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 decipher 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.
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.