Page 21 of Save Me (The Wolf Hotel Mermaid Beach #2)

H ow did I forget that Abbi Wolf is pregnant? Now that I’m looking at her swollen belly, I do recall seeing a headline or two somewhere announcing the news, but it obviously slipped my mind. Now, it’s thrown me off-balance from the word hi .

Henry Wolf spawning hasn’t softened my hate-filled feelings toward him, but I feel an odd kinship to this woman as I eye her specially selected plate of food and wonder if I’ve eaten anything harmful tonight.

Maybe I should have spent the day reading up on dos and don’ts of pregnancy instead of styling my hair and steaming my dress.

“Ronan.” The cool, overly calm voice comes just as Ronan is stuffing a scallop into his mouth.

Somehow, I know who it belongs to.

My pulse thumps in my throat as we turn to face the imposing figure behind us.

Okay, so the magazine photos have not been airbrushed. Henry Wolf is as handsome and tall and commanding as he appears in print, and then some, as he looms over our huddled group like a brewing storm.

Ronan can’t answer. His mouth is full, and he’s chewing slowly. But he meets Henry Wolf’s hard gaze with one of his own, and a wordless exchange seems to happen in that lengthy stare.

“They brought me a plate of food. All safe for the baby,” Abbi interrupts the nonverbal showdown. “The service is fantastic. You should tell whoever’s running this night.”

Henry Wolf finally relents. “I’m glad to hear that.” He’s wearing a simple black dress shirt and tailored pants, and yet he somehow looks more elegant than the men in full suits.

“Have you met Sloane yet? Ronan’s … uh … girlfriend?”

Dissecting, cold blue eyes land on me, and I fight the urge to shrink. There is no doubt he recognizes me from his PI’s exposé. “Sloane Parker. Our renowned neighbor. No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” Grim humor dances across his face.

So this is what it feels like to stand face-to-face with the billionaire who has ruined my last five years of sleep.

Okay, let’s dance . I steel my spine. “So great to finally meet you, Henry.”

“I’ll bet.” He turns his attention back to Ronan. “I knew you had a set on you, but I didn’t think they were this big.”

Ronan smirks, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a physical confrontation. “Guess you needed a different angle to see them.” There’s an edge to his voice as he delivers what seems like a taunt.

Henry’s jaw clenches.

Meanwhile, next to me, Abbi’s face flushes a bright red.

What on earth are they talking about?

“So, Sloane, what do you think of my new hotel?” Henry asks suddenly.

I hesitate, replaying my conversation with Gigi from earlier today. Peach pie or spittle, which do I choose? For Ronan’s sake, I go with the former, because something tells me spitting in Henry Wolf’s face during cocktail hour isn’t how I want to be remembered.

But I will not lie, and I sure as shit am not kissing anyone’s ass. “It’s everything I imagined it would be.” Right down to the arrogant owner.

Henry’s hard expression cracks as he bursts out with laughter that sounds genuine.

Abbi and Ronan share a wary look. This must not be the expected reaction.

Even I can’t keep confusion from skittering across my face.

Henry’s mirth ends on a heavy sigh, just as clicking heels approach from behind.

“You seem to be enjoying yourselves.” The blond who was staring me down earlier joins our little group, her voice a seductive purr. “Dinner is about to begin.”

“Belinda, have you met Ronan’s girlfriend?” Henry’s smile is smug and loaded.

I resist the urge to deny the label. Belinda. This is the general manager, Ronan’s immediate boss, who was also not a fan of my art project or of me.

“I have not yet, no,” she answers in a clipped tone, her eyes dragging over my dress in an assessing manner. “Ronan never mentioned a girlfriend, though Eleanor told me that he added an extra person last-minute.”

“This is Sloane Parker. She lives next door to the hotel.” Each word is enunciated in a calm, even tone.

“ Next door .” She glares at Ronan. “Is this a joke?”

“No. I’m sure I mentioned her at our afternoon meeting today. You remember the one, right?” Ronan meets Belinda’s gaze unflinchingly.

Clearly, something happened in this meeting because she looks like a keg of gunpowder about to erupt.

“ I insisted that Ronan bring Sloane tonight so we could meet her,” Abbi says in a rushed tone, reaching out to grab my free hand. “I can’t wait to get to know someone so important to one of my closest friends. Right, hon?” She peers up at her husband with an innocent smile.

How does she fake that so well?

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been dying for this moment.” There’s the perfect blend of dryness and mocking in Henry’s tone. “In fact, Belinda, can you please make sure Sloane and Ronan are seated next to me and Abbi?”

I stifle my groan.

Belinda’s painted red lips purse. “But we’ve put?—”

“Move them.” The two words are delivered sharply and leave no opportunity for rebuttal.

She stiffens. “I’ll see to it right now.” With one last scathing glare for Ronan, Belinda storms away .

The pianist has wrapped up her performance, and servers in pressed uniforms are forming a line by the kitchen doors, signaling dinner. Guests take the hint, moving in to read the seating cards as ambient music comes to life over the restaurant speakers.

“After you, Abigail.” Henry steps back and gestures toward the head of one table before leading his wife away.

“I guess that could have been worse,” Ronan murmurs as soon as they’re out of earshot.

“You were right. This dinner is going to be so much fun,” I mock.

Ronan smooths his calloused hand over my bare shoulder. “Should we make a run for it?”

“No, it’s too late. You made your bed, and now you’re gonna lie in it.”

“As long as you’re there with me.”

“Well, good news, then, because …” I cast a hand dramatically toward the table, where Belinda is shuffling seating arrangement cards with a scowl.

Ronan steps closer, his hand cupping my nape. “The sooner Henry realizes you are in my life, the better.” My breath hitches as he leans down to kiss me tenderly.

“Now, do I need to confiscate your butter knife or will you behave?” he whispers against my lips.

I’m caught in a haze, this growing pull toward him—both physical and emotional—beginning to overshadow everything else. “I make no promises.”

His deep, dark chuckle invades my body. “That’s my girl.”

“We have paired wines with each course this evening, as you can see on the menu cards set in front of you,” the server who brought Abbi her plate earlier announces to our end of the table. “Each course has three options to choose from, and we will tailor your pour, unless you vehemently oppose.”

Six more servers are spread out in sections to cater to smaller groups, and a small army waits behind us, each carrying wine bottles at the ready. In total, there must be close to forty people here for dinner tonight and almost as many staff.

“What is your name?” Henry asks calmly as he studies the card, never looking up.

“Umm … Jacqueline. Or Jacquie’s fine.”

“When was the red snapper brought in?”

“This afternoon at about 3:00 p.m. Caught an hour before by Captain Dave,” she answers without missing a beat.

Dave Rogers is known around here for guaranteeing the freshest day’s catch and gets paid well for it.

“And the king crab?”

“Our shipment arrived early this morning.” She holds her breath as she waits for his response. I imagine serving the owner of Wolf Hotels is nerve-racking at all times, but especially so when he’s grilling you.

“My wife claims she had impeccable service from you earlier.” Finally, Henry acknowledges the server with a glance. “Keep it up, Jacqueline.” He uses her full name, just as he called Abbi by hers earlier .

Jacquie’s eyes flitter to Abbi, who smiles up at her with encouragement. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll give you a few minutes to decide on your meals.”

He waves a hand in a that’ll be all gesture, and Jacquie scurries off.

Ronan and I exchange glances from across the double-wide table, an array of candles and florals a formidable barrier. Belinda separated us, seating Abbi and Henry at the very end as table heads—the king and queen. At least I’m closest to Abbi and not him. Ronan gets that honor.

On my other side is a man with a smooth Parisian accent who said a polite hello but has otherwise been caught up in conversation with Margo Lauren, the raven-haired supermodel seated next to Ronan. She’s even more striking in person than the magazine covers she graces, if that’s possible.

It would have been much kinder of Belinda to seat me and Ronan next to each other and pair these two up, but I don’t think showing kindness was a part of the equation where she’s concerned.

“How long do they swim for?” Abbi admires the aquatic tank, where a new mermaid skims through the water, this one in lavender-and-cream scales.

Henry abandons his menu card and leans back with his drink—scotch, if I had to guess. “I believe they change every twenty minutes. Is that accurate, Ronan?”

“My realm is the tank itself, not who or what swims in it,” Ronan answers wryly. “Lena will have to answer that.”

Henry briefly scans faces as if looking for this woman named Lena before dismissing the topic. “Sloane, how is your grandmother doing?”

“She’s good,” I answer warily.

He takes a sip. “Ruby, right?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s been what, now? Two years since you put her in an assisted-living center and claimed her properties?”

My mouth gapes for a moment. “I didn’t put her anywhere or claim anything .

” There’s more bite in my tone than I intended, but he blindsided me with that jab.

Plus, he’s tossing around Gigi’s name as if he personally knows her, as if he gives a shit what happens to her.

I take a calming breath. “She registered herself at Palm Oaks, and she loves it there.”

He hums. “I’ve never understood how anyone can enjoy living in one of those places.”