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"So, it is basically a hotel?" The fat man asked again.
"She just said..." His partner gave up trying to explain anything to the man who was making light of the little meeting they were having.
And Isabella was trying so hard not to get unduly angry. Her free hand kept tugging at the tablecloth, and at the same time, her smile widened. "Yes, it is a hotel. But a vintage kind of hotel."
"Why would anyone want to stay in such a place?"
"The services offered there are like no other, sir. Everything about the hotel is amazing and magical. Our guests always have a good time."
"If it is so magical, why is it failing?" David Maxwell's secretary gasped with shock at the directedness of his boss. Isabella could feel it, the anger, it had made its way to her chest. Her hold on the cloth became fiercer, it shifted off the table.
Caleb placed his hand over hers to placate her.
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