by Nina West
“Shoes. Necklace,” Rachel pipes in with her ideas.
Katie’s nodding with her but still looks perplexed. And then she snaps her finger. “Boobs!” She rifles through her drawer. “You need a bra.”
“I’m wearing a bra.” I frown at myself in the mirror. Does it look like I’m not wearing a bra?
“36D, right?”
“Right.” I’m not going to ask how she knows.
“Here.” She tosses a lacy black bra at me. “It has superpowers. Trust me. Turn around.” I do, and her hands are working to unzip and slip off the top of my dress before unfastening my bra.
I feel both Rachel and Katie’s eyes on me but I put my self-consciousness away and slip my worn white bra off, quickly exchanging it for Katie’s.
“See? Much better!” Katie exclaims when I’m redressed and checking myself in the mirror.
“You’re right.” I can’t explain exactly what is different, because they still look huge next to my slender waist, but something is definitely different.
“Can you handle heels?” Rachel pulls out the pair of heels she was wearing the day she served drinks to Henry and those bigwigs in Lux.
“I can try.” It’s been a while.
Katie throws a silver rope-like necklace around my neck. “How much time do you have?”
I check my phone. “I should probably leave now.”
“You can be a few minutes late, right?” She grabs her cosmetics bag.
The old me—the one who wanted to please my boss—would have said absolutely not.
But I’m guessing my days here are numbered anyway.
“Sure. Why not.”
Chapter Ten
Maybe passive-aggressiveness is my thing, because I arrive at Penthouse Cabin One seventeen minutes late with an odd sense of satisfaction. It doesn’t completely erase the dread, though.
Taking a deep breath, I enter through the service entrance, as usual.
The door that leads into the main cabin is closed. It’s never been closed.
Do I let myself in?
So much for my satisfaction. Now I’m just confused. Henry’s probably pissed at me for being late, but I know he hasn’t left because I hear a low muffled voice. I try pressing my ear against the door but I can’t make out any words.
Setting my things on the desk, I wander over to the restroom to take another good look at myself; at the magic that Rachel and Katie managed to do with twenty minutes.
I hardly recognize myself. With smoky black shadow and thick fringe of black lashes, my hazel eyes look gold. I suck in my cheeks and turn my face from side to side, admiring the contouring. I look older. Twenty-five or twenty-six. They decided to stick with a light gloss on my lips and I’m glad for it because this is already a big change.
And my hair.... They swept it up in this kind of fancy, smooth ponytail. When Rachel started teasing and spraying my roots, I panicked, afraid that they’d cause irreparable damage to my newly colored red hair that I love so much. But they promised it would all wash out and they knew what they were doing.
And they must, because I’ve felt the looks all the way here.
I offer my reflection a sad smile. At least I’ll look good on the outside, even when I’m drowning in agony and disappointment on the inside.
I frown at the sound of the service phone ringing.
Henry’s calling me from the cabin. We’ve never actually used this phone, not even once. I pause, contemplating what to say. Finally I decide on “Hello, Mr. Wolf. How may I be of service to you tonight?”
“Abbi, please come in here.” He hangs up abruptly.
Rolling my eyes and dreading the inevitable, I open the door and step inside.
Henry’s not alone. His father is with him.
“Hello, Miss Mitchell.” At least William Wolf has a smile for me this time, one that doesn’t seem entirely hostile. He’s dressed in a classic tux, complete with black bow tie. His thick head of silver hair is combed back, much like Henry wears his, only he doesn’t have the curly ends. All in all, he’s quite dashing.
No one would ever think he has only three years left to live.
“Hello, sir.” As much as I want to completely ignore Henry, my eyes veer his way anyway, taking in the black-on-black tux he changed into. The coat hangs open to reveal the vest beneath, hugging his body so well. He looks incredible.
And he’s staring at me. His face is impossible to read but his eyes roam over my body, and in them I see that same heated look he always gets right before he starts removing my clothes.
Three times, with Roshana. Three times, I remind myself.
A lump forms in my throat and I peel my eyes away, focusing on William Wolf. “Can I get something for you? A drink, perhaps?”
William Wolf holds up the crystal glass of amber liquid already in his hand, a smirk on his mouth.
Strike one. I offer him a sheepish grin. “Of course, I’m sorry. I somehow missed that. What else can I get for you?”
“I’d like you to tell me what happened in the elevator with my son today.”
Which elevator?
Which son?
“It sounds like Scott behaved offensively with you?”
Oh, right. I clear my throat. “Yes. I’d say so.”
The two men simply stare at me, and I realize they’re waiting for me to elaborate.
“He—” My cheeks flush as I replay Scott’s exact words. “He insisted that Mr. Wolf and I had a more than professional relationship. That, if I didn’t admit to as much, I would not have a job here when he took over the hotel, which would be in a few weeks.”
William Wolf’s brow jumps at that but he says nothing.
“And what did he say? About you?” Henry prods calmly.
“It sounds like he had me investigated. He knew a lot of personal information.” It still makes me want to shiver.
“That must have been shocking for you.”
“Yes, it was. In fact, it was terrifying.”
William Wolf tips his glass back before setting it on the table. “I apologize for my son. He crosses lines when he wants something.”
Again... which son? Because the same could be said for the one standing next to you.
He turns to Henry. “I’ll see you in the ballroom for the photo ops.” His thick brow lifts, communicating something silently. “Keep me informed.”
“As soon as I know for sure.”
What’s going on now?
Mr. Wolf drops a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve done an excellent job with this place. You’ll run Wolf as well as your grandfather and I have.” He drops his voice. “And we’ll sort out that other problem. It was one mistake. We’ve all made them, myself included.”
Henry offers him a curt nod as William turns and walks away, smiling at me on his way past.
The door closes with a thud.
And I have no idea what to say or do now.
Henry pours himself another drink. I open my mouth to warn him against it—he has to give a speech tonight—but I bite my tongue. If he wants to get drunk and make a fool of himself, go right ahead. At least then I won’t be the only fool around here.
“We should probably get going now, so we’re not late.” I begin making my way back to the servants’ quarters to collect my things.
“Abbi.”
My feet falter, but I don’t face him.
He heaves a sigh. “In this job, sometimes I have to say things I don’t mean, and do things I don’t want to do.”
“Oh, you’re saying you didn’t want to sleep with her?”
“Would you please turn around.” There’s that edge to his voice, the one I’ve become familiar with.
I steel myself, and keep my back to him.
“Who exactly are you implying that I’ve fucked?”
A strangled laugh escapes my throat. Implying? Now I do turn around, so I can catch the truth in his eyes, even if he won’t admit to it. “Who do you think! Roshana Mafi. Remember?
The one you insisted should be right next door.”
He says nothing for a long moment, simply staring at me with that intimidating gaze. “Why do you think I fucked Roshana Mafi? Because Scott, my brother who I warned you was a liar and a manipulator, told you so?”
I swallow against the rising lump. I don’t want to get Belinda in trouble by mentioning her assumptions. “Your hands were all over each other today. And my roommate said—”
“Oh, well if Scott and your roommate say so....” An annoyed smirk touches his lips. He hides it behind his glass of scotch.
He still hasn’t admitted to it.
But he also hasn’t denied it. I’d love to hope that means it isn’t true.
I would love to.
“You used me.” I fight the tears threatening.
His brows arch. “And you haven’t used me?”
“No!”
“No? You weren’t desperate to get over your ex-fiancé?”
“This wasn’t about him. I’m—” I cut myself off. Why am I doing this to myself? There’s just no point. “You know, I’m not feeling well. If you don’t need me for—”
“I do need you. You’re my assistant and you’re not bailing on me tonight.” He takes a step forward.
I take five steps backward.
He drains his glass and carefully sets it on the table, his fingers resting on the edges for a long moment as his gaze disappears into thought. “Look, things between us may have gotten out of hand. I’ve been under a lot of pressure, and arrogant enough to think that I could do what I want behind closed doors. It’s made me say and do things I shouldn’t have.” He sighs. “You’re young and inexperienced, and I’ve made a few mistakes with you, and for that, I’m sorry.”
Is that what I am? A few mistakes for Henry?
“I think it’s time I start acting like the man my father thinks I am. At least I can be honest, going forward.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re my assistant and I’m your boss and we should take a step back and focus on that for right now.”
He expects me to just pretend none of this happened? Come in here day in, day out? “I can’t do this. I can’t work for you anymore,” I hear myself say, and the moment the words escape me, I know they’re true. Painful, but true.
Henry levels me with a calm look. “You want to go back to the farm? To your controlling mother and your ex-boyfriend who’s fucking his girlfriend in barns all over town? Go back to, what, baling hay and praying in church and being good-girl Abigail who sells soaps at the bazaar and pines over your lost love? You’ll be miserable.” He has the audacity to smirk. Probably because he’s right and we both know it.
Just thinking about going back to Greenbank has tension cording my neck. “No. I don’t want to go back there.”
“I didn’t think so. So, we’ll just wipe the slate—”
“I can’t work for you.”
He frowns. “Everyone here works for me, Abbi.”
“Move me to Outdoor.” That’s where I was supposed to be to begin with.
“No.” Henry’s denial comes hard and fast.
He doesn’t think I can handle that department. “Fine, then Housekeeping or—”
“No. It’s this job or no job.”
“Why?”
He hesitates. “Because you’re a good assistant, and I need a good assistant. I trust you. And because I’m the boss.”
I grit my jaw against the urge to scream at him. How on earth am I going to show up here every day and pretend that nothing’s happened between us? That he hasn’t hurt me? So now I’m, what, going to trail him around, booking meetings and taking notes, and pretending none of this ever happened?
He’s basically ending things with me a day after he said he wanted us to work out and then fucked around with someone else. I’m not sure which part I’m more upset about.
“I can’t do it.”
“Well, that’s your choice. Either stay on at Wolf Cove as my assistant, or hand in your resignation and go back to Greenbank. It’s up to you, and I expect an answer by tomorrow.” He collects his phone and printed speech. “We should go. We don’t want to be late.”
What are my options here? Run to the cabin now, and I’m guessing the ultimatum he just delivered is off the table. I’ll be on the first ferry home tomorrow morning. Stay and face Henry day in, day out, and pretend that he hasn’t seen me naked, hasn’t kissed me, hasn’t been inside me, hasn’t made me scream out with ecstasy?
Hasn’t lied to me, hasn’t hurt me?
He strolls past me, the smell of his cologne swirling past him in a tantalizing haze, his gaze sliding over my dress. “You look nice tonight.”
For some reason his compliment feels like a slap, and I flinch.
Calm and collected Henry is back. Whatever connection we shared yesterday has been severed with the fine blade of betrayal, and it doesn’t even faze him.
I don’t know what the right choice is. Which choice I’ll regret more. But right now, there’s nothing I can do but follow him toward the door.
He pauses, his hand on the handle. “I’d tell you that I didn’t fuck Roshana, nor do I have any intention of doing so, but it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind about me, and I’m not going to beg you to believe me. I don’t beg.”
He steps out into the cool spring evening, the Alaskan sun buried behind the thick, dark onslaught of storm clouds that spark with lightning and threaten a downpour, his fingers splayed to hold the door open for me.
This time I’m the one who keeps the healthy distance between us as we walk along the path, a good three feet of it.
“Henry!”
I look to my left in time to see Roshana sashaying down the path from her cabin in a flowing one-sleeve dress, her dark skin radiant against the snowy white of the silk material. She’s obviously been at the salon because her blue nails are now tipped with white and her hair is styled smooth and long.
She looks like a bride in that dress.
“Walk with me.” She shuffles her purse to her other arm, freeing her left hand.
Henry doesn’t hesitate to offer her his arm, bending down to lay a kiss on her cheek. “You look ravishing tonight.”
Ravishing. Not simply “nice.”
I fall into step behind them, steeling myself for a lot of pain.
Chapter Eleven
“Not bad for the Alaskan wild, right?”
I peel my vacant stare away from the mingling crowd to acknowledge Rich, the main host from Lux, who has learned how to juggle Henry’s constant dinner reservation changes like a pro, saving my butt more than once. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
“They needed a slave with fine-dining experience. I fit the bill.” He scans me from head to toe. “You clean up well.”
I offer him a weak smile. “Thanks. I had help.”
“Right. I heard the Barbie dolls are back together under one roof again.” A wry smile twists his lips. “Tonight should be interesting.”
I assume he’s talking about Katie and Rachel. Does he know about them? Does everybody? Probably. I guess I’m naïve about that, too. I hadn’t even given thought to what might be going on in the bunk next to me with this unexpected reunion.
I really need to buy myself a pair of earplugs.
“Any guesses on how much tonight is going to cost Wolf?”
“No idea. A lot.” I let my eyes wander over the room again. I listened to Belinda describe what would be done to the room but somehow I managed to walk in completely surprised. The room lends itself to a more rustic theme to begin with, with plenty of rich wood paneling along the walls and antler-cast candelabras. But the explosion of white flowers and simple white pillar candles along with Wedgwood china and servers dressed in old-fashioned butler uniforms turn the space into a high-end romantic cave.
When we arrived, it was still daylight and the view of the mountains framed within the glass wall of windows was awe-inspirin
g. The photo ops took close to an hour, followed by a few cocktails, followed by the official ceremony. The Wolf men shared the stage with various political notables for the idyllic ribbon-cutting ceremony, Scott standing stoically off to the side, his face unreadable. William, introduced as the owner of Wolf Hotels, gave a short speech about the history of the Wolf family, and how proud they are to have brought their legacy back to Alaska in the form of this majestic hotel.
But he quickly passed the microphone over to his son, applauding him for his business sense, his bold risk-taking, and his passion for Alaska.
I held my breath as Henry stood up there, enchanting the crowd of several hundred with his captivating form and his polished words, enrapturing the women—and some men—in the crowd with his very presence. There’s just something magnetic about the man. Even though I’ve spent the night convincing myself that I hate him, I couldn’t help but listen to him intently. To his genuine love of Alaska and the memories it has held, for his hopes for the future as president and CEO of the entire company.
That was hours ago. Now the orchestra is finished, the elaborate candelabras are burning bright, and a steady thrum of electronic music courses through the air. I’ve never actually been to a club, but I imagine this is what it is, the steady procession of alcohol sure to guarantee a night of debauchery. Where earlier women were moving gracefully, standing upright and sucking everything in, they’re now throwing their heads back with wild laughter. Where men arrived layered in their tuxes, they’ve now cast away waistcoats and bow ties dangle from collars.
Except for Henry, of course. He stands statuesque, holding the same drink he started with after speeches, listening and smiling and occasionally grazing a woman’s arm or shoulder, or the small of her back.
And every time he does, I see them catch their breath, and fire lights in their eyes.
And a pang of sorrow stabs me in the chest.
“I’ve heard these Wolf parties go late. Stick around if you want a good show. Should be fun,” Rich murmurs.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I shift my feet, the heels beginning to hurt. I’d love to kick them off. I haven’t sat down in hours. I don’t know how Belinda does it. I’ve watched her strut around all night in her stilettos without a hint of discomfort.