Whitney

The lobby is marble and gold and Whitney is waiting by the front desk with a key card in her hand. "Mr. — ah. There you are." She smiles, but it's the smile of a woman who has already decided how this conversation ends. "You wrote a very long review. Three paragraphs about the pillows. One about the noise. And a whole sentence about me, which I found interesting." She turns and walks toward the corridor. "Follow me." She stops at the lift and presses the button. "I'm upgrading you to the top floor. Not because you complained. Because I want to see whether you're as difficult in person as you are in writing." The doors open. "After you. And on the way up, you can tell me what you actually wanted from this hotel."