by Nina West
I don’t think he can either, because first surprise, then alarm flashes in his eyes. Yes, I basically just admitted to listening in on his conversation with Belinda. His mouth opens, then closes several times as he hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes I’m forced to say things I don’t mean.”
Flutters explode in my stomach. Does that mean it was a lie? “So you don’t think I’m an insecure, stupid little girl?”
His lips twist. “Oh, you are that. Until you prove otherwise, anyway.” He exhales heavily, his warm breath caressing my cheek. Some internal conflict twists his features into an almost painful grimace. “Wait for me in the living room,” he demands in a hoarse whisper, turning away and heading toward the bathroom with slow, leisurely steps, that glorious backside straining and shifting with each step, his back carved into muscle, the deep line down the center making my knees weak.
I duck out quickly and make my way over to where Michael waits, praying that my face isn’t so red that the young masseur figures out what just happened. “He’ll be out in a minute,” I say, clearing my throat as I grab my iPad and curl up in a nearby wing chair while I search for Belinda’s e-mail. Only now do I realize that my hand is shaking. And that my panties are soaked.
“You okay?” Michael asks, his bright green eyes sparkling as they watch me. They look genuine, not lecherous at all. Why does Henry think he’s into me? And why would he care if Michael was in to me? I’m not dating anyone, and Henry isn’t attracted to me.
Or did he just admit that he is?
I’m still too flustered to wrap my head around what happened and all that was said. “Yes. Thanks,” I mutter, offering Michael a smile.
He begins stretching his fingers one by one, warming them up for an hour of labor. “Hey. So what’s it like, working this closely with Wolf?”
A strangled laugh escapes my lips before I can keep it in. “Never a dull moment.”
Henry appears through the doorway then, a white towel wrapped and tucked around his lower half. It does little to hide what waits beneath and he doesn’t seem to care, one way or another.
“So, what’ll it be today, Mr. Wolf?”
“Full body, please.”
I swallow and keep my eyes on my iPad screen as, from the corner of my eye, Henry removes the towel and tosses it to land on the wing chair opposite me. I could steal a quick, unobstructed view if I adjust my eyes by an inch. Maybe he’s still testing me, wondering if I’ll take the chance.
I keep my eyes down.
I’ve seen my boss’s cock plenty already.
Henry climbs onto the table, stomach down, and Michael pulls the covers over his lower half. His hands begin their assessment of the expansive slab of muscle and flesh beneath him. “Man, you’re tight today. Stressed at all?”
Henry answers him with a low chuckle.
“Abbi.”
I swallow against the blip of excitement that stirs with Henry calling my name. “Yes?”
Long seconds of silence force me to glance up, to find him staring at me, the look on his face almost regretful. It appears that both his anger and whatever game he was playing earlier are out of his system. “Yes, Mr. Wolf?” I repeat, as pleasantly as I can.
Another few long moments hang before he quietly asks, “Brief me on the media attending. Please.”
“Okay.” I exhale shakily, preparing to read from the screen. “Well, first we have Roshana Mafi from Luxury Travel Magazine.”
“What does she look like?” he asks, without missing a beat.
I scan the picture in the electronic dossier. “Middle Eastern, long black hair. Beautiful,” I admit with more than a hint of jealousy. “Exotic-looking. It says she’s thirty-two and lives in New York City.”
“Single?”
“Yes.” Why Belinda felt the need to include that, I can’t say.
“Make sure there are flowers in her room for her arrival. I’ll write the card myself.”
Almost Henry’s age, lives in his city, stunning. Single. I feel like I’m setting the two of them up. That idea makes my stomach clench.
But I scribble down the note on my pad of paper because that’s my job.
“Next?”
“Gerard Starsky from Glamour Hotel. Short, salt-and-pepper hair. Forty-five years old. Lives in San Francisco. Married to Rena. One daughter named Bella, aged seven.” It’s almost disturbing how much personal information is on here. “It says he interviewed you two years ago at the opening in Istanbul.” Mention of Istanbul reminds me of Henry sleeping with Belinda. I wonder who initiated that. I’ll bet he takes on his sexual conquests as aggressively as he does his business ones.
Anger creeps into my otherwise rattled psyche at the thought of him tormenting me like he did in the bedroom moments ago, seemingly for his own personal entertainment.
“I remember him. Write a note to him that says ‘Good to see you again. I hope you enjoy Wolf Cove even more than you did Istanbul’. Try not to make the writing too girly.”
So Henry writes personal notes to single women but has me write the rest. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s playing up his physical gifts. “And do you want me to send him flowers, too?” I ask as innocently as possible. I can’t resist glancing over.
Henry’s sharp gaze is on me as Michael works over the deep curves of the middle of his back, the sheet draped dangerously low on his hips. I feel the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I bite my lip instead. His eyes drop to my mouth and he blinks once... twice... Otherwise, he reveals nothing. “Next.”
And so we go through the list, me giving Henry a rundown of every member of the media who will be arriving here to provide either accolades or criticism of a location that Henry himself holds dear, and him instructing me on what to include in the welcome notes to the males. Not the females though. He’ll write all of those himself, to include with the flowers I send them in his name. I don’t have to ask why.
A personal note from the busy Henry Wolf, himself? Few women would be unaffected by that. Look how I reacted to the one he included with my replacement vest. I internally gushed over it.
What a manipulative ass.
I cover up a yawn as we wrap up the review forty minutes later. Henry looks sleepy too, his eyelids drooping. Michael has moved to Henry’s quad muscles, the sheet lifted to uncover his leg. “You can go now. Come back at seven tomorrow.” He pauses. “Actually, make it six.”
6:00 a.m. I stifle my groan. “Don’t forget your dinner tonight.”
“Fuck,” he moans. “Right.”
Michael throws me a wink on my way past. “I’ll be at the staff lodge tonight, if you want to meet up.”
I glance toward Henry’s resting head, replaying his words, his request that I stay away from Michael. That Michael wants my “virgin pussy.”
Do I dare fantasize that perhaps Henry wants it for himself?
Because I’d save it for him, if that were the case. “Maybe another night.” I collect my things and head for the door.
What a weird day.
Chapter Sixteen
The entrance to Henry’s suite from the servants’ quarters is open a crack for me again. I slip into the room noiselessly.
“This is exactly the kind of bullshit that the future leader can’t get caught up in. Your grandfather and I have built this company with the strength of our family values.” The gruff man’s voice carries through the cabin.
Henry sits at the desk, twirling a pen between his fingers, his jaw taut. I’m guessing that it’s his father on the other end of the phone.
“What has legal said?”
“They’re still waiting on her to accept the severance package but it’s a no-brainer. She’s going to sign.” Henry sounds drained.
“Good,” the man mutters gruffly. “I don’t know, Henry. Between this and the Alaska gamble, I’m beginning to wonder about your ability to make sound decisions. Maybe your brother is more suitable.”
Henry slams the
pen against the desk. “If you want this company driven into the ground within five years, sure, hand over Wolf Hotels to Scott. He doesn’t have an entrepreneurial bone in his body and forget any strategic marketing skills. The fucking idiot didn’t even finish his undergrad. I, on the other hand, have a goddamn MBA from Harvard.”
“Well, he seems to be doing well with the mines.”
“Because they’re mines. He digs for gold, throws it on a scale, and sells it for market price. A monkey could run that business!” He pauses to temper his tone. “Look, it was an unfortunate situation but it is handled, and it’s never going to happen again.”
What unfortunate situation are they talking about? I know I shouldn’t be listening, so I quietly sweep through and collect dirty dishes, keeping my head down while I learn about Henry. He has an MBA from Harvard—impressive. He has a brother named Scott, whom he clearly doesn’t think too highly of.
“You better see to it that it doesn’t, because one more fuckup like that and you’ll be the monkey peddling gold, if that. You’re already on thin ice with this Wolf Cove project. You’re about to embarrass our family with that catastrophic failure. A goddamn seasonal Wolf. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
I feel Henry’s eyes on me and I can’t help but glance over and offer him a polite smile, all the while feeling bad for him for his father’s harsh words. I don’t see why he wouldn’t be proud of his son’s accomplishments here, but I’m not a business tycoon. I’m sure it’s more complicated than hanging pretty chandeliers and gazing out at snow-covered mountaintops.
“When do you arrive?” Henry pushes out through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know. Ask my secretary.” The phone line goes dead.
And Henry heaves a sigh, resting his forehead in his palms for a long moment.
“He seems a bit abrupt.” I quietly edge in next to him, to where my laptop sits, inhaling the scent of clean soap. He’s dressed in cargo pants and a simple black long-sleeved shirt for another bear sightseeing trip with another group of important guests. I wonder if he ever gets bored of it.
“I’ve been planning this since I was a teenager—long before my father ever handed over the reins to Wolf Hotels. This summer, I will prove to him and every other asshole out there that the Alaska location is a fucking brilliant move.” His words are confident—even arrogant—but I sense a hint of fear and unease behind them, too.
“For what it’s worth, you’ve already proven it to me. I’d stay here if I could afford it. I mean, I know my opinion doesn’t matter much, but I’d stay.”
“You shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” I’m instantly replaying my movements, wondering what I did wrong.
“Discredit yourself like that. Especially if you want your business to succeed one day.”
My business? Does he mean my soap business? I frown for a moment, searching through my memory. I never told him about that, did I?
The video. I mentioned it in there. And I guess he remembers.
Reaching for the extra mug I requested with room service—for me—Henry pours coffee into it, then cream and a spoonful of sugar, and slides it over to me wordlessly.
“Thank you.” I smile sheepishly. Oh, to have Henry making my coffee for me every morning. “So, you have a brother?” I ask cautiously, taking a sip.
“Yeah. An older one.”
“I always wished I had a sibling.” Mama had to have an emergency hysterectomy after I was born, due to complications. She blames that for her excessive weight gain.
“You can have mine. He’s a cocksucker. He wants to run Wolf Hotels. Thinks he can do a better job.” Henry sighs as he stands, reaching for his red-and-black lumberjack coat.
“Must be a real problem, when you have to fight over an international hotel chain and a gold mine.” I let some of my sarcasm slip out, even though I’ve been taught with years of scolding to keep it in. Sarcasm is “rude.”
“You have a bad habit of listening in on things you’re not supposed to,” Henry murmurs, only his eyes are twinkling with mischief as he peers down at me, his gaze raking over my chest. I’m getting the impression that he’s a breast man, for the amount of attention he gives to mine.
His soft reprimand reminds me of the conversation he had with Belinda. It must remind him, too, because the mischief falls off. “There are people, including my own family, who want this hotel to fail. They want me to fail.”
He pulls on his jacket, hiding that intoxicating upper body from my view. “The plane needs to leave in ten. I’m heading out.”
“Not yet.” I rush to his bedroom, eying the rumpled sheets—my daily mental dose of Henry’s naked body tangled in them hitting me, making me flush. But I push past that and dig through his dresser drawer. He’s waiting for me, mild curiosity making his face softer.
I hold out the pair of black socks, to replace the mismatched blue and brown ones he pulled onto his feet. “I’m sure the bears don’t care about your fashion statement, but I figured you might.”
He treats me to a sheepish grin—such a rare sight on his beautiful face—before swapping out his socks and lacing up his hiking boots. There’s something decidedly heartwarming about being able to do little personal things like this for him. Things that a girlfriend or wife might do.
“I’ll see you later, Abbi.” He winks. “Stay out of trouble.”
“So no more massages?” It slips out before I can help myself, and I bite my lip nervously, hoping I haven’t angered him with the reminder.
“Only from Lorraine,” he throws over his shoulder on his way out.
“You know my roommate?”
“Nope.” He’s gone, out the door, leaving me baffled.
~.~.~.~
Date: May 9th
Abigail,
How are you? Your mom told me that you were in Alaska? That must be something. I never thought you’d be so adventurous! Same ol’, same ol’ around here. Well, except for the whole Jed thing, of course. The whole town’s still reeling over that. I can’t believe he had the nerve to bring Cammie to Greenbank. Your mom said that you’re devastated but staying strong. We’re all glad to hear that. Drop me a line when you get a chance.
Lucy
I stare at the e-mail as I sip on my coffee, stewing in anger over Mama telling people that I’m devastated. Whether it’s the truth or not is beside the point. Now Jed and Cammie and everyone will think I’m sitting in a corner up here, crying my eyes out. Back when it happened, I didn’t care. I wanted people to think that, to feel sorry for me. But now it makes me sound weak and pathetic.
I take in the sunny morning as I consider how I should respond. I haven’t talked to Lucy in months. She’s a friend of ours from school growing up. She works at the feed store in town, having never left the town borders after high school graduation. Truth be told, she never did well enough in school to even consider applying to college. Punching buttons into a cash register and hoisting grain bags is more her speed.
She’s nice enough, but she’s a gossip, and I know that whatever I tell her now will spread through town like wildfire.
I smile. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
Hey Lucy,
Great to hear from you! I’m having an amazing time in Alaska. It’s beautiful and peaceful. I could live up here forever. The hotel is pure luxury, and I’ve made some great friends. I’m actually working as the personal assistant to Mr. Wolf, himself. I’m pretty sure he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.☺ Have you ever heard of him?
I do a quick Google search to find a link with an especially flattering media picture of Henry—his designer suit well cut over his powerful upper body, his smile charming—and include it in the body of the email, followed by an airy “talk to you later,” sign-off.
I grin. There. Now it’s time to work.
Chapter Seventeen
Come to Lux right now.
I stare at the text for five long seconds, trying to deciphe
r the tone, before tapping out:
On my way.
I read his text for the umpteenth time as I speed walk through the main lodge, trying not to bump or knock anyone over in my rush. Is he angry with me? Is there something wrong? Did I screw up with the reservation?
With a last glance into a mirror outside the hotel’s best restaurant, smoothing my uniform and checking my braid, I step inside.
The tall, handsome man in an all-black suit behind the reservations desk flashes me a polite smile. “Yes?” His voice is as melodic as it was on the phone and I immediately sigh, because I know he’s an ally.
“Rich! It’s me, Abbi. Mr. Wolf’s assistant. He asked that I meet him here.”
“Oh, right,” he murmurs absently, doing a full once-over of me. “I didn’t expect you to be so...”
I wait for it. So plain? So average? So country?
Rich meets my glare and finishes with, “Wide-eyed innocent. Mr. Wolf is at table twenty-two. Allow Mary to lead you there.” He gestures to the petite brunette to his right, who’s waiting patiently for me in her matching all-black uniform, only she wears a skirt much like mine.
“Thanks, Rich. I’ll talk to you later.”
He smirks, dropping his voice to add, “Oh, I’m sure you will. I’ll be kissing lots of ass for you and the boss this summer.”
It takes me a minute to figure out what he means and by that point, I’m halfway through the packed—though oddly calm—dining room, trailing my guide and her perfect round butt, highlighted by the skirt. I wonder what my butt looks like in this thing.
I haven’t spent much time investigating all that the hotel has to offer, my time divided mainly between the staff village, Henry’s place, and the hotel rooms I prepared before I was moved. But thanks to all the reading I did on the eve of becoming Henry’s assistant, I learned that there are three dining areas—Haven, a cozy breakfast café on the first floor that serves gourmet omelets and French-style pastries; Rawley’s, a more relaxed though still upscale pub, where you can enjoy microbrewery pints from all over the world as well as hundred-year-old malt scotches while sitting in leather wing chairs and gazing over the mounted works of a taxidermy; and this place. Lux, fine dining at its best, with highly skilled servers and sleek, sophisticated décor. I can hardly focus on the rich silk table linens and million-dollar view, though, as I make my way over toward the table in the far corner. Henry’s steely blue gaze is already locked on me, robbing me of my breath.