Dinner at The Beach House Hotel
CHAPTER ONE
Rhonda DelMonte Grayson and I stood at the top of the front steps of The Beach House Hotel, the seaside mansion in Sabal, Florida we’d turned into an upscale, boutique hotel. As the limo rolled through the gates of the property, I crossed my fingers behind my back.
With Rhonda due to give birth in the next two months, I needed all the help I could get while Rhonda and her husband Will welcomed their child into their family and the world. Bernhard Bruner was our last hope of finding a suitable general manager for the hotel out of the group of candidates we’d screened.
“I hope we like him,” said Rhonda. “The last two applicants we talked to were doozies. I’m tellin’ ya, Annie, I’m not going to take any bullshit from a guy thinkin’ he can boss us around.”
I smiled, used to the way Rhonda thought and spoke. My proper grandmother would shudder in her blue-blooded grave, but Rhonda wasn’t even aware of the language that hid a big, loving heart.
The limo continued toward us.
“I hope he likes us!” I said, giving my crossed fingers a squeeze.
Below a lock of bleached blond hair that fell on her forehead, Rhonda’s dark eyes sparkled. She elbowed me. “Here goes.”
Before the limo even pulled to a stop, Rhonda and I eagerly made our way down the steps to greet Mr. Bruner. An older man in his fifties, he’d come highly recommended to us as the perfect choice to oversee a property like ours. But would he be willing to work with us?
We’d interviewed several other men who weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea of having to work under the guidance of two women. But The Beach House Hotel was our baby, and we weren’t about to simply hand it over to someone else—no matter how much we wanted and needed some time to ourselves.
Paul, our driver, stopped the limo, got out, and hurried around behind the car to open the passenger door.
A shiny black shoe appeared, followed by creased gray slacks. Dressed in a navy blazer, starched white shirt, and conservative tie, the man who stood so straight before us had a sharp, blue-eyed gaze. Beneath his nose, a trimmed mustache brushed the top of his lips. His stern appearance reminded me of my old, middle-school principal.
As we exchanged greetings, a black and tan dachshund jumped out of the car and sat at her master’s feet, looking up at me with what I thought of as something of a smile. Charmed, I stooped to pat her head.
“And who is this?”
“Trudy,” Bernhard said. “She goes everywhere with me.”
Rhonda and I exchanged glances.
“Uh, we weren’t told about her,” said Rhonda.
Bernhard picked the dog up. She gave him a lick on the cheek and turned bright dark eyes to us, wagging her tail furiously.
“If it’s a problem for me to have her here, we can end this visit right now.” Bernhard’s words weren’t unkind, but there was no question as to his intentions.
I reached over to give Trudy another pat on the head and grinned when she licked my hand. I loved dogs, but Robert, my ex, had been allergic to them. And any kind of pet had been out of the question in my grandmother’s formal home, where I lived after my parents were killed in an automobile accident.
Rhonda glanced at me and shrugged. “It’s okay with me, Bernie.”
Bernhard stiffened. “My name is Bernhard.”
I placed a hand on his arm. “Among ourselves, our staff is quite informal. Rhonda likes to give people nicknames. It’s a sign she likes you.”
I held my breath as I waited for him to say something. If he and Rhonda couldn’t get along, it would never work.
“All right. A few of my friends call me Bernie, but, in business, I like to use my full name.” He set the dog down and stood staring at the façade of the hotel.
The two-story, pink-stucco building with its red-tile roof spread before us. I recalled the first time I’d seen it and how impressed I was with its design and features. By anyone’s definition, the seaside estate was gorgeous.
“Can we give you a quick tour of the property?” I asked. “Normally we’d usher you in through the front door to give you an idea about the arrival that guests enjoy. But with the dog, and your long day of travel, you might want to stretch your legs and start the tour outside.”
“Good idea,” Bernie said. “I want to see everything.”
Rhonda and I pointed out the putting green in the front circle of the hotel and led him over to what was once a large multi-car garage. Now, its second floor held an apartment for Manny and Consuela, the two people who’d been with us since before we opened our hotel, and an apartment for Troy, who was managing our day spa. On the ground floor, we’d set up a small laundry for towels and special linens, leaving some garage space still to park the hotel’s limo and the occasional VIP’s car. The day spa was attached to the building near the laundry. Behind it, there was a tennis court, a shuffleboard court, and horseshoe pits.
I watched Bernie’s face for a sign of approval as he took in everything, but he gave nothing away. “Let’s have a refreshing drink by the water,” I said, “after which we can take you through the public areas and show you a number of rooms before we sit down and discuss the job.”
Bernie nodded agreeably.
While Rhonda went inside to talk to Consuela, I walked Bernie around the side of the hotel, past the herb garden the chef had recently established, and out onto the beachfront. Beneath a palm tree, a ground-level, wooden deck held a few tables and chairs. Guests frequently had lunch there, or, in the evening, enjoyed a cocktail while watching for the elusive green flash of a Gulf Coast setting sun.
I was amused to see Trudy run off for a sniff here and there before dutifully returning to Bernie’s side.
The late January day was cool for Florida, but Bernie seemed to enjoy the shade as he sat waiting for Rhonda to reappear.
“You’re certainly welcome to take off your coat and loosen your tie,” I said.
He shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t do.” He gave my sandals a disapproving look.
“We like our guests to relax and enjoy themselves. While a dress code for dinner is suggested, we all like a bit of informality during the day,” I quickly explained.
He nodded, but didn’t comment, making me wonder if the man ever relaxed.
Rhonda walked toward us, followed by Consuela carrying a tray of drinks and snacks.
Bernie stood as they approached.
“Bernie, I’d like you to meet Consuela,” Rhonda said. “She and her husband Manny have been with me since my ex and I bought The Beach House before Ann and I converted it to a hotel. Consuela is a whiz in the kitchen, and her husband is well…my Manny around the house.” Rhonda let out a raucous laugh.
Bernie’s mustache twitched and a glint of humor lit his eyes.
At the sight, I filled with relief. Rhonda was Rhonda, and though it had taken me a while to get used to her ways, I loved her and her carefree manner.
Bernie sat down and watched as Consuela placed the drinks before us and set a plate of cookies and a bowl of nuts on the table. “Thank you, Consuela,” he said, smiling at her.
She left us, and Rhonda described how the kitchen staff had grown after hiring Jean-Luc Rodin as chef to prepare evening and some luncheon meals, along with his sous-chef, Carl Lamond.
“It continues to be a growing operation,” I said. “The locals like to come to the hotel to dine and hold special events, and we’ve encouraged them to do so.”
“Yes, I’ve read all about dinner at The Beach House Hotel. You’ve got a fine operation,” Bernie said. He slipped a cookie crumb to Trudy, who wagged her tail in appreciation.
“C’mon, let’s show you around the place. I think you’re gonna like it,” said Rhonda, rising to her feet.
I smiled. Rhonda was as proud of the hotel as I was.
Inside, we explained how we’d configured rooms downstairs for the small, discreet, private meetings our VIP guests demanded. Bernie nodded with approval at the small dining room where senators and other government officials sometimes met and where guests could entertain and dine alone.
As we continued our tour, Bernie asked discerning questions about the property, guest services we offered, staffing issues, and other aspects of the hotel operation. I knew then he was truly interested.
By the time we’d shown him the entire hotel, including the Presidential Suite, the Bridal Suite, and a few typical guest rooms, Bernie seemed as excited as a reserved man like him could show.
“Well, whaddya think?” said Rhonda as we led Bernie to our office.
“You’ve got a very impressive operation here. I’m sure I can be of help to you.”
The three of us sat at the small conference table in the office. After going over his résumé, probing his past experiences, and discussing his management approaches, Rhonda and I shared hidden smiles.
I checked my watch. “I realize you have another appointment. Thank you so much for coming here, Bernie.” I rose and shook his hand. “It’s been a very productive meeting. We’ll get back to you as soon as we can. As we have told you and others, as part of the compensation package, any general manager we hire will be given the use of the small house on the property for his residence.”
“That’s very nice.” He shook hands with Rhonda and smiled at both of us. “Thank you for your time. I’m sincerely interested in this position and would love to have the opportunity to work with you.”
We accompanied Bernie and Trudy to the front entrance of the hotel, where we made arrangements for the limo to drive him downtown.
Standing on the steps of the hotel, watching his departure, I turned to Rhonda. “Well?”
Rhonda shrugged. “He’s a little uptight, but I think we can get Bernie to loosen up. He’s the best of the lot, Annie. His references are excellent, and his résumé is outta sight. Let’s take a chance on him.”
“Okay. Him and Trudy,” I said, smiling. With Rhonda’s baby due and our busy season upon us, we needed help. I just hoped by bringing Bernhard Bruner into the mix, we weren’t about to make a horrible mistake. We’d made a few along the way.
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