Brother to the Boss: Billionaire Romance (Managing the Bosses Series Book 8) (3 page)

“We’ve got a problem.”

Mark turned around to face his kitchen manager, who was standing with a clipboard in both hands, looking harried.

He sighed inwardly, and forced a smile onto his face. “What can I help you with, Michael?”

“The produce shipment is late. We’ve got fifteen reservations for dinner tonight, and no potatoes for the special.”

“So change the special,” Mark said, moving past the tall, balding man and toward the kitchens so he could get up to his room and change before the news crew arrived.

“We can’t just change the special,” Michael sputtered as he followed. “We’ve already announced the menu for the night. That’s what people are going to be expecting.”

“Have you called the delivery company and yelled at them yet?” Mark asked.

“Tried that, Mr. Reid. It’s not their fault. The truck blew a tire coming into Jersey. They’re going to try to transfer the shipment, but there’s no guarantee that they’ll get it to use in time for the chef to add it to the dinner prep.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair and wondered again why he’d talked himself into running a business. “Okay,” he said. “Send someone out to get the potatoes, then. There has to be somewhere in the vicinity of New York City that has what we need. If you have to, hit up two or three places. I’ll pay for the gas, and a bonus for whoever makes the trip.”

When he turned Michael was looking at him like he was crazy, but nodded and scurried off, undoubtedly to try to recruit some of the busboys to make the drive so that he didn’t have to. Mark didn’t see what was so difficult about just going out and picking up potatoes, even if you did need a hundred pounds of them. Shaking his head, he took the stairs up to his room two at a time, and practically threw himself into the shower.

When he’d agreed to have the news crew come to report on Little Lake Country Club he had expected it to go more smoothly, but the potatoes weren’t the first problem they’d had. It seemed like the minute someone was going to be watching, things that had been running perfectly fell to pieces. Go figure. Now, they had an hour to finish getting everything ready, and Mark wasn’t in his ‘high society country club owner’ suit yet.

Thank goodness for Erica, honestly. Without her, he was pretty sure the place would be a shambles after the day they’d had, but she was always right where he needed her to be, and had an innate sense for what needed to be done to whip things into shape.

If he’d had more time, Mark might have stopped to linger on other things he liked about Erica. Like the way she’d looked in his bed that morning. But those thoughts would lead to places that he shouldn’t be going with an hour to finish getting ready, and so Mark reluctantly turned his considerations to everything else that needed to be prepped for the evening, and kept his shower short.

A few minutes later, dressed in a well-fitted suit, he made his way back downstairs, careful to avoid anyone carrying a tray of food. Getting a mess on his suit was not something he wanted to deal with.

“Potatoes dealt with?” he asked as he passed Michael in the kitchen, and the manager nodded. “Good.”

He headed out into the main part of the clubhouse, looking over the big room in the front where the guests gathered, and sticking his head into the ballroom. Everything looked immaculate. The cleaning staff had done an excellent job. From there, it was onto the green to see if all of the trainers had arrived and knew their roles. There were a few guests moving through the course, and Mark knew by the time the news crew arrived the early evening crowd would have finished filtering in, so there would be plenty of people for the camera to see. In fact, he’d specifically called in a few of his wealthier regulars to make sure that people saw just who played golf at Little Lake.

The first news story about the club had been just a blurb, more because Alex was famous than because he was. ‘Billionaire’s Brother Opens a Country Club’, or something. But this time the story was about Mark and his business, and he had every intention of making sure that it was not only favorable, but glowing.

“You look like you’re drawing up a plan to take over the world,” Erica said, stepping away from a group she’d been chatting with to stand just a little too close to him for propriety.

“Just thinking about the news piece they’re going to run on us,” Mark said, answering her smile with one of his own. “So I guess something like that, yeah.”

“Oh, I see,” she laughed. “Well, I’m sure it’s going to be great. Before you know it we’ll be overrun with members.”

“You’ve got more faith in the press than I do,” Mark said. “The way they’ve treated Alex hasn’t really inspired much belief in their sense of fair play, or their honesty.”

“You’re being approached by the golf channel, not a gossip rag,” Erica said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s a totally different thing. Trust me, this is going to be just what the country club needs to really take off.”

Mark looked down at her, eyebrows lifting. “When did you become such an optimist?” he demanded, only half teasing.

“When I caught you,” she answered.

Before he could say anything about it she was gone, sauntering back to the guests she’d been instructing, and Mark watched the sway of her hips with longing. The news crew would hopefully be quick about their business, because he had business of his own he wanted to take care of. As soon as possible.

“Mr. Reid,” a young man’s voice said over his shoulder, and Mark dragged his eyes away from Erica’s backside to find one of the caddies waiting for his attention. “They want you up at the clubhouse. The news crew just pulled in.”

“Thank you, Derrick,” Mark said, immediately starting up the slope toward the building at the top.

This was it. Go time.

He made it up to the clubhouse and in through a side door in time to welcome the reporter and his crew in through the main foyer. Already the cameras were rolling, and he felt a little self-conscious in their glare, but he reminded himself that Alex would know exactly what to say in a situation like this one, and that if his brother could do it, he could, too. They were going to see nothing but confidence in this interview.

“Welcome to Little Lake Country Club,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand to the reporter. “I’m Mark Reid, owner of the establishment.”

“Mr. Reid,” the reporter said. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Jason. We’re so glad to be here at your club, and can’t wait to take a look around.”

“Happy to hear it. And just as happy to take you on a tour, if you’re ready?”

“Ready and willing,” Jason answered, and gave Mark the kind of smile that newscasters always seemed to have: wide and white and full of very straight teeth.

“Fantastic,” Mark said. “If you’ll just follow me this way I can give you a tour of the clubhouse, and then we’ll head out onto the green and let you get a look at that, if that sounds good?”

“Sounds like a plan,” the newscaster said.

Mark led him through the foyer, and into the big room with the couches and the fireplace that would probably be more popular in winter and the fast-approaching autumn than it was now. He didn’t, of course, say that to the news people. Even so, there were a few patrons scattered across the indulgently padded leather furniture, with glasses of wine or tumblers of whiskey in their hands. Mark nodded to all of them, and they all professionally ignored the news crew, probably more than used to seeing the paparazzi hanging around.

From there, Mark took them into the ballroom with its sleek wooden floors and crystal chandeliers. “This room, like the rest of the clubhouse, will be available to reserve for weddings or parties,” he said as they stepped inside. “And of course we’ll hold some of our own events here, particularly as the weather outdoors becomes colder. And right through here,” he continued, “is the restaurant.”

It was as well-furnished as the rest of the place, with heavy tables of dark wood and comfortable chairs. A fully-stocked bar sat against one end of the room, just past the door they’d come in through, and on the opposite side was a patio that overlooked the golf course. He watched the camera pan, getting a full view of the room and the patrons already being seated for dinner. They were still only half full, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when you were catering to the rich and the famous. They did like exclusivity.

“Upstairs,” he told the news crew, “there are suites for private conferences, bridal parties, and the like, as well as my own rooms.”

“You live here, then?” Jason asked, turning to look at him.

“What better place to live?” Mark answered. It was something he’d already planned to say, and was pleased to have an opening for. “I’ve got peace and quiet, beautiful views, and easy access to a well-staffed restaurant and bar. All the amenities a man could want.”

Jason laughed, though Mark wasn’t entirely sure that he was sincere about it. Then they started out toward the patio.

“You weren’t kidding about that view,” the newscaster said when they were standing on the edge of the flagstones, looking down the slope at the green stretching below and the trees that framed it.

“There are walking trails through those woods,” Mark said. “All well-lit and maintained, of course, and we have our own small vineyard on the south side of the building.”

“What can you tell us about the course itself?” Jason asked, starting down the path toward the driving range and the first hole.

“Some of the course was already as is when we purchased the property,” Mark said. “I did have a fairly large portion of it reworked to give our guests something a little more interesting than the original run, and we gave the rest of it a bit of a face-lift so that it matched the newer areas.”

They were down closer to the start of the course now, and could more clearly see the people out on the parts of it that were visible from their angle. It was a big course, and there were sections of trees and little hills and dips that hid some of the players. To their left was the driving range, where Erica and a couple of the other pro golfers were giving lessons. Mark led the news crew in that direction.

“This, of course, is the driving range. I have several trainers on staff, all of them excellent.”

Erica broke away from the man she was teaching and approached them, smiling at Mark.

“Erica,” Mark said. “My most senior trainer.”

She turned her smile on the camera, and Mark watched it work its magic. He hid a smile of his own. Looking smug before the interview had even ended would probably annoy people. But he did have kind of a lot to look smug about; he knew how nice a place he had. And how fantastic an employee.

“How do you like working at Little Lake, Erica?” Jason was asking when Mark pulled his attention back to them.

He was smiling almost too wide at her. She smiled sweetly back, ignoring his all too obvious interest.

“It’s my dream job,” she said, standing in front of the camera in her perfectly fitted pastel top and black skirt, her long blond hair tied back from her face in a tail. She looked like every rich golfer’s fantasy. “I’ve worked as a trainer at plenty of golf clubs, but Little Lake is absolutely the best.”

“You sound pretty emphatic about that,” Jason laughed. “What do you say to people who say that you’re biased? Are you saying that for a paycheck, or because you mean it?”

“I never say anything I don’t mean,” Erica said, and this time she wasn’t smiling. “Not for a paycheck or anything else. If I didn’t like Little Lake, I wouldn’t have stayed. But I have a fantastic boss here, and a beautiful workplace.” Her mouth turned up at the corners again. “Not to mention some really good food. What’s not to like?”

From out of the camera’s view, Mark gave her a smile that he hoped didn’t look as dopey as it felt on his face. He also hoped the news crew didn’t see, because he was pretty sure it made his attraction to her painfully obvious.

“Why, indeed?” Jason asked, and the camera panned away from her.

Mark straightened as it returned to him, and gave it a more professional smile.

“Anything else that you’d like to see, Jason?”

The newscaster shook his head. “Not if you have other places to be, Mr. Reid. We’ll shoot some B-roll, but you’re welcome to head back to your duties if that’s better for you.”

“You ought to stay and have dinner, if you have the time,” Mark said. “On me.”

He saw them exchanging glances, and Jason looked down at his watch. When he looked up, his smile was more genuine than the cheesy thing he’d worn for the camera.

“That actually sounds great, Mr. Reid. I definitely have to try this food I’ve been hearing all about. We’ll do the rest of our shoot while the light is still good, and then we’ll come up to the clubhouse.”

“See you then,” Mark said.

They turned and wandered away, obviously going to find a good backdrop for Jason’s opening and closing statements about the club, and as soon as they were out of earshot Mark slumped with relief.

“Glad it’s over?” Erica asked, her voice amused.

“So glad,” Mark said. “I get that it’s good for the club, but I’m not sure how Alex deals with the press on a regular basis. Keeping up the mask of perfection for that long is exhausting.”

She reached out and rested a hand on his bicep. “You did great, Mark. Trust me. This is going to bring in a lot of people.”