The next morning, I wake up alone to my alarm. It’s early, the rising sun shining through my windows. We’d forgotten the drapes again. I turn over in bed and find the other side, his side, still faintly warm.
In my living room, I find a folded note resting next to my tea mug from last night. The takeout boxes are gone.
I unfold the little note. Good luck today, sweetheart.
Short and to the point, like most of Isaac’s communication. And then, that endearment again. I don’t even think my boyfriends before Percy called me anything like that. Perhaps they used the occasional “baby,” casually, like an afterthought. But it was never spoken with warmth or deliberation, not a word offered like a caress.
I set the opened note on my dresser. “Thanks,” I say and open the doors to my closet. “I’m going to blow you away today.”
Toby is already at the office when I arrive. His hair is styled to perfection, and when Jenna walks in a few minutes later, she’s in a canary-yellow shirt, tucked into her cigarette-style pants.
They’re both dressed to kill.
“Game day,” Jenna says, looking between us both. “Feel like running it through one more time?”
“Let’s do it twice,” I say, “just to be sure.”
I hit all the points as we rehearse. The technology works flawlessly. I don’t let myself focus on what happened yesterday. Not on the incident at Salt, not on Percy’s declaration, and not the fact that after this pitch, Isaac and I can’t continue seeing one another. Not if the pitch goes well, at any rate.
I only let myself focus on the numbers and the words. A pitch is a performance, and I sink deep into the role. We leave Exciteur with plenty of time to spare and arrive at the Winter Hotel early.
The lobby feels familiar now, and so do a few of the receptionists, who give us all cheery hellos. Andrew takes us up to the second floor and the Winter Corporation’s official offices.
“Showtime,” I murmur to Jenna and Toby. Jenna’s tapping left foot tells me she’s amped, too. Nervous, perhaps, just like I am. But we don’t use that word beforehand. I’ve learned that the line between nerves and excitement is a thin one, and if you tell yourself it’s the latter, you can start to believe it.
Andrew shows us into a room. “The executive team will be here in about ten minutes,” he says. “Let me know if you need any help in setting up.”
Laptops get plugged in and notes pulled up, and I join Toby around the table, distributing the spiral-bound briefs. I breathe in and out—deep, calming breaths—and turn the nerves into excitement.
Just trust me, I think. They need to see the brilliance of this vision. Trust me.
They arrive one by one, the entire team. The last one to enter is Isaac. He takes a seat at the head of the table, and the room steadies with him in it. It quiets, too, the audience awaiting a show. Andrew taps his pen against a notepad twice. “We’re excited to see what you’ve put together for us,” he says.
Isaac nods. “Please go ahead.”
I dive straight in. “We were tasked to deliver a pitch, a vision, for an off-shoot brand from the Winter Corporation. The hotels will be smaller, with a more economically minded price point, and should be easy to franchise across the country in smaller cities. This is already a proven model and has worked brilliantly for other large hotel brands. You’ve been very generous, all of you, with your time and access. The keywords you gave us were traditional, comfortable, and luxurious.
“But,” I say and smile at the group. My stomach is steady now. The nerves have evaporated, replaced with an intense awareness of the moment. “As you may remember, my team and I have also suggested a different direction. Something more modern to set this brand apart from Winter. So, we’ve decided to do something a bit unorthodox. We’ll deliver two pitches.”
Isaac’s eyebrows rise. “You could do that?” he says. “Without skimping on the quality of either one?”
“Yes,” Jenna says. “We took the help of in-house talent at Exciteur to get it done for you in time.”
“I see,” he says. “Well, this will be interesting.”
We start with the traditional pitch. Toby leads it, with Jenna and I assisting. Across the screen graphic projections and calculations flash. The traditional one looks like a less luxurious version of the Winter Hotels in New York and Washington. Fewer columns, perhaps, but with muted gold tones and a logo that strongly resembles the golden W used on the Winter Hotel.
On the last slide, I step up front again. “This is a safe, doable option. It honors the traditional architecture of the Winter and the legacy it represents. It’s a smaller, lesser version of your flagship hotel.”
“But it’s not something you’d recommend,” Isaac says. His eyes are heavy across the conference room.
“No,” I say, “it’s not. It might seem like a safe option, but I think it’s the opposite. It looks dated, and in locations that aren’t historic, it won’t attract the clientele you’re hoping for. Now, you’ve told us that the Winter Hotel stands for luxury, for comfort, and for tradition. But it started because its founders were willing to take significant risks. The decor in your lobby, and the art deco styling around your indoor pool, were at the forefront of architecture when they were built. In my opinion, foresight and risk-taking is the true legacy of the Winter Hotels, and I know it’ll be better honored by a more modern approach.”
There’s silence in the room. This is a gamble. With any other client, and any other company, it might not work. Anticipation hangs thick in the air.
“Well, by all means,” Isaac says, “show us the version you recommend.”
My smile is one of relief. Toby breathes a quiet sigh next to me and moves into position by the laptop, ready to keep the slides moving. I launch into the pitch. This is the one I’ve slaved over, the one I believe in. But more than that, I try to tell a story of modernity and history meeting.
The logo is a W and H interwoven with a pattern that references the art deco decor in the New York location. The mock-ups of interiors our architecture team had put together are sleek and stunning, and easily replicable across the country.
Andrew clears his throat. “In that mock-up, is the check-in desk a replica of the one in this hotel?”
“Yes,” I say. “Just smaller and modernized.”
“It’s stunning,” he says.
We share cost projections, side by side mocks of the websites, the pricing structure, the restaurants we’d recommend in each, along with the keywords we’ve chosen for this sub-brand. Upscale. Modern. Sleek. Comfortable.
Toward the end, we point out which ten cities we’d recommend they start with for the locations, and finally, side by side, we show the results from the focus group tests.
Seventy-five percent preferred the modern look.
“I understand,” I say, “that going in a direction different than what you already know, and what’s worked for the Winter Corporation in the past, is a gamble. But I would argue that a bit of distance between the two brands is great. Both need to stand on their own. Because at the end of the day, you’re catering to two different clienteles with these. Make them too similar, and you’re inviting comparison, and the last thing you want is someone checking into a budget hotel and being disappointed because it’s nothing like the grandness of the Winter Hotel in New York.”
“Fair point,” Amanda says. As the head of Winter’s global division, she must have had this thought, too, only reversed. Ensuring the international five-star resorts are as similar to the New York location as possible so as to not disappoint customers.
The screen behind me goes black.
Pitch over, presentation done.
“All the information has been emailed to you,” I say. “Toby has put together USB sticks, too, with the high-definition plans. We’re available for any and all questions, whether you have them now or in a month.”
The inside of my palms feels sweaty. It’s a relief and the sudden return of the nerves. We’ve done everything we can.
Now it’s up to them to judge us.
Jenna starts to gather up our material.
“Thank you,” Isaac says. He rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket. “This was a detailed and well-researched pitch. We’ll have to look it through further and deliberate, but we’ll get back to you soon. Some of the things you’ve suggested may require another meeting.”
“We’re always available,” I say.
“Great.” He walks around the table and shakes our hands. Toby’s, then Jenna’s, and finally mine. “Good work,” he says. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“That was the goal,” I say.
His lips curve again. It’s slight, only for me, and then his hand releases mine. “You succeeded. Until next time, Miss Bishop.”
“Mr. Winter,” I say.
The team files out. Amanda mouths very impressive our way, and Jenna gives her a wide smile back.
Afterwards, my team goes out to lunch. “Let’s get a glass of wine to celebrate,” Toby says. We’re sitting at a popular lunch spot, the soft sound of others around us eating and talking.
“What are we celebrating, exactly?” Jenna asks. “Winter Corp hasn’t decided if they’re going to buy either concept yet, or if they’re even going to hire Exciteur to oversee and plan the whole thing.”
“No, but we delivered one hell of a pitch,” he says, “and whether or not they like it, they can’t take that away from us.”
“True,” I agree. “I’m so proud of what we did in there. What we put together in just a few weeks. They could hate it, and I still know that we over-delivered.”
“Hell yeah,” Toby says.
Jenna rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Fine, let’s get wine.”
Excitement and exhaustion, and far too many emotions course through my body. It’s the familiar feeling that comes after a nerve-racking event is done and dusted.
I make it all the way through lunch before I excuse myself from the table to make a call. I step outside and find his name in my contact list.
Isaac answers on the second signal.
“Sophia?”
“Hello,” I say. “Are you in a meeting?”
“No, I’m in my office.”
“Great. So, what did you think?”
He sounds amused. “I told you what I thought.”
“No, you gave us a few diplomatic sentences. Tell me what you really thought.”
“You gave me modern,” he says, “even though I’ve told you at every single turn that I don’t want it.”
“Yes. But I did give you two options, you know, just in case.”
“I know, and I appreciate the nominal effort you put into the first pitch.”
“It was more than nominal.”
“Okay,” he says and chuckles. “I believe you. But you still believe most in the second one. Don’t you?”
“Yes. We have to move with the times, you know? Especially if this is a chance for an entirely new sub-franchise. It won’t have the benefit of legacy, not like the Winter’s luxury locations, and trying to artificially cram the same aesthetic into newly built hotels just won’t work.”
“Mm-hmm,” he says. “You’re pitching again.”
“Force of habit. So, did you hate it?”
He sighs. “I think you’re a genius, and that both you and your team are worth every costly cent we’re paying you.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll have to look it over more thoroughly. But I see the point you’re making. I didn’t before, not truly. Now… I’ll have to think about it.”
“Take your time,” I say. “Run it through your own focus groups.”
“Yeah, we might do that, too,” he says, and then he chuckles again. “It’s funny. The first thing I wanted to do after that pitch meeting was discuss it with you.”
I lean against the building. The New York air is colder now, the chill of fall here to stay, and it’s refreshing against my flushed cheeks. “Funny,” I say. “I wanted to talk to you, too.”
“Oh, is that why you called me?”
“Funny,” I say. “You’re just such a comedian.”
“It’s my true calling.”
“So,” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
I clear my throat. “You know, technically, you haven’t made a decision yet, so we’re not really in business together.”
He laughs. It’s warm on the other end, familiar, and a bit private. Not something he shares with just anyone. “That’s true,” he says. “Technically speaking.”
“And I know how much you love technicalities.”
“They’re my favorite.”
I run a hand over a crease in my dress, trying to smooth it out. I’d steamed it just this morning. “Think we can make this two-week thing last a little longer?”
There’s silence on the other end. I wish I could see his face, and hear the way the words sounded when he received them. “We could,” he says. “I’d like that. But yesterday…”
“I’m sorry about yesterday. That wasn’t my best moment.”
“Please don’t apologize.”
“Let’s just avoid places where we know a ton of people.”
“Okay,” he says. “I have a family dinner tonight, but would you let me take you out tomorrow?”
“I have a better idea,” I say. “Come to my place. I want to try cooking.”
He chuckles. “I’ll be of absolutely no help.”
“I know,” I say, “and we might have to order takeout again, but it’ll be an adventure.”
“An adventure,” he repeats, voice warm. “All right. I’ll be there.”
