Page 12 of Accidental Getaway

After cleaning my wound and my pride, I’m sitting in the conference room waiting for Niko.

I made my way to my room to take a shower the moment we entered the hotel, and by the time I was done, Alexander was knocking on the door with steroid creams, bandages, and pain killers.

Apparently sent by Niko. He’s either still trying to apologize or at least show the full-service quality of his hotel.

Either way, I want to run away from the special attention.

I’ve been over and over the presentation Amber sent me and can recite it word for word. I know every stat, every figure, every marketing plan.

I’m wearing the dress I found at the thrift shop, the floral cotton that rests just past my knees with a modest V-neck.

I start to flip through the materials again for the sake of keeping my hands busy. There’s a giant spread of fruits, pastries, and cheeses on the conference room table, and it’s making me a little nervous. I know it’s just supposed to be Niko and I at this meeting, so who is all the food for?

“There she is. ”

Niko has entered the room and is striding toward me, a confident smile on his face. His sleeves are rolled up on his forearms, and he has one hand casually in his pocket. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s great!” My voice is loud and a bit too enthusiastic. I can still feel a bit of an ache, but it’s definitely improved. “I mean, not great, obviously, but I’m doing much better.” I fumble over my words. “Are we waiting for anyone else?”

Niko looks confused and I gesture to the all the food.

“Oh, that,” he says with another smile. “No, I just thought I would have the kitchen provide us with a sampling for you. I’m trying to get the chef to embrace more traditional fare. It was a fusion kitchen under the previous owners.”

This is all for us? My eyes almost bug out of my head.

Niko grabs two plates from the end of the table. “Let’s dig in!”

Hesitantly, I grab a few pieces of fruit and some sort of pastry. I try not to overload my plate, for fear of looking greedy. But the food looks irresistible—like everything else on this island.

Niko piles his plate full before taking a seat at one corner of the oval table. He then pulls out the chair next to him for me. Not across. Not a few chairs down. Right next to him. I take the seat he offers, slowly, making sure I don’t brush against him. I set my plate on the table and ignore it.

“I know you’ve spoken with Amber, but I wanted to first take some time to introduce Aspen Sky Marketing,” I start. “We’re a small boutique marketing firm based in Colorado and mostly focus on independently owned small-to-medium resorts and hotels.”

My voice is unusually high and a bit twangy. I always sound like a sorority girl on helium when I’m nervous. My fingers are shaking, and I swear, I can feel sweat stains already permeating my dress. I should have worn a sweater .

Niko sucks on a piece of melon so I continue despite feeling out of breath already.

“I would love to learn more about your hotel and show you some recent campaigns that might match your needs in the US market.”

I need to focus on what Amber would do. She said he wants to be hands-on, so I’m hoping he will guide the discussion.

Niko sits up in his chair and leans toward me, gesturing at my plate and picking up the pastry. “First, you need to eat. Here, try the baklava. It’s the best you’ve ever had, I promise. You just need to try it.”

I really don’t want to eat in front of him—this close in front of him, especially—but if taking a bite of baklava will get him to move on, I’ll do it.

I take a diamond-shaped pastry from Niko’s outstretched hand. It’s golden brown with little pistachio bits on the crust. I try to take a small, polite bite.

The warm pastry hits my tongue, lighting up about a thousand taste buds.

It’s gooey, slightly crunchy, and so sweet that it makes my eyes widen.

I pull the remaining baklava away from my mouth, sending a cascade of flaky pastry all over my dress.

I move to apologize, but the sticky liquid gold has my mouth glued shut.

All I can do is mumble a “Mm-hmm” while brushing off crumbs.

I should be embarrassed. I set aside any and all embarrassment to finish the baklava first. Like right now. Crumbs or no crumbs. It’s that good.

“See! Was I right?” Niko asks when I shove the rest of it in my mouth.

I nod vigorously until I finish chewing. “It is, definitely.”

I make a mental note to find more as soon as I’m out of this meeting.

But I’m not here to eat, at least, not right now.

I’m here to bring in a client. I leaf through my portfolio, ready to capitalize on the food conversation.

“You know, I have a few campaigns here that center around food and restaurants.”

I find the campaign we created for a hotel in Northern California last year; the chef would get fresh seafood from the docks every morning before setting the day’s menu. But Niko waves me off.

“No, no business yet. You have to try these apricots. They are perfect this time of year,” Niko says, passing me an apricot with one hand while biting into his own fruit with the other.

I sit stunned holding the apricot. Is he serious right now?

But the juice dribbling down his chin tells me that he is absolutely serious.

I have never had a meeting like this.

I take a small bite, holding my apricot in a napkin so it doesn’t drip down my dress like the pastry flakes.

I’ve only ever had dried apricots at my grandma’s house.

This is an entirely different experience.

Rather than tough and leathery, fresh apricot tastes and feels more like a peach but with hints of cinnamon and honey.

It might even be better than the baklava, if that’s possible.

“Wasn’t that good? Maybe not as good as the baklava, but delectable in its own right,” Niko declares, reading my mind.

“It’s so sweet and juicy,” I respond. But can we please focus on the task at hand?

I didn’t rehearse this with Amber fifty times over the last week for nothing.

“Why don’t you tell me a bit more about the Omorfiá Hotel?

I always find that getting to the heart of the business helps to create meaningful and successful campaigns. ”

Niko stands, carrying his plate. “Perfect idea! Let me take you on a tour of the property. I’ll show you the changes I’m making to the hotel, and you can tell me about yourself. Bring your plate, but we’ll come back for more food later.”

Well, it’s a start. I grab my plate and leave the materials on the table .

“Let’s start downstairs.” Niko leads me to the door, and we take the stairs down to the lobby. While we walk, Niko angles himself to face me.

“So, Jenni, tell me about yourself. What are your interests? How did you end up here?”

Me? Why me? I don’t matter here. Niko matters. Aspen Sky matters. Amber matters. And I ended up here on accident after volunteering for what I thought was one thing and then ended up way over my head in something else. I don’t unload that on him, though.

“Well, I’m from Colorado. I’ve worked at Aspen Sky for about a year. I had actually offered to step in when Amber couldn’t travel, so here I am. That’s probably all you need to know about me!”

My voice is getting dangerously high again. Let’s just get to the tour, please . As I wring my hands together, I know I am a thousand times more comfortable talking about the hotel than I am talking about myself.

“I disagree.” Niko smiles and cocks his head. “I know I look like a boring business guy, but numbers and portfolios are secondary to me. I want to make sure we connect on a value level—on what makes you, you.”

Niko looks nothing like a boring business guy to me. He’s too casual, relaxed, and tan. Way too tan.

There are a thousand ways I imagined this meeting going.

A thousand ways for Niko to tell me I wasn’t good enough or for Amber to say I failed her.

But this—being forced to talk about myself—was not remotely on my radar.

And values? That’s how I got in trouble in Chicago.

I stuck too strongly to my values when they clearly weren’t shared by the client.

I’m going to have to be very careful here.

“All that to say,” Niko continues. “I’m sure your portfolio is great. I wouldn’t have asked Amber to come if I didn’t think Aspen Sky was a competitive marketing agency. I’m less concerned about that than making sure we understand each other and the hotel.”

What if this is some sort of catch? Some sort of test or trap? Am I supposed to keep pushing the work stuff? Is he trying to make sure we will stay 100 percent focused for him? Nothing in my cramming prepared me for this.

“What else is there to know about you?” he asks with a smile, leading me into a large room off the lobby.

“Well, I like to hike. And camp. I spend as much of my free time outdoors as possible.”

“I bet you love living in Colorado then. I hear the Rockies are amazing,” Niko says, stopping once we’re inside. “The mountains, not the baseball team—as we’ve already discussed.”

His laugh puts me at ease. He isn’t Malcolm. This isn’t Chicago. I don’t need to panic. Yet.

“This is our event space.” Niko gestures to the room. “We can host small weddings, parties, banquets—you name it. My favorite thing about this space is that when we’re not holding an event, my team partners with local artists to showcase their work. No gallery fee, of course.”

I look around the room and notice the variety of artwork from landscape photography to still paintings. This would make such a cool thing to highlight in our marketing efforts. Local artisan work that you can’t see or get anywhere else. People always a love a good “supporting locals” campaign.

“Wow, that’s amazing. What a cool way to integrate into the community,” I say. “Do you have a favorite piece?”