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A flutter of nerves erupts when Henry strolls through the door at five, and my pulse instantly kicks into high gear.

The moment his eyes touch me, I begin apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent all day with your e-mail and calendar. I haven’t done much around here.”

His fingers fumble with his tie as he heads for his bedroom. “What does this week’s schedule look like for me?” The friendly tone from this morning is gone. He’s all business now.

I grab my iPad and quickly punch in the code to open up his calendar, something that took me hours to sort out. “I’m waiting for confirmations from a few people, but you will be booked solid from 5:00 to 8:00 a.m. every day.” He has, on average, seven meetings each morning, some of them for only fifteen minutes. I wouldn’t want to start my days like that, but I guess that’s why he’s so successful.

“Let me see the schedule?”

I step past the door as he’s reaching over the back of his head to pull off his t-shirt.

My breath catches at the sight of his smooth upper body, so perfectly honed with muscle. If this were a magazine picture, I’d assume it had been embellished, but he’s right here, in the flesh, his biceps and triceps bulging, his abdominal muscles a washboard of ripples, the grooves around his neck and collarbone begging for my fingers to touch them.

Henry makes Jed look like a scrawny boy by comparison.

And then there’s that trail of dark hair that runs downward, disappearing beneath his belt...

“Abbi?”

My eyes snap up to his face with the sound of my name. “Yes?” My voice is a croaky whisper.

He tosses his t-shirt into the hamper—which reminds me that I need to do his laundry—and then extends a large, manicured hand my way. “The schedule? Can I see it?”

Giving my head a shake, I rush forward, stumbling over the white fur rug but regaining my footing. “I color-coordinated the meetings based on area: green is the EU, blue is North America, yellow is Asia, pink is England.”

“Pink? Why pink for England?”

I shrug, blushing. “I like pink, and I’ve always wanted to go to England.”

A small frown zags over his brow. “Why England?”

“To see the royal family,” I admit, sheepishly. Ever since I was little, I’ve been fascinated by the idea of a real-life king and queen in a palace.

“Of course,” Henry mutters, and I instantly feel stupid.

Of course the silly little girl would want to go to England to see the queen, who’s not even our queen.

He studies the screen quietly, each moment passing twisting my stomach into tighter knots. I worked hard today. “This is...”

I hold my breath.

“Good. Very good. I had a feeling you’d hit the ground running.”

My chest warms with pride. I didn’t screw that up, at least. “I went through all of your e-mails, too, marking the time-sensitive ones and the progress reports. There were a few that I don’t know what to do with. I’ve dumped those into a folder marked ‘Needs Henry’s attention’.”

He hands the iPad back to me, our fingers grazing in the process. “You’ve picked up even faster than I expected.”

Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing, but I just poured myself a coffee, sat down, and began clicking. I’m glad it worked out. “I’ve ordered coffee delivery for 4:50 a.m. sharp and your poached eggs and fruit for six thirty.” Because, after tracking down the room service supervisor, I was able to confirm that that’s what he’s ordered the last few mornings, and I made an executive decision that that is what he’d have tomorrow. “If you want something else, please let me know. Cedric is on standby for 8:00 p.m. tonight and Phil will have the plane ready by 8:30 a.m. sharp.” Thank you, Autumn, for confirming that Cedric is the head sommelier and Phil is the pilot for the bear touring flights.

“Great. I need you to bump the dinner reservations up to six. The guys want an earlier dinner, given the time difference.”

Shit. “Lux might be full.” It is full, according to Rich, the reservation guy I spoke to. With the online dinner reservation service, today’s first guests have been booking for the past two weeks and the early spots filled up first.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says simply.

I sigh. I don’t know how.

A playful smirk touches his lips as his gaze takes in the freshly made bed. That, at least, I managed to get done. “Was it as bad as you expected?”

I smile shyly. “No.” Thanks to yesterday’s room prep marathon, I’m now an expert at making beds whether I want to be or not. Paige did spot checks in each of our rooms, to ensure we weren’t being lazy. She said my corners were on point.

And, oddly enough, I found I didn’t mind hiking up my curve-hugging skirt and crawling over Henry’s mattress to fight with the fitted sheet that wouldn’t stay in place, because I knew he’d be the one sliding into it tonight.

Maybe naked.

Hopefully alone.

How often does Henry have sex? He said he doesn’t have a girlfriend. There obviously isn’t one here. A summer without sex never seemed impossible to me because I have no idea what I’m missing. He said he’s staying up here for the summer. Will he not have sex all summer? Or will he find someone? Belinda, I guess.

Or maybe he’ll have friends fly in and “visit.”

I’m thinking far too much about my boss having sex while I’m in his bedroom and he’s shirtless. And uninterested in me.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t allow this anymore.

I clear my throat once again, afraid of what my voice may sound like. “Thank you for the vest and sweater. They were a nice surprise.”

He slides his watch off and tosses it on the dresser. “It’s the least I could do, and you need them up here.” His hand begins unfastening his belt.

My eyes widen. I guess that’s my cue to leave. “I’ll go make that reservations call now.” I spin on my heels and march for the door.

“Abbi.”

I stop, but don’t turn around. “Yes?” Why must my voice sound so reedy?

“I need to jump into the shower so I’ll give you my suit. I spilled some Coke on it earlier. Please take it to the cleaners and then you can call it a day.”

I listen to the jangle of his belt and slide of material, and know that he has taken his pants off. I am 99 percent sure this is considered inappropriate behavior for a boss with his personal assistant, but I’m 100 percent sure that I don’t mind.

I keep my eyes away though, letting my gaze wander over to the en suite bathroom. It’s a fishbowl, with a hall down the center dividing the area in two: the toilet on the right, behind a glass-and-tile wall, and a massive walk-in glass stall to the left that houses the jacuzzi tub and a shower area that could easily fit five people. A pocket door separates the bathroom from the rest of the room.

I hazard a sideways glance to see him strolling toward me in a pair of black boxer briefs, suit in hand, powerful legs tensing with each step. I hold my shaky arm out and he drapes the suit over it gently. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, my voice suddenly husky, and then I duck out. I hang the suit over a chair and head for the desk phone to change dinner plans, acutely aware that Henry has left the door ajar as I punch the reservations desk button.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wolf. How may I help you?” Rich says in his deep, melodic voice. He could be a phone sex operator. I can’t wait to meet him in person.

“It’s Abbi again. We need to move Hen—” I catch myself, “Mr. Wolf’s dinner reservations from eight to six.”

He groans. “This is the longest day of my life already, and dinner hour hasn’t started.”

I cringe. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Please. You’ve been hiding out in your little palace over there, reading Cosmo.”

I snort in response. “I heard the commotion.” Wolf Cove has two ferries to transport guests; the small one that John brought me in on, and then a much larger, fancier one that reminds me of a small cruise ship, with an indoor section, set with cafe tables and chairs, and a waiter to serve drinks. It made several trips back and forth, arriving loaded with guests each time. A few planes also landed in the bay and propelled to the docks to deliver wealthy, elite guests. Helicopters made use of the pad as well.