Page 10 of Middle Ground

“Winona,” a familiar voice interjects. “Can I have a word?”

I turn, finding Meyer with her head poking out of an office door behind the counter. She ignoresme and looks expectantly at the employee. Winona glances between the two of us, unsure.

“Sorry,” she squeaks before turning away from me.

I sigh. I can’t tell what they’re talking about, but I have a feeling it has to do with me. Winona is somewhat taller than Meyer, so she completely blocks my new business partner from sight. I can’t even attempt to read her lips.

When Winona returns to the desk, she looks nervous. “We have one room left, sir. Just one,” she says. Her eyes shift to the side as she speaks. “It’s our best suite.”

In other words, it’s the most expensive suite. I chance a glance at Meyer. She offers me a razor-sharp grin in response.

I return my gaze to Winona. “You’re telling me you’re booked solid on a random Sunday in April?” I prod.

Winona looks to Meyer and then back at me. “Uh…yes?”

Yeah, not fucking likely.

My eyes cut back to Meyer. She’s pretending to examine her nails as she leans against the doorframe, but her faux relaxed stance doesn’t fool me. Winona is clearly lying right to my face, on the instruction of her boss.

“It’s not a room at the Four Seasons,” Meyer says, “but I’m sure it’s closer to yourusualstandards.”

It seems I’m not the only one making assumptions. Although, in this case, Meyer would be right. My go-to accommodations are not tiny inns like this. But I resent the implication that I can’t—orwon’t—hack it here.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

I should be annoyed—miffed by Meyer’s pettiness. I should call their bluff, not because I can’tafford the room but on principle alone. However, I’m too bone-weary to argue right now.

I offer Winona my Amex. I can feel Meyer’s eyes on us again as the clerk inputs the reservation and then hands over my room key.

“Thanks for choosing Dog Days Inn,” Winona says. “We hope you have a relaxing stay!”

I almost snort. Relaxing, my ass.

CHAPTER 5

JACKSON

The next morningrolls around entirely too quickly.

This sleepy town is almost too peaceful. The room Meyer forced me into is nice, with its four-poster bed and its en suite bathroom complete with a claw-foot bathtub, but as I settled beneath the sheets, I couldn’t shake the weird feeling. Because it wastooquiet.

I wouldn’t say Toronto is a city that never sleeps, but there’s always something interrupting the silence of the night. Whether it’s raucous shouting after a hockey game or the whir of an air conditioner, motion is a constant. But Fraisier Creek is disconcertingly still.

When I didn’t immediately nod off, my brain took that as permission to wander. It first settled on the inn’s parking lot and how much money it would require to repair the crater-sized holes in the asphalt. A handsome sum, no doubt.

Then, predictably, my thoughts drifted to my business partner.

It’s easy to claim plain curiosity. Anyone would have aninterest in the new person they were supposed to work alongside. But I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that it’s more than that. In the simplest terms, Meyer Ellison intrigues me.

Especially when I walk downstairs and catch her mid-argument.

“Youstole my identity,” Meyer hisses from inside the back office.

The door is open, giving anyone passing by the freedom to observe. To his credit, the man—Trystan, according to his name tag—standing behind the front desk pretends not to listen. I have no such qualms as I lean against the desk.

“Meyer,” an unfamiliar woman says, “I can explain.”

I imagine Meyer crossing her arms and levelling her opponent with that icy gaze of hers.