by Nina West
Lord, that man’s gaze... Does he practice that in the mirror?
“He’s right over there.” Mary waves a graceful hand.
“Right. Thanks,” I mumble, leaving her to weave around other dining guests. His attention has shifted back to his investors, his posture casual, his expression calm. He’s made no gesture toward me, no indication that I should interrupt him. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t just stand here, staring at him.
I close the distance to the table, edging up quietly so as not to interrupt the ongoing conversation. The other men—all in their fifties by my guess and dressed in camo, which is so inappropriate for this high-end restaurant, but they’re sitting with the owner so I guess it’s okay—are talking over each other, their voices loud and boisterous.
“Did you see that one by the river?” A man with a thick Midwest accent asks, spreading his meaty hands wide over a plate of pasta. “One swipe of his paw and your face would be gone! He had to be sixteen hundred pounds easily.”
“It’s very possible,” Henry says, casually validating the man’s story while pulling out the spare chair next to him. Finally, he calls me over with a “come here” wave of two fingers. He likes that move. Normally, I would hate it but there’s something so commanding and sexy about the way he does it.
I slide in quietly, feeling my cheeks flush under the sudden attention of the other occupants.
“Everyone, my assistant, Abbi. I’ve asked her here to take some follow-up notes before you all fuck off to the saunas and the bar and forget why you’re here: to give me your money.”
The table erupts in a loud chorus of laughter, while Henry offers nothing more than a small, satisfied smirk.
And I release a sigh of relief because, again, I’ve let my anxiety and my imagination get the better of me. I didn’t screw up.
The man directly next to me, a heavyset, graying man with a coarse beard, leans in toward me. “And here we thought he liked us for our personalities,” he jokes.
I smile politely as I open my iPad and shift my eyes to the screen.
“I need meetings booked with each of these guys for next week. Contact their assistants,” Henry begins. He lists his demands in a cool, even tone, while the others finish their meals, pausing occasionally to interject an important name or date. These men are all CEOs and VPs of big companies that reward their top sales teams with exotic, lavish trips, and Henry wants Wolf Cove to be their destination.
That’s the first leg of the notes. The second part is notes on the hotel itself—suggestions on improvements to the rooms and amenities, entertainment packages, and that sort of thing. Things that are ridiculous (a cigar room?) but I say nothing, judiciously tapping away at my screen.
“I think that’s it?”
The others all nod their heads in agreement as the server comes around to clear plates.
“Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for a real drink after this morning!” The Midwesterner slaps the table, rattling the centerpiece. The others chirp their agreement.
“Abbi, give us a minute.” Henry barely casts a glance my way.
I quietly duck out, smiling at each man before stepping away. But where do I go? Should I stay within easy reach? I settle on the bench by the unoccupied grand piano, set on a stage in the corner.
I’m far enough away that I shouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. If I didn’t have exceptional hearing, anyway.
I watch Henry, leaning back in his chair talking business with these men, his thumb casually rubbing back and forth across the handle of his fork. Yet another sexy, appealing side of him. He’s decades younger than them and yet they all obviously respect him.
“How’s it going?” Rachel’s sudden voice in my ear makes me jump. “I hear you’re working for the big boss, now.”
I look first at her tray full of drinks, then at her clothes, a version of the black servers’ outfit, with a few top buttons missing and a shorter skirt. With her white-blond hair pulled back in a big fluffy bun, her eyes dark and smoky, and her full lips painted red, she looks downright sexy. Too sexy for noon.
I haven’t seen her in days, which is crazy seeing as we live together, but that’s how these places work, apparently. “Hey! Yeah. Just here to take notes and then I’m guessing I’ll be back to the computer.”
“You’re the talk of the hotel, that’s for sure. Everyone’s wondering how the virgin landed a job like that.”
My mouth drops open. “How does everyone know about that?”
She frowns at me, then recognition fills her face and she laughs. “I was talking about a hotel virgin. But, seriously?”
Henry glances over our way and she whispers, “Better go and deliver these. Don’t want to make the wolf angry.” She stalks over to the table in her black heels, her calf muscles straining beautifully. By her flirtatious giggles and the men’s obvious ogling as Rachel sets their drinks down in front of them, I’d say my roommate is a big hit with the executives.
Even Henry’s heated eyes linger over her face, along her neckline, down to the swell of her breasts peeking out, only to hold her gaze when she leans over to set his drink in front of him, a seductive smirk curling his lips.
He wants her; it’s obvious to anyone watching.
A sharp pang of jealousy throbs within me. He’s never looked at me like that. I practically threw myself at him when I was drunk, we had that “moment” in the truck... then there was yesterday, in his room. But he has never looked at me like that.
He’s not attracted to me.
I don’t know exactly how obvious my envy is on my face, but when Henry glances over to catch my eye, a frown flits across his expression. It’s followed by a hard look that I can’t decipher but makes me nervous. I duck my head and try to refocus my attention on my notes.
Failing. I can’t keep my eyes off him.
Rachel leaves, her hips swaying a little too suggestively, attracting all their gazes. Except Henry, who now stares daggers at his glass.
“With that kind of service, who can say no to this place,” one of the other guys mumbles, and they all chuckle.
“Surprised you didn’t bring your other assistant here,” another one says. “Having an assistant like that at your beck and call...” His words drift off and his eyebrows waggle suggestively.
“Oh, hell. That leggy brunette. Kiera. Yeah.” The burly Carolina man puffs his cheeks out with an exhale. “Don’t know how you got any work done with that one around.”
“I had to let her go,” Henry says simply. “It wasn’t working out.”
Kiera. That’s the name Belinda mentioned the other day. She must be the assistant Tillie was talking about. The one that Henry fired for hitting on him.
While I should be more focused on the bruise to my ego—in the ten minutes I sat and quietly took notes, they decided they’d rather have the “leggy brunette” Kiera here—my curiosity is getting the better of me. What happened between them, exactly? What did it take to get her fired? Because after some of the stuff I’ve done, I’m almost positive I’ll be next.
And, arguably, Henry hasn’t exactly been a saint, either. Did he strip down in front of her, too? Did that send her mixed messages, like perhaps the ones I’m desperate to read?
I pretend not to eavesdrop as they finish up their lunch meeting and unease settles onto my shoulders. With a round of handshakes and “see you for dinner” commitments, the bigwig executives stroll away, their phones in their hands.
“Abbi. Come,” Henry commands, with as much warmth as you’d expect from a billionaire calling on his lowly assistant. He turns and strolls toward the exit. I jump up, smoothing my skirt and shirt as I rush to follow him out past guests and the hostess desk.
“See you later, sir,” Rich offers. Henry barely acknowledges him, throwing a wave in the air without even a glance. I mouth “bye” toward Rich. He responds with a sarcastic “have fun” look and a salute before pulling the phone receiver to his ear.
“Do you have any questions about your follow-ups to that meeting?” Henry asks coolly, his eyes skating over the lingering guests, some in hiking gear, others on their way to the spa, and yet others simply lingering in the lobby, their hands holding drinks and their speech slurred. It’s only two in the afternoon, but I guess when you’re on vacation, anything goes, even in Alaska.
“No. I don’t think so.” I’ll have to hunt through Henry’s e-mails and calendar to find out who was with him today and their respective assistants, but I can figure that out.
“What was that look back there?”
“Uh...I...what?” I stammer, caught off guard. He likes doing that. “What look?”
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.”
I bite my bottom lip, unsure what to say but feeling summarily chastised and two feet tall.
I say nothing, which seems to frustrate Henry because he stops, turning to glare at me with his arms folded over his chest. He drops his voice. “When your roommate came to deliver drinks. You were upset.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I’m quick to say, averting my gaze.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Swallowing my nerves, I lift my face to meet his gaze again. Cold amusement dances in them as he dissects me, cutting past my poorly veiled attempt to hide my attraction like a well-honed blade against flesh. “You were upset because it seemed that I might want more than just my drink from her.”
I shake my head in denial, and that beautiful, hard jaw of his grows taut. He’s too perceptive.
“This will all go more smoothly for you if you tell me the truth.”
“And what? Get fired?” I whisper.
His brow arches in surprise. “If I were going to fire you, I would have already done that. Don’t you agree?”
Why are we having this conversation now, here, in the middle of the lodge, where I can feel curious eyes on me like bugs crawling over my skin?
“Remember what I told you? Out here, I am Mr. Wolf at all times. You can’t be looking at me like some poor, wounded animal. Like I’ve broken your heart. Do you understand? My staff is always watching, waiting for the next juicy detail to gossip about. I can’t have them making up stories. It reflects badly on me, and on my company.”
“Of course.” I hug the iPad to my chest, wishing I were anywhere but here right now. At least my face isn’t burning bright. I’m pretty sure all the blood has left my head.
He heaves a sigh. “Please don’t allow your crush to get in the way of your job. If you can’t control it, then we can’t continue our arrangement.”
Which arrangement is that, exactly? The one where he strips down to nothing while I stand there and watch?
I nod, not trusting my voice, fighting off the tears that burn behind my eyes as I trail him to the Summit room for our daily meeting.
Feeling all the more like a stupid bright-eyed doe being led by a cunning wolf.
Chapter Eighteen
My phone dings with an incoming text. I leap for it.
You can call it a day. See you tomorrow at seven a.m.
It’s only 4:00 p.m.
Do you want me to give you a ten-minute rundown of your revised calendar? I made a lot of changes.
I wait, biting my thumbnail.
I’ll review on my own.
He wants me gone before he gets back, that much is obvious. He sent me back to the cabin as soon as the daily update meeting was over, with barely a glance.
Peeling myself off the couch, I grab my jacket and head out, glad to be free of him and whatever game he’s playing with my head for a night.
~ ~ ~ ~
“You sure are the talk of the town, Abbi,” Tillie mutters beyond the curtain that I pulled around my bunk. I want to hide from the world.
Panic strikes me. I throw the curtain back in time to see her yanking her badge off her neck. “I am?”
She kicks off her loafer shoes. “Sounds like the boss tore a strip off you in the middle of the lodge lobby today.”
I guess that was what it would have looked like to any innocent bystander watching. And there were plenty of them doing that. The gossip queen hasn’t heard the reasons behind it, thank God. I let a small sigh of relief slip. “Oh. Yeah.”
“They say he looked pissed.”
“Yeah. I screwed up.”
“You best be careful.”
I want to pull my privacy curtain closed again and curl up into a ball, but that would be considered rude. As it is, I move my attention back to my e-reader. I’ve been staring at the same page for an hour now, unable to focus on the words. “I’ll be fine. I won’t make that mistake twice.” From now on, my eyes are down and my mouth stays shut. I just want this icky feeling that’s taken over my conscience to go away.
“What’d you do to get his panties in a bunch?”
“A scheduling mistake,” I lie.
“Don’t worry. Guys like him are quick to blow up and even quicker to forget. He won’t even remember it tomorrow,” Rachel offers from her place on Katie’s bed, where Katie paints hot green wax around her brows. “I saw him at the bar about an hour ago, drinking scotch with some suit. He seemed fine.”
“Okay. Stop talking!” Katie demands, pressing a white strip over the spot and then, holding Rachel’s skin taut, pulls it off fast, like you would a Band-Aid.
I wince with the action, but it doesn’t seem to faze her.
Katie grins with satisfaction. “There. Gorgeous, as usual.”
Rachel sits up and peers at her eyebrows in a handheld mirror. They look so thin and neat and tidy. Not like my brows, two caterpillars above my eyes. “They look nice,” I offer with a smile.
Katie holds the little wand up toward me, excitement flashing in her gaze as she sizes up mine. “Please, please, please, please let me do yours?”
“She won’t leave you alone until you do,” Rachel says with a chuckle.
“What? I can’t help it! I like my women to be well groomed.”
Yes, I’ve noticed. It’d be so easy to say yes to her right now. “Aren’t my eyes too big to have skinny brows, though?”
“Trust me. Please!” Katie pleads. “You have such an angelic little face. Let me do it?”
“Okay?” I say before I can change my mind. Maybe this will make me feel better. At the very least, it’ll distract me.
The broad smile on Katie’s beautiful face makes me think I’ve made her day.
And ten minutes and a few moments of yelping pain later, I’m staring at my face in the mirror, awed, convinced that she has made my summer.
“It makes such a difference, doesn’t it?” Katie purrs, admiring her work.
Rachel looks over her shoulder. “Amazing. Seriously.”
“My eyes look so different.” I’m grinning stupidly at myself. “Why have I never done this before?”
“See? Now all you need is a ginger eyebrow pencil to fill them in.”
“I don’t have the first clue how to do that.” My mama failed me in the “being a girl” department, more interested in teaching me about breeding chickens and milking cows.
“I’ll show you,” Katie offers.
“Could you?” I’ve never had friends like Katie and Rachel, so in tune with beauty techniques and style.
She shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, her fingers playing with my braid. “You know what? Silvia over in cabin two is the stylist at the spa. I’d bet she’d love a go at this mane.”
“Like a trim?” That’s all I’ve ever had. I’ve had hair down to my butt for twenty-one years.
She peels the elastic out of my hair braid, letting my long, heavy hair fall down across my back. “More like a shape-up. You have beautiful hair. It just needs to be tamed.” Her lips twist together. “And Tris over in cabin twelve does color. She could throw some lowlights and highlights into it. That sort of thing.”
Color.
“I can’t color my hair. I’m a ginger.”
Katie�
�s head tips back with her throaty laughter. “Oh, you’re so adorable. You can color your hair, as long as you have someone who knows what they’re doing. Tris knows what she’s doing. She was trained at a top school, too. She won’t fuck it up, I promise.”
“Do you think she’d do it?”
“She will if I ask.” Katie winks.
“I don’t know...” That’s a lot of change all at once. But maybe change would be good.
She sighs, her fingers weaving through my hair. I can’t be entirely sure that it’s innocent but right now I find comfort in the small act of kindness. “I promise you, it’ll make you feel better about whatever happened today with Mr. Wolf.”
I guess my misery is visible for everyone to see.
I offer her a tight smile and a weak, “Okay.”
~ ~ ~ ~
I can’t stop staring at the glamorous woman in the mirror, tears welling in my eyes as I meet gazes with the blonde pixie woman’s reflection. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure!” Tris exclaims, her fingers skating through the silky strands, the dull ginger broken up by vibrant chunks of deep red, copper, and auburn. “Your hair is some of the healthiest and thickest I’ve ever seen. And this cut Sylvia gave you is perfect. It gives it bounce without sacrificing length.”
Sylvia only nods in agreement, busy sweeping the mounds of hair piled on the floor around my chair. My jaw hit the ground when she lopped off six inches from the bottom with a single swipe of her scissors, but by the time she was done snipping and edging with her fancy tools and combs, I didn’t care. My head feels about ten pounds lighter.
“Your color took well, but don’t wash it too much, if you want it to last, okay?”