to be a proposition. I wanted to get to know him. I was quiet as I considered this.

  "No, sometimes I'm in
a big hurry inwardly, but I rarely show it. The chef back in my old hotel used to call me Iceman. He said I never broke a sweat."

  "How do you manage so many people without losing it sometimes?"

  He laughed. "I fake it," he said. "I stuff it way down and just do a bunch of push-ups and sit-ups when I get home at night."

  "So, your wife or girlfriend gets the worst of it once you get home..." I assumed. I smiled, reconsidering. "But then again, I guess she benefits from all the push-ups."

  He stared at me, wearing a thoughtful half-grin. He knew I wanted him to say something about his existent or non-existent wife or girlfriend. I took a sip of my coffee as an excuse to break eye contact.

  "How would a wife or girlfriend benefit from me doing push-ups?" he asked.

  I flexed my bicep. "You know, guns," I said.

  He gave me an amused grin. "You think my wife or girlfriend likes guns?"

  "All girls like guns."

  The whole conversation had backfired. All I wanted to know was if he had a wife or girlfriend, and he had gotten away without telling me.

  "What's something you like to do?" I asked. "Besides running a hotel and push-ups."

  "I like to cook," he said. "It's part of my whole desire to host people, I guess, but I love to cook. And bake. I'm not a trained chef or anything, but I'm getting better. One of these days, I'll come up with something good enough to add to the menu in my restaurant."

  "I like food, too," I said. "Not cooking it, but eating it."

  He laughed.

  "Grilled cheese or mac-n-cheese?" I asked, wanting to know more about him.

  "What about them?"

  "Which one do you like best… if you had to choose."

  "Grilled cheese," he said.

  I nodded. "Pizza or hamburger?"

  He took a sharp intake of breath, hissing through his teeth. "That's a tough question. There are so many variations of both of those."

  "Regular pizza and regular hamburger," I said. "Like Domino's and In and Out."

  He shook his head, contemplating. "I don’t know, hamburger, I guess. If you force me to choose with such vague perimeters."

  I laughed.

  "What about you?" he asked.

  "Grilled cheese," I said. "Gourmet grilled cheese with parmesan cheese sprinkled into the pan and crusted on the edge of the bread."

  "Where do you get such a thing?" he asked.

  "My kitchen," I said. "You definitely can't go somewhere and get a grilled cheese as good as you could make it at home. That's one of those foods that's always better at home. You've gotta have fresh sourdough and really good butter—like from grass-fed cows. I've actually ordered grilled cheeses at expensive restaurants, and they're never as good as I make them."

  "You just said you didn't cook," he said.

  "I don't. Grilled cheese doesn't count. You can make it as gourmet as you want and it's still just a grilled cheese. Bread. Cheese. Butter. Pan."

  He put his hand on his stomach. "I’m suddenly hungry for one of those."

  I laughed. "Mitch and Rhonda always have really good food."

  "Pizza or burgers?" he asked.

  "No, usually fresh fish and stuff like that—they like Asian-inspired food."

  "I wasn't asking what we're having for dinner. I was asking you what you liked, pizza or burgers."

  "Oh, burgers, hands down. I really only like pizza if it's one of those different ones with white sauce or basil sauce. I'm not a big fan of tomato sauce. I don't even like tomatoes in general. I wish I did. I love pizza if it's one of those other kinds, but I'll go ahead and say burgers. For the sake of the question, burgers."

  "Hamburger or cheeseburger?" he asked.

  "Cheese."

  "Chocolate or Vanilla?"

  "Chocolate," I said without hesitation.

  "What about you?"

  "Cheeseburger and chocolate, too, but I'm not copying you. It's the truth."

  I gave him a playful skeptical glare. "You're totally copying me," I said.

  "Okay, you ask me one, then," he said.

  "Comedy or action?"

  "Action, but I like both," he said.

  "Jazz or rock?"

  "Both," he said. "I choose everything when it comes to music. I listen to just about every genre—I constantly mix it up."

  "Beach house or cabin in the woods?" I asked.

  "Beach house, but that's all I know."

  "Would you be able to move if you wanted to, or do you feel stuck in L.A.?" I asked.

  "I chose L.A.," he said. "I definitely don't feel stuck there. I could have opened a place anywhere."

  "What if eventually you change your mind and want to live in the mountains in some lodge?"

  "Then I'll move to the mountains and open a lodge."

  "What if you just want to take a vacation, do some traveling? How would the hotel make it without you?"

  "The truth is, they won't. Not for a little while, at least. It'll take a while for me to build a team and get to the point where I trust other people enough to take care of the place while I'm on vacation. Probably at least a year." He shrugged. "It's a small price to pay for running it like I want it." He paused, smiling. "It's a good thing I don’t have any vacation plans. Aside from this book stuff I'm doing right now, but that will all be over by the time I open my place."

  "What's your penthouse like?"

  "Amazing," he said. "It's not outrageously big or anything, but it's nice. I'm gonna be really comfortable there. I'm thankful, for sure."

  "What's your favorite thing about it?"

  "The outdoor space," he said. "The kitchen, my bedroom, the view, everything. I'm so happy with how it came out. There's a pool that I'll share with whoever stays in the other penthouse. We each have a private outdoor area, too, so it's not like we'll be up in each other's faces. There's a wall where they can't even see if I'm outside. No pool over there, but I don't need a private pool. I have a hot tub and a garden with a grill and tables and everything. I'm having someone else decorate. A designer—the same one who's doing the rest of the hotel. She's awesome. She's got a whole team. They're actually working on my place now. There'll be some progress when I get back from this trip."

  "That's so fun," I said.

  He nodded. "It is. I'm pumped."

  "I'd seriously like to see it," I said. "You've got me curious."

  "I'd love to show you around," he said. "You should come by. Even if it's before we open."

  I finished off the last sip of my coffee.

  "How was that coffee?" he said.

  "Good," I said. "Not the hottest, but I did add some cream."

  "Was it cooler than you're used to?" he asked, looking like a concerned manager.

  I smiled. "Yes, but it's also 6pm. I'm sure they're not selling a bunch of coffee right now. I've definitely had worse in hotel cafés."

  "Yeah, but that's not good enough," he said. "And it's something that's easy to fix. We can make sure we're selling hot coffee."

  "Do you have a coffee pot at your new hotel yet?" I asked.

  I felt shy and embarrassed after it came out. I meant to ask if he was going to have a coffee shop or just serve coffee from the kitchen, but my question came out so totally wrong. Do you have a coffee pot? Really?

  He smiled and nodded, pretending it wasn't the silliest question ever. "We do," he said. "Several coffee pots, actually. A bunch of small ones for the rooms, a couple of huge ones and three espresso machines. More coffee than you can shake a stick at."

  "I was just wondering if you were gonna have a café in the lobby or a restaurant or what."

  "I'll have a coffee bar by the front door. There's a restaurant and bar on the first floor, too. There's coffee everywhere."

  "How big?"

  "Not huge. Eight floors. Forty-one guest rooms."

  "Not the hotel," I said, knowing the miscommunication was my fault. "Your apartment. How big is your apartment?"

  "It's two bedrooms plus a bonus room. I
have an office downstairs on the first floor, so I might put some workout stuff in that room. I haven't figured it out yet. I have a little bit furniture in the place, but my designer is mostly working on my patio area right now."

  "What's your book about?" I asked.

  "Hospitality," he said. "Work ethic and stuff. It's kind of inspirational, self-help, I guess."

  "Like Tony Robbins?"

  He nodded. "Except I didn't set out for it to be that. If I had to tell someone what my job description was, I'd call myself a host. I truly love to own and operate a place where people stay when they're away from home. I like to talk to people, entertain, host, make them feel comfortable. It's pleasurable for me. The book's just sort of my thoughts on service and work and… just striving for excellence, I guess. I had no idea it would take off. It's definitely an afterthought to opening the hotel. I have no degrees in writing, or business, or hospitality even. I have no degrees at all. I finished high school, but everything after that has just been hard knocks. But that's how God is, I guess. He can use a fool to confound the wise."

  "You believe in God?" I asked.

  He nodded. "If I didn't, my life would look a lot different."

  "How?" I asked.

  He gave me a little shrug. "Trust, I guess. Trusting that there's something bigger than me. Someone who's looking out for me and can ultimately intervene on my behalf. I wouldn’t be so bold in my career if I didn't feel like I had someone on my side. I owe everything I've achieved to God."

  I stared at him, wondering how he did it. It was like I could see true goodness in him. He was so handsome and his countenance was confident and serene. He was in control yet completely cool-headed. I was inexplicitly drawn to him. I figured everyone else was, too. It was, no doubt, part of his success. His hotel would prosper because people would pay just to hang out with him. Part of the appeal was simply having the chance to run into him in the lobby.

  I knew because I was one of those people who would pay to do it. Even as we sat in the backseat (in Boston, in September, when the hotel wasn't even open yet) I contemplated making reservations. His presence was like soothing balm. Contentment and confidence radiated off of him. I was relatively sure that the air in his proximity was sweeter to breathe than the air that was far from him. What in the world did I just think? Did I actually contemplate the air around this guy and think to myself that it was sweeter to breathe? Holy moly. What was happening to me?