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“And you didn’t tell us this why?” Jace asked through his teeth.

Wolf shrugged. “She’s allowed to know people. Anyway, the point is, I agree we need a way to keep track of her, but we can’t sit outside her job every Monday and Thursday and stalk her like a bunch of psychopaths.”

“Not stalking,” I corrected. “Protecting.”

Wolf shook his head. “Whatever.”

“We need to get ahold of her phone,” Jace said. “Turn on tracking.”

“I have a better idea,” Wolf said.

“What’s your better idea?” I asked, because Wolf usually had good ideas — less militant than Jace’s and more socially acceptable than mine.

“I don’t know about you,” Wolf said, “but I’m itching to get a new phone.”

I nodded slowly. My old phone was so outdated it wasn’t good for much more than texting. “I could go for a new phone.”

“Good,” Wolf said. “We’ll get one for Daisy too.”

And then I understood.

Chapter 39

Daisy

My first full day of actual work turned out to be more interesting than I’d expected.

Not looking-at-tile-samples interesting, but not nearly as boring as I’d thought.

Gray had shown me the model for the resort, an elaborate mini-rendition of the main hotel, a series of private villas in the woods, a spa, and an administrative building, all crafted out of teak and placed under lights on a platform in a room of its own.

It was beautiful, not just the design but the craftsmanship of the model itself, and I realized for the first time that this was a big deal for Blackwell Falls. The Cantwell resort wasn’t going to be some shoddy motel with a coffee shop but a luxury destination that would bring tons of money to the town.

Money was good — Blackwell Falls was still recovering from the exodus of its citizens to greener pastures in the 1980s and 1990s — but money meant other problems too: more traffic and a higher cost of living as the area became more gentrified.

Anyway, it had been interesting to hear Gray talk about the hotel’s design, which materials would be used for the variousfeatures and what kinds of amenities would be offered to guests, how the land would be developed close to the hotel but kept wild around it, the woods rising up on all sides around the hotel and the winding road that would lead to it.

I wondered if it was my imagination that Gray stood a little closer to me than necessary, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leaned over to point something out on the model.

He was attractive for sure, but not as attractive as he should have been. With his dark blue eyes and impeccable sense of style, I should have beenall over that, as Sarai would say.

I didn’t want to think about why I wasn’t, about why Gray left me a little cold, like a designer sofa that looked nice but was uncomfortable to sit on.

And Ireallydidn’t want to think about the possibility that it was because I had other men — yes, plural, after my steamy moment with Otis by the Mustang — on my mind.

After I got a handle on the project, Diana assigned me to look up the owners of the land surrounding the tract my father was selling to Cantwell (were they looking to make the property even bigger?) and I met a couple of other employees, most just a little bit older than me who’d moved to the area to work on the Cantwell resort.

There was Natalie, an engineer who’d just graduated from MIT, and Kyle, an environmental lawyer who would be interfacing with the DEC to make sure the resort was as friendly as possible to the environment. Erica was a vibrant middle-aged marketing expert who would focus on the resort’s brand.

I was excited to find I’d be working with Erica. She seemed smart and savvy and even though I didn’t plan to go into marketing long-term, whatever I did next — with the house or something else — would rely on marketing to be successful. Everything did.

Diana ordered food in to celebrate the team being together for the first time, and I was surprised to find it was actually kind of nice. The office was a low hum of activity, everyone talking and laughing and working on the difference aspects of the same project. It was the first time I’d ever experienced that kind of camaraderie and I started to think my part-time job wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I was leaving the break room with one of the salads Diana had ordered from Chasen’s and a can of expensive seltzer when I almost ran into someone turning the corner.

“Oh my god!” I said, looking up into an appealing, vaguely familiar face. “I’m sorry.”

The man was about my dad’s age, with a full head of graying hair and dark blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. “That was my fault,” he said. “Cut the corner too close. You must be Daisy.”