Checking Inn by Emily Harper

that clashed,” he shrugs.
    “I’m afraid you’re going to need to be more specific than that, Mr. Sanders,” Ben says.
    “I’m afraid that’s all I am able to say about the matter,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
    I see Ben’s jaw tighten, obviously not pleased with the information a civilian can obtain, and I try to think quickly.
    “Mr. Sanders, we appreciate that this is a delicate matter.  Because we are from similar industries I can appreciate the different personalities involved in the critiquing business.  But we came here to write a story.  Now, we can either ask around, perhaps talk to some of your clients, or some of your competitors, maybe even get Samantha Manning’s side of the story. Or, we can extend you the professional courtesy of your company only being noted as one of her previous employers and hear your version of the story.”
    At his continued silence, I smile and pick up my bag.  “There’s one ‘A’ in Sanders, right?  I just want to make sure I get it write for the headline.”
    “Alright, alright,” he says and leans forward.  “I’ll tell you, but if I do, I have your word that we are kept out of the article, right?”
    Ben leans forward as I nod.
    “Samantha is a bitch, if you want me to put it bluntly.  She goes around pissing the wrong people off all the time, and doesn’t appreciate that those same people she is trampling all over are the ones that are funding our business.”
    “What do you mean, funding the business?”
    “We like to call them ‘gifts from appreciative clients’.”
    “You mean cut backs for five star reviews?” I ask.
    “Don’t look so surprised, everyone does it,” he says. 
    I wonder how much my scented hands soaps and chocolates would have got me.
    “Samantha had just wrote a scathing review for one of our clients who was willing to fund our project for the entire year, but she wouldn’t listen to reason,” he says, shaking his head.  “I told her she was fired, and if I saw she had it printed somewhere else I would sue her for breach of contract.”
    “Who was the client?” Ben asks.
    “No,” he says shaking his head.  “No names.”
    “What do you mean by breach of contract?” I ask.
    “All my reviewers sign a contract when they start working here: any review written during their employment is owned by the company, and it is at our discretion whether we choose to print it or not.”
    “So, you print the reviews from people who give you money, and those who can’t afford it get… what?”  I say, rising from my seat.  “Basically it’s a ‘pay up or you’re out of business’ venture you’re running here?”
    Ben rises and puts a hand on my arm.
    “Oh, don’t act so innocent.  We all do it, it’s called  sponsorship ,” he says.    “We print a wide range of reviews.  There are some that do not get the best ratings, but that is not reflected by their lack of sponsorship.  There are times when we write very good reviews for people that do not offer us any compensation.”
    “Yes, but with a sponsorship the reader is made aware it is a paid advertisement,” I argue.  “What you are doing is helping the rich get richer!”
    “We had a deal,” he says, pointing his finger at me.  “None of this goes in your article.”
    “Don’t worry,” I spit out.  “Your name is already in print more than it deserves to be.”
     
    “Well, that was interesting,” Ben says as we get back in the car and drive to Samantha’s apartment.  “I would have liked to see her old office, but it probably wasn’t the right time to ask by the end.”
    “Sorry,” I say, gripping the steering wheel.  “But, do you know how hard I worked to make sure everything was perfect for that review?  I had a bikini wax for that woman!” 
    Well, half of one.
    Ben raises his eyebrows, but thankfully says nothing.
    “And you want to know what the worst part is? I actually kind of  admire  her for getting