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A hall was positioned off the lobby, and I knew that was where all the offices were located because that was where I’d been interviewed by Diane Mancini.

There was a greeter’s desk but no one was behind it. I was wondering if that was where I’d be sitting and was trying to decide whether to call out or just walk down the hall like I worked here — because I did — when a man emerged from the hall.

Not just a man. A very good-looking man, about thirty, with thick blond hair and a smile that made me think of a young Brad Pitt.

“Good morning!” he said, all white teeth and cheer. “You must be Daisy.”

“That’s me,” I said. I was still getting over my surprise. I’d expected to work with Diane Mancini and Piers Cantwell, a distinguished older guy with graying hair and a yacht tan, maybesome beleaguered locals happy for the kind of mind-numbing office work that didn’t come to Blackwell Falls very often.

“You’re early.” He grinned and I noticed the sliver of bare skin at the top of his navy button-down shirt. “Trying to make a good impression?”

I laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said. “I’m Grayson Cantwell. Everybody calls me Gray.”

I registered the last name, did the math: this guy had to be Piers Cantwell’s son. The realization must have shown on my face because he grinned. “Yep, that Cantwell. He’s my dad. Nepotism at its finest, right?”

I smiled. “How do you think I got this job?”

He laughed. “Honesty. I’m here for it.”

“My dad’s Charles Hammond. The hotel is being built on the land he sold your dad. I think they’re partners or… something.”

“Or something,” he said. “Come on, Diane isn’t here yet. I’ll show you to your office.”

“I have an office?” I asked, following him into the hall.

He looked over his shoulder as he led the way. “Where else would you work?”

He stopped at a doorway near the end of the hall and ushered me inside a small office with the requisite furniture: desk, chairs, bookshelf, bad art.

“I don’t know,” I said, standing near the desk. “Diane wasn’t clear on the job duties. She just said you needed help two days a week. I thought maybe I’d be answering phones or something.”

He grabbed the doorframe, bracing his body weight, and leaned into the room a little, and I’m not going to lie: his mixture of good looks and boyish charm was disarming. “Something tells me that would be a waste of your considerable talents.”

Wait… was he flirting with me?

“It’s way too soon for you to know about my considerable talents.”

It was just banter. There was no heat in the exchange, no shiver up my spine like there’d been when Wolf had leaned into me in the kitchen, no quickened heartbeat like when Otis’ gaze finally met mine, and definitely none of the smoldering fire I felt in my pussy under Jace’s glare.

Gray Cantwell grinned wider, and this time I was sure there was something suggestive in it. “Lucky for us, we have all the time in the world.”

Chapter 19

Wolf

The Kings’ place was luxe. Not in the way Daisy’s old house was — full of expensive art and the smell of old money — was luxe, but this-house-was-built-by-an-award-winning-architect luxe.

I parked Benji next to a gleaming black Porsche and got out of the car.

“Nice place,” Otis said, staring up at the sleek modern house.

“Ostentatious assholes,” Jace muttered.

“They’re on our side,” I reminded him, because when Jace decided he didn’t like someone, any relationship you might have had with that person was pretty much DOA.

Exhibit A: Daisy.