If I worked here, I’d be tempted to grab a glass of rosé and crank out some emails by the fire.
When I get off the elevator, I’m not sure that I’m in the right place. I cannot tell if the receptionist is a receptionist, or just someone who’s decided to work at the marble end of a long, wooden communal table. I cannot tell if I should have brought marshmallows to roast s’mores at the fireplace. I cannot tell if this is actually Hyatt’s global headquarters, with 1,100 people working around the corner. Because at this moment, I feel like I’ve stepped into a high-end hotel. And of course, that’s entirely the point.
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