Page 31 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” I reassure him.

“It snowed again last night, so I hope it hasn’t blocked the road again.” He blows out a breath and purses his lips thoughtfully. “If this weather keeps up, it’s going to make the midnight ghost hunt into the hollow quite difficult.”

“You’re not actually going to make the guests trek across the field and through the woods in the dark?”

“That’s the whole point of a ghost hunt,” he replies. “It’s supposed to be spooky.”

“They’re not supposed to die of hypothermia or fall down in the darkness and break a leg along the way. We really can’t afford to get sued right now.”

“It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Everyone will have fun, word will soon spread, and we’ll get even more bookings.” He rises up on his toes and pecks a kiss to my nose. “Stop looking all grumpy, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“I’ve already got wrinkles,” I grumble. “Most of them since I arrived here.”

He laughs. “I have to get back to the guests. Are you coming with me?”

I shake my head. “I’ll join the meet and mingle in a little while. I have something I need to do first. But save me one of Aggie’s cookies, please. If my brother gets anywhere near them, there’ll be none left.”

He smiles. “I will.”

“And could I borrow your phone? I still don’t have mine. I promise it’s not an international call.”

“Sure.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it to me, then grabs a pen off the desk, takes my other hand, and writes a number across my palm. “This is the code to unlock it.”

“You’re very trusting.”

He shrugs. “I don’t have anything to hide. If you want to snoop on my phone, feel free. My nudes are in a folder labelled nudes.”

“A cunning name to confuse would-be phone thieves.”

He grins. “I figured if anyone bothered to go to the trouble of breaking into my phone, they deserved a little treat.” He gives me a cheeky wink. “Enjoy.”

I step aside so he can let himself out of the office. Once he’s gone, I close the door and drop down into the office chair, hissing as something digs me in the back. Christ, if Rosie continues to sit in this monstrosity, she’ll have the spine of a ninety-year-old by her next birthday.

After making a mental note to add it to the list of things to replace urgently, I look down at Ellis’s phone in my hand and unlock it, resisting the urge to go searching for his photos. If I start staring at nudes of him, I can’t guarantee I’m not going to drag him into the nearest closet and do very,verysinful things to him.

Opening the internet browser, I do a quick search for private investigators based in London. There’s a surprising amount of them. I scroll down the list, wondering who to pick, then stop on one particular name. It’s not the name itself that catches my eyes—although it does make me picture a 1930s film noir detective—it’s the sentence beneath his name.

For problems that can’t be resolved by conventional means.

Before I have a chance to second-guess myself, I call the number and listen as it rings.

“Sam Stone, Private Investigator. How may I help?”

His voice is deep and sexy, with that same northern burr I’ve heard so much recently.

“I, uh, yes, hello?” I reply.

I never have problems talking to people. I’ve run a multibillion dollar company. I’ve addressed boardrooms and charity galas filled with celebrities, but sitting here right now, in the most uncomfortable office chair, in a pokey little office that’s barely bigger than a broom closet, my mind goes blank.

“Hello?” he says again.

“Sorry,” I apologise. “I’m not really sure where to start. It’s probably a bit of a weird request.”

“Trust me, weird is subjective in my world.” He chuckles, and there’s something about that sound that eases some of my tension. “I can tell by your accent that you’re American. Are you in London at the moment? Because we can meet in person if you’re more comfortable.”

“No, actually, I’m in Yorkshire. I was born here, but grew up in the States. My father’s family own a hotel here.”

“Okay,” Sam says, waiting for me to continue, but I’m still trying to figure out how best to explain what I need. “Why don’t you start by telling me your name.”