Page 8 of Room for Improvement

I’m going to have to avoid his calls and ignore his emails for as long as I can.

Bryce would keep pretending he was in London on business. He didn’t want to guess as to how long his flimsy ruse would hold. In the hotel business everyone knew everyone. It wouldn’t be long before someone from the Royal Resort Edinburgh let slip that Bryce was supposed to be in London. And if Jordan happened to call the London office, he would quickly discover that no one in the London office knew where Bryce was either. His brother would become more curious. Then he would start asking questions.

When Jordan finds out the truth—that I lied to him—there will be hell to pay.

The Royal brothers valued loyalty above all else. In this case, betrayal even came with a pretty swinging price tag. A failing resort worth a billion dollars. As for their father’s trust, that was priceless.

He was going to California. With a five and a half hour flight across country ahead of him, Bryce’s day had transformed into another unexpectedly long one. “I had better get going. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

His father quickly crossed the floor and wrapped him up in a hug. Unlike their first embrace, Bryce was reluctant to accept this affection. He felt dirty at what he was being tasked to do, going behind his brother’s back went against the bonds of family.

Edward’s arms held the embrace of not only his love for his eldest son, but also his trust. The unspoken plea that he was relying on Bryce to come through for him.

“When you return, we should organize a family dinner. I will make sure Matthew is back in town. Your mother will like that, and it will put me back in the good books with her.”

Matthew Royal, the youngest of Bryce’s siblings, was currently in Colorado working on another pending Royal Resort purchase. Over the past few months, Bryce and Matthew had talked at length via Zoom over the proposal to buy a run down, abandoned resort in Aspen. Unlike Jordan, Matthew was more than happy to ask for Bryce’s advice.

Releasing Bryce from his embrace, Edward took a step back. He shook his head. “Your mother is annoyed that I am sending you to California without telling anyone that you are back here in the States. She understands my reasoning, but she is still not happy that I have placed you in the middle of this disaster. She is also angry at me for putting you and your brother at possible odds.”

Understatement of the year. Thanks for the vote of support, Mom.

Bryce was glad to hear his mother understood the impact that today might have on the family. It could well cause a rift that may never heal.

The sooner he went out to the West Coast, saw the resort for himself, got a first-hand understanding of things, the better. After that he would take the time to sit down with Jordan and try to talk things out. He could only pray that his brother would understand the impossible situation Bryce had been put in by their father.

He dreaded having that conversation with Jordan. Knowing his younger brother, it wouldn’t be a sweet little tète-a-tète, more like a knock down, rough as hell bar fight. Patience had never been one of Jordan’s virtues. Bryce had a horrible suspicion that his hot headed nature was part of the reason why the California venture was running off the rails. Reformed bad boys still had a tendency to walk away from their problems rather than deal with them.

“I have to go, Dad. Give Mom my love. I’ll report back on my findings as soon as I can.”

“I will. And thank you.”

Bryce headed for the door. California and a billion dollar problem awaited him.

CHAPTERFOUR

JFK Airport

Tuesday 8am

At least it’s not the holidays or spring break. The queue could be worse.

Vivian repeated her personal airport refrain as she pushed her suitcase forward a half foot, then stopped. The check in line was moving, slowly, but she was making progress.

“I bet Vogue doesn’t make their people fly coach,” she muttered. She’d seen the movies, the people who worked for the glamorous magazines were always seated in First Class and got use of the business lounges at airports. They were also immaculately dressed and arrived at their destination looking nothing short of fabulous. The food stain on the front of her hoodie had only caught her eye a few minutes ago. No one would ever have her marked as a reviewer for a glossy travel magazine.

Hollywood had its idea of how magazine reviewers and contributors dressed and travelled. It was a pity that the truth was a lot less fancy. It was also a good deal more smelly, cramped, and uncomfortable. There were bags and people everywhere in the crowded terminal at JFK.

The man behind her clearly didn’t understand the meaning of the word personal space. If he got any closer, she was going to invoke her citizen’s right to bear arms. Her sharp elbow would be moving back at a fast rate, and there would be but a scant apology when she connected with his stomach.

All I want is to offload my suitcase and go find a sweet beverage. And a bagel.

The thought of cream cheese and lox had her stomach rumbling. She could deal with jam-packed airports and cheap flights, but Vivian drew the line at airline food. She didn’t need to read all the clickbait posts on social media about how terrible the catering was on planes, or how long the coffee sat in the pots. Years of flying had taught her the undeniable truth.

And whoever thought a piece of plastic cheese and a thin slice of oversalted ham slapped between two hard crusty slices of bread constituted a toasted sandwich should go and hang their head in shame. She could never understand why the inflight menu paid more attention to its weird Spotify playlist and origins of this month’s guest chef rather than the actual food it intended to serve the paying customer. A pleasant smile and an accompanying ‘no, thank you’ was her first response to the flight attendant whenever they stopped the meal trolley at her row.

The line moved forward to the accompanying tune of the shuffle of bags and frustrated sighs from her fellow travellers. Vivian quietly smiled to herself. There was a game she liked to play at the airport. It involved spotting the passenger who was attempting to carry the strangest thing on board a plane with them. This year’s current front runner for the gold medal was a lady who not only brought a bread making machine with her, but successfully argued that the TSA permitted such items. After a good deal of to and fro at the check in counter, she won. Vivian had quietly applauded both the audacity and the sheer lunacy of deciding that taking a bread maker on holiday was a good idea.

Her all-time favorite. The G.O.A.T. of all travellers was the guy who talked a major airline into letting him bring a disassembled trampoline into the plane’s cabin. This legend wasn’t just hauling one of those new round ones either, no, he had gone for the old school rectangular model with the long enclosure poles. Vivian still chuckled recalling the stupefied looks on the faces of the flight crew as the passenger slid the poles along the floor. Then taking his First Class seat, promptly asked for a glass of wine and a charcuterie platter. Vivian hadn’t had the opportunity to see what was on the fancy cheese and cold meats plate the gentleman ordered, rather she had kept on heading down to the back of the plane, to her seat in coach.