Chapter Fourteen
I take a deep, nervous breath as I step through the servants’ entrance into
Henry’s place, my stomach in knots after barely sleeping all night. There
were no texts or e-mails this morning when I dared check my work phone,
cringing. Nothing from Belinda.
Will he address it? Or will he pretend it didn’t happen?
Do I apologize?
I’m afraid that I’ll burst into tears the moment he looks at me.
But Henry’s not there.
Evidence of him is there. His half-finished coffee, his breakfast
dishes, emptied and stacked. And a note, with elegant scrawl that reads:
Reschedule today’s 7-8am meetings.
Book dinner for seven. Eight people.
H.W.
That’s it.
But where is he? His trip to Kodiak Island isn’t until eight thirty.
I sigh, disappointment and relief taking over where only pure dread
resided moments ago. Maybe he’s too angry to face me right now. Or
maybe he’s embarrassed by what I saw him do. Would a man be
embarrassed by that? I know I’d want to die if he—or anyone—caught me
touching myself like I did the other night.
Maybe I’m making a bigger deal of this than it is, though. Maybe he
doesn’t care.
I sigh and pour myself a cup of coffee. For as long as it took me to
organize his calendar yesterday, it’s going to take me all morning to
reorganize it.
~.~.~.~
The canary-yellow Otter coasts in to the plane docks, the Wolf Cove brand
proudly displayed on the wing. I watch from my chilly perch—the porch off
the front of Cabin One—as the small door creaks open and one after
another, bodies jump out. Seven men later, Henry’s large frame emerges,
crouching to escape.
My heart begins racing. A nervous giddiness brews deep within the
pit of my chest at the mere sight of him, even from this far away. He’s
dressed casually—in jeans, his plaid jacket, and a charcoal vest peeking out
from beneath, his chestnut-brown hair covered in a beanie. So incredibly
sexy, but not exactly proper attire for the upscale Lux restaurant.
Which means he’ll have to come here to change.
The nervous dread that dulled hits me like a tidal wave now.
They’re all talking and laughing, slapping each other on the
shoulders. I guess they enjoyed the tour.
Henry trails behind them, chatting with the pilot. Philip, I gather. He
hands him something, to which Philip seems appreciative, bobbing his head
and shaking his hand before he heads back to the plane.
I hug my body tightly, my breezy white blouse not nearly warm
enough with highs of fifty, and watch until Henry disappears from view, all
the while holding my breath against the hope that he’ll glance up here.
But he doesn’t so much as bat an eye.
Ducking back inside, I rush for the desk, scrambling to make sure any
last minute e-mails are opened and dealt with before he arrives, squeezing
my thighs together as my bladder threatens to spill.
But Henry never appears.
Two hours later, with no sign of Henry and my nerves sufficiently
frazzled, my work phone texts with a message.
Come to the Summit at 2.
I groan. This is it. This is where Henry and Belinda sit across from me
at a table and explain in painstaking detail how what I did was not only
wrong but disgusting.
I glance at the clock. I have ten minutes to find this room. Not enough
time to grab lunch, but I doubt I could stomach anything anyway.
Collecting the iPad and my work phone, I scramble out the door.
I’m going to miss Alaska.
~ ~ ~ ~
I’m panting by the time I find the Summit boardroom, one minute past two.
My heart leaps into my throat as I take a quick scan of its inhabitants—a
stony-faced Henry, Belinda, Paige, and four unfamiliar faces sitting around
a ten-person table.
They all turn to regard me as I knock meekly against the door.
“Take a seat.” Henry gestures to the chair next to him. I scramble
toward it on wobbly legs, my hands shaking with nerves. Do all these
people need to be here in order to fire me?
I feel Belinda’s calculating eyes scour over me, the disdain on her
face barely concealed.
I’m so unnerved, I barely notice that Henry has changed into the suit I
dropped off for dry cleaning yesterday. The ends of his hair are damp,
suggesting he had a shower. But where, and when?
“Paige, status update, please,” Henry demands, leaning far back in his
chair, his one leg crossed over the other at the knee, his fingers lightly
tapping a polished black shoe. He must have done that himself. I know I
didn’t. Am I supposed to polish his shoes, too? “Abbi, take notes.”
I simply stare at the tiny Texan woman as she begins talking about
housekeeping and hospitality issues over the past twenty-four hours,
highlighting minor guest complaints and some process changes she has
already put in place.
It’s not until Henry reaches over and softly taps my thigh with his
knuckle that it registers. I haven’t been called to the Summit Room to be
fired.
I’m here to scribe.
My body sinks into my chair with relief. I quickly tap out bulleted
notes, focusing intently as one by one, each manager gives Henry an update
on their area. Sally, a kind-looking blonde in charge of guest amenities,
including the spa; Jean, the tiny Asian lady sitting across from me who
coordinates all guest tours and programs; Pierre, the kitchen manager; and a
thirty-something year old man named Ryan who runs all facilities and
maintenance. He would have been my boss, had I ever worked a day with
the Outdoor team. He has a big job, ensuring everything from the tulips in
the garden to the float planes by the docks are in perfect working order. He
also looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Belinda interrupts every so often with a question of her own, or an
instruction on how to handle. I’m not at all fond of her and I already know
she doesn’t like me, but I’ll admit she sounds smart and sophisticated. I can
see why Henry put her in that role.
And probably why he slept with her, seeing as he’s not attracted to
silly little girls.
But I’m here to scribe notes, I remind myself with a small smile.
That, I can handle.
“Any major complaints about facilities?” Henry asks Ryan.
“A few guests on the top floors have complained that their showers
take too long to heat up.”
“Where is their hot water coming from?”
“Third floor.”
Henry’s jaw tenses. “I’m no engineer, but that sounds like a design
flaw.”
Ryan clears his throat. “Yes, sir. I already have the plumbers working
on installing additional hot water heaters specifically for that floor and
rerouting the pipes. There is space in the fifth floor maintenance area.”
“Minimal disturbance to our guests, I hope?”
Belinda steps in smoothly. “I’ve already sent Cristal to their rooms.
For those who complained, I’ve comped their first nights’ room stay.”
That’s thousands of dollars, just like that. Does it matter to a guy like
Henry? To a hotel like this? I can’t comprehend the magnitude. To me, it
sounds crippling.
Ryan’s expression is tentative as Henry regards him silently for a
moment, cool and calm. “Do the same for the fourth floor.” He then turns to
me. “Abbi, schedule a call with George Duncan for later today. He’s west
coast.”
I mark it in my notes, pretending I know who that is. Hopefully I can
find something in Henry’s inbox that tells me who George is. By his tone,
I’m guessing the conversation isn’t going to be pleasant.
Henry moves on, dominating the meeting in a no-nonsense fashion,
the tension radiating from him almost tangible. He is under a lot of
pressure. Rightfully so, I guess. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to open a
luxury hotel.
Each person around that table keeps their eyes glued to him, like they
don’t want to miss a prompt. He intimidates them. That would make sense,
seeing as he intimidates the hell out of me. He’s an entirely different guy
from the patient one who taught me how to swing an ax, and the sheepish
one who smiled as he held up the wrong tie and admitted to being color-
blind.
And the vulnerable one I watched come apart by his own fist.
His hand sits on his brawny thigh, his fingers strumming a slow,
rhythmic beat. The hand that was gripping his cock so tightly yesterday,
pumping it from root to tip until he came.
I give my head a shake, scolding my filthy thoughts for veering that
way so easily.
His hand suddenly stills. I feel that cool and yet iron-hot gaze on my
profile, and my cheeks flush in response. It’s like he knows what I’m
thinking. “Bookings?”
I force my mind back to the meeting.
“We are nearly booked solid through to August,” Belinda announces
proudly, as if she single-handedly had something to do with that. “We have
guests calling and asking about cancellation wait lists.”
Henry’s lips twitch. The only indication that he’s pleased. “The grand
opening. Give me an update.”
Belinda punches something into her iPad. “All media outlets have
RSVP’d and rooms have been assigned to ensure we have them prepped
adequately.” She goes on to list names of people I don’t know but who must
be critical attendees for the event, which sounds like a lavish ball.
Henry scribbles something on his notepad while she talks, and sets it
on my lap, his knuckles brushing against my thigh.
Make sure my tux is in my closet. I don’t remember packing it.
I make a note to check when I get back to the cabin. It’s such a simple
but personal request, and I find myself reveling in the fact I get to root
through his closet for him.
Belinda is still talking. “You and I can go over the dossiers on
everyone—”
He cuts her off with, “Send Abbi the rundown of each member
attending. She’ll brief me directly.”
The corners of her mouth twitch. “Fine.” It’s curt and not at all
pleasant.
“Any staff issues?”
“None so far.” Her eyes flicker toward me and I promptly avert my
gaze. Would he have told her about yesterday? She seems to be in on
everything else so far.
“Okay. Thanks, everyone. Abbi will send out a meeting request for
tomorrow’s update.”
Just like when the bell rings in class, everyone scrambles to gather
their things, ready to run.
Everyone except Belinda, who remains in her chair with one leg
crossed over the other, the side slit in her skirt so high that it reveals the end
of her garter. “Can I have a word with you?”
Henry gives her a fleeting gaze. “About?”
“Your father.”
He heaves a sigh and, resting his elbows on the table, he hooks his
hands behind the back of his neck and bows his head. “Abbi, summarize
and send out those notes to the group. Also, there are a few presentations
I’ve printed out and made notes of in the margins sitting on my desk. Please
summarize and send those off to the names listed on them for follow-up by
tomorrow. And see if you can get me an hour-long in-room massage with
Michael for this evening before dinner.”
“In-room?” He said he didn’t want anyone in his space.
“Yes. Text me with the time.” He sighs. “Okay, Belinda. What is it?”
I take that as my cue to leave, unscathed and still employed, and I
take it without another word.
