Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
While my assistant brings more people onto our call, I bring up Instagram and go to Crompton’s page. When I see a new image on the grid, my heart thuds against my chest.
Over what? It’s a damn photograph.
But I know who took the picture. And besides, it’s beautiful, with the red brick of the house lit up in the dark and trees shadowing the background. Kate’s got a talent, whether she knows it or not.
I click on the comments and add, “Beautiful.” Part of me hopes she smiles when she sees it. Another part of me wants her to know it’s me who posted it.
Before I look away, I get a notification. She’s liked my message.
Kate’s online now. I wonder if she’s at the café, show tunes in the background, checking her phone between customers. I think about her pink striped uniform and sliding my hands under its skirt, my skin against hers, again.
Another notification appears. I have a message. It must be her. Right? My heart picks up speed and I click on it.
Yup. Just as I thought.
“I’m so pleased you like the images of Crompton. Have you visited?”
It’s like adrenaline has been poured into my veins and I can feel it racing to my heart.
Does she message everyone who comments on her photos?
I glance up at the screen. People are muted while we wait for additional team members to arrive. I stand and move away. I’m not sure if I’m hiding or if I want privacy. For what? Am I going to message her back?
“Sure,” I reply. “I loved it.” So much, I’m going to buy the place, I don’t say.
“It’s a very special place,” she replies. “I’ve lived on the estate since I was seven years old. There’s nowhere else I’d want to call home.”
The adrenaline turns to ice and I press the button on the side of my phone, turning the screen black. She lives on the estate? She must be in one of the staff cottages. The ones that I’m planning to turn into additional accommodation if I buy the place. She’s going to be forced to call somewhere else home.
I close my eyes, trying to push down that familiar feeling of dread that swirls in my stomach from time to time. She’ll be fine. We’ll figure something out. Something just as good as the place she’s in at the moment. I’ll make sure of it.
I take my seat. Back to business.
“So,” I say, “if we want at least four-fifty square feet in each standard room, where does that leave us?”
Peter, who I’ve brought on board to advise me about hotels, chips in. “We want between fifteen to seventeen percent of the rooms to be suites, with floor space of between ninety and one hundred and thirty square meters. The outlier is the Royal Suite, which should be about two-twenty. If we take the suites out, how many standard rooms does that leave us with?”
He’s asking the architect, who starts lifting the drawings she has in front of her. “Taking out the suites would leave one hundred and twenty two standard and executive rooms. Plus the rooms in the converted staff cottages.”
That was the answer Jason and I were hoping for. Jason’s tell is he doesn’t react at all if he gets the answer he wants. He learned it from me.
“So one hundred and thirty-three rooms in total,” Jason says.
I know he’s done the math, and at that number, the house is viable as a business. We just need to know what I can offer the earl, which depends on building and refurb costs.
Jasons speaks again. “Preston and Frank, you can give us your numbers now that you have number of rooms, right?”
“I can give you a range,” Preston, the designer, says.
“I don’t want a range,” I interrupt. “You know how many rooms. You know how many beds to buy. I want you to tell me budget requirements.”
I find people can do things even they don’t think they can. You just have to push them in order to find their real limits. People will never work at their boundaries or beyond them if they don’t have to.
After additional discussions, Jason and I get our numbers, and one by one, everyone leaves the meeting until it’s just Jason and I remaining on-screen.
“This is a big investment,” Jason says. “One of your biggest. You’re looking at nine figures.”
“But it works. WACC exceeds twelve percent?”
“It does.”
I hear the caution in his voice. He’s worked for me for far too long for me to be dismissive about it. “Tell me how I get out,” I say. I always need an out. In all my investments I make sure there’s an open door for me to exit when I want to bolt. I’m bound to nothing.
“We can structure it a number of ways. If you want to keep the debt simple, lease before the refurbishments start. Grant a twenty-year lease to the Four Seasons or whoever.”