Patricia typed for a few seconds. “Nothing is coming up.”
“It should have been booked directly through the corporate office,” Ethan explained calmly. “Could you check the executive block?”
Patricia let out a heavy sigh. “Sir, we are completely booked tonight. There is a massive corporate gala in the grand ballroom, and we have zero vacancies.”
Ethan carefully adjusted Lily’s weight on his shoulder. The little girl murmured something in her sleep, burying her face deeper into his neck.
“I understand you’re busy,” Ethan said. “But we’ve had a very long travel day. My daughter needs a bed. If you could look a little closer, I’d deeply appreciate it.”
Karla let out a sharp, barely audible laugh. “People always show up thinking that if they push hard enough, a luxury suite will just magically open up for them.”
Patricia didn’t correct her colleague. “You can try one of the budget inns closer to the highway,” she added dismissively. “You might have better luck there.”
Ethan looked at her with a calm that shouldn’t have been mistaken for weakness. It was total restraint. What neither woman knew was that he wasn’t just any guest.
The Grand Regent Hotel belonged to him.
It was one of seven flagship properties owned by the hospitality group Ethan had built from the ground up over eleven years—before Sarah got sick, before Lily learned to ask why Mommy couldn’t come back down from heaven.
Ethan never announced his visits to his hotels. He dressed plainly, arrived alone, and simply observed. He always said that corporate reports showed you numbers, but the way staff treated a total stranger showed you their true character.
“Can I speak with the general manager?” he asked.
Patricia’s face hardened. “The general manager is occupied. I am not going to disturb him just because you can’t find your booking.”
Right then, a woman in her mid-50s stepped out from a side service door, carrying a stack of fresh white towels. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and pulled back into a simple braid, and she wore the maroon vest of the housekeeping staff. Her nametag read: Lupita.
