“He’s insane.” I groan as I ease my sore body into the bottom bunk, having already showered and readied for bed.

“Who’s insane?”

“Mr. Wolf. Apparently, he’s the one who put me in this job.” I’ve been wracking my brain for the last half hour, trying to figure out why he would. There is nothing that happened today that should give him the false belief that I can do this job. A dark thought crosses my mind. Maybe he wants me to mess up so he has an excuse to fire me. I quickly dismiss that, though. It makes no more sense than anything else.

“She knocked Wolf on the head with a piece of wood when they were out earlier today, is what I think,” Tillie says, grabbing her robe and her shower caddy.

Autumn’s face suddenly appears beside me, her hair dangling in wet, freshly washed tendrils. “Wait, you were with Mr.Wolf?”

I sigh. So much for Tillie keeping her mouth shut. Thank God I didn’t tell her anything more than I was supposed to. “I helped him load firewood.”

She frowns. “Why? He has the Outdoor crew.”

“Don’t know, but who am I to say no to the boss.” I doubt I’d be capable of saying no to him, regardless of request. “And because I can’t say no, I’ll be down here, studying up on my role as liaison to a bunch of rich people all night.”

“You best suck it on up then because any of us, including me, would murder to be in your place. You’re gonna double your salary this summer, girl. I, for one, am green with envy,” Tillie mutters, heading toward the door.

Autumn, at least, offers me a sympathetic smile and yanks on the privacy curtain to close us in.

I slide on my headset and get ready for a long night.

Chapter Eleven

My black Tieks pad softly along the stone path, sheltered from the drizzle by the elaborately constructed wooden canopy above. The covering stretches all the way from the main lodge to the cabins, easily three hundred feet away. In one hand I hold a paper cup filled with staff lounge coffee, in the other the iPad, to hopefully catch up on everything I didn’t read when I passed out last night.

Unlike yesterday at this time of the morning, Wolf Cove is buzzing with life, staff preparing to meet the first wave of guests at noon with glasses of champagne and swift check-ins. Again, I wonder what I’m supposed to do until my guest arrives.

Ahead of me, the covered path splits off into three smaller paths, each leading toward an elegant and detailed timber cabin, small replicas of the main lodge. An ornate bronzed sign points me to the right.

Penthouse Cabin One and its grand mahogany door stand before me. As Belinda promised, the servants’ entrance is next to it. Inhaling deeply, I stick my key card into the slot and wait for the telltale beep and green light to allow me in.

The liaison’s room is a small nook. On my left is a basic office: a desk, phone, computer, stationery supplies, and the like. Across from me is another door. The one, I presume, that leads into the suite. To my right, shelving with extra supplies—towels, bedding, every toiletry you could imagine, wine glasses—line the wall, along with a shiny stacked washer and dryer. There’s a doorway at the far end. I wander through it and find a small powder room and a twin bed tucked into the corner. I guess that’s where I’ll sleep, if I have a guest who insists on it?

I’m not crazy about this idea.

With a nervous sigh, I set my things on the desk and survey the space again, scanning over the bulletin board. It’s neatly plastered with all kinds of information: the restaurant and room service menus, full alcoholic beverage choices, and phone numbers to all facilities, as well as a checklist of all expected duties, along with timelines.

Place newspaper in mail slot by 6:30 a.m. Does that mean I need to be here by six thirty every morning? And how does Wolf Cove even get newspapers that early?

Deliver new vase of fresh-cut flowers each day with breakfast. That, I can remember.

Turndown service at 8:00 p.m. or when the guest requests it, if they are staying in.

When does my shift here end? Obviously I’ll be handing off at some point... right?

Suddenly the door to the suite opens and I spin on my heels.

“Good, you’re here,” Henry says, filling the doorframe with his body.

It takes me a moment to respond, my mouth hanging open in shock. “What are you doing here?” I scan him from head to toe, and excited butterflies fill my stomach, making me forget my current stress levels. He’s as intoxicating as ever to look at, his black pants custom-fit to a body that sees the leg press at the gym regularly, no doubt. His dress shirt is still hanging open, revealing a white V-neck t-shirt beneath, the material thin and fitted enough to highlight his pectoral muscles and a six-pack beneath.

“I live here.”

“You live here?” My gaze drifts past him to catch glimpses of a white couch and fur rug, and a rustic-hewn side table.

“While I’m in Alaska, yes.” Mesmerizing blue eyes float over my uniform, unnerving me. I was already feeling self-conscious in it. My skirt hugs my body from my hips right down to my knees. It’s a good thing that bending won’t be easy in it because the slit up the back is deep. The blouse is more fitted across the chest than I had expected, and I don’t know if that’s the design or my disproportionately ample boobs. It’s missing at least two buttons off the top for what I’m comfortable with. I won’t be able to lean over without exposing myself. All in all, it’s a modest, professional outfit that’s not so modest or professional after all. But I guess all the female liaisons wear it, so I need to suck it up.

Henry takes several steps back—his feet are bare—and gestures for me to come in.

I follow him, the smell of soap and aftershave filling my nostrils. His hair is still damp from a shower.

I finally force my eyes off him—because I’m staring—and train them on the full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite end. The vast expanse of water stretches beyond. “Nice place.” Inside, the cabin walls and ceiling are made entirely of wood. I can’t be sure of what kind, but it has a grayish coloring, which complements the soft decorative palette of whites, grays, and creams. It’s obvious that a topnotch designer had a hand in every detail.

My head tips back to take in the double-story vaulted ceiling, and the thick beams running the length on either side. “Steep.”

“I like high ceilings,” Henry explains easily, wandering over to the dining table, where room service dishes rest. He pours himself a coffee. “Would you like one?”

I hold up my paper cup in answer.

A sexy smirk curls his lip. “I promise, this will be better.”

While he’s pouring into a second cup, my gaze drifts toward a sliding door to the right, half-open. Behind it I spy the bedroom, a mess of bed sheets strewn over the bed. My body begins to hum with the mental vision of Henry’s body tangled within those sheets. Does he wear something? Or does he sleep naked?

“Abbi?”

“Yes?” My head whips back to Henry, to find him holding the creamer over my cup.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Yes, please.”

He prepares it wordlessly and then sets the cup in front of me.

“Thank you.” I take a long sip, releasing a soft moan. He’s right—the stuff from the staff lodge tastes like mud by comparison.

He quietly watches me savor my coffee, one hand resting over the damask-upholstered dining chair, until I begin to squirm under the weighty gaze.

“Why did you tell Belinda to move me here? I don’t know the first thing about serving your wealthy guests. I’m going to disappoint people.” You, most of all.

He sets his mug down. “You’re not here to serve my rich guests. I want you to work for me.”