Will he address it? Or will he pretend it didn’t happen?

Do I apologize?

I’m afraid that I’ll burst into tears the moment he looks at me.

But Henry’s not there.

Evidence of him is there. His half-finished coffee, his breakfast dishes, emptied and stacked. And a note, with elegant scrawl that reads:

Reschedule today’s 7-8am meetings.

Book dinner for seven. Eight people.

H.W.

That’s it.

But where is he? His trip to Kodiak Island isn’t until eight thirty.

I sigh, disappointment and relief taking over where only pure dread resided moments ago. Maybe he’s too angry to face me right now. Or maybe he’s embarrassed by what I saw him do. Would a man be embarrassed by that? I know I’d want to die if he—or anyone—caught me touching myself like I did the other night.

Maybe I’m making a bigger deal of this than it is, though. Maybe he doesn’t care.

I sigh and pour myself a cup of coffee. For as long as it took me to organize his calendar yesterday, it’s going to take me all morning to reorganize it.

~.~.~.~

The canary-yellow Otter coasts in to the plane docks, the Wolf Cove brand proudly displayed on the wing. I watch from my chilly perch—the porch off the front of Cabin One—as the small door creaks open and one after another, bodies jump out. Seven men later, Henry’s large frame emerges, crouching to escape.

My heart begins racing. A nervous giddiness brews deep within the pit of my chest at the mere sight of him, even from this far away. He’s dressed casually—in jeans, his plaid jacket, and a charcoal vest peeking out from beneath, his chestnut-brown hair covered in a beanie. So incredibly sexy, but not exactly proper attire for the upscale Lux restaurant.

Which means he’ll have to come here to change.

The nervous dread that dulled hits me like a tidal wave now.

They’re all talking and laughing, slapping each other on the shoulders. I guess they enjoyed the tour.

Henry trails behind them, chatting with the pilot. Philip, I gather. He hands him something, to which Philip seems appreciative, bobbing his head and shaking his hand before he heads back to the plane.

I hug my body tightly, my breezy white blouse not nearly warm enough with highs of fifty, and watch until Henry disappears from view, all the while holding my breath against the hope that he’ll glance up here.

But he doesn’t so much as bat an eye.

Ducking back inside, I rush for the desk, scrambling to make sure any last minute e-mails are opened and dealt with before he arrives, squeezing my thighs together as my bladder threatens to spill.

But Henry never appears.

Two hours later, with no sign of Henry and my nerves sufficiently frazzled, my work phone texts with a message.

Come to the Summit at 2.

I groan. This is it. This is where Henry and Belinda sit across from me at a table and explain in painstaking detail how what I did was not only wrong but disgusting.

I glance at the clock. I have ten minutes to find this room. Not enough time to grab lunch, but I doubt I could stomach anything anyway. Collecting the iPad and my work phone, I scramble out the door.

I’m going to miss Alaska.

~ ~ ~ ~

I’m panting by the time I find the Summit boardroom, one minute past two. My heart leaps into my throat as I take a quick scan of its inhabitants—a  stony-faced Henry, Belinda, Paige, and four unfamiliar faces sitting around a ten-person table.

They all turn to regard me as I knock meekly against the door.

“Take a seat.” Henry gestures to the chair next to him. I scramble toward it on wobbly legs, my hands shaking with nerves. Do all these people need to be here in order to fire me?

I feel Belinda’s calculating eyes scour over me, the disdain on her face barely concealed.

I’m so unnerved, I barely notice that Henry has changed into the suit I dropped off for dry cleaning yesterday. The ends of his hair are damp, suggesting he had a shower. But where, and when?

“Paige, status update, please,” Henry demands, leaning far back in his chair, his one leg crossed over the other at the knee, his fingers lightly tapping a polished black shoe. He must have done that himself. I know I didn’t. Am I supposed to polish his shoes, too? “Abbi, take notes.”

I simply stare at the tiny Texan woman as she begins talking about housekeeping and hospitality issues over the past twenty-four hours, highlighting minor guest complaints and some process changes she has already put in place.

It’s not until Henry reaches over and softly taps my thigh with his knuckle that it registers. I haven’t been called to the Summit Room to be fired.

I’m here to scribe.

My body sinks into my chair with relief. I quickly tap out bulleted notes, focusing intently as one by one, each manager gives Henry an update on their area. Sally, a kind-looking blonde in charge of guest amenities, including the spa; Jean, the tiny Asian lady sitting across from me who coordinates all guest tours and programs; Pierre, the kitchen manager; and a thirty-something year old man named Ryan who runs all facilities and maintenance. He would have been my boss, had I ever worked a day with the Outdoor team. He has a big job, ensuring everything from the tulips in the garden to the float planes by the docks are in perfect working order. He also looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Belinda interrupts every so often with a question of her own, or an instruction on how to handle. I’m not at all fond of her and I already know she doesn’t like me, but I’ll admit she sounds smart and sophisticated. I can see why Henry put her in that role.

And probably why he slept with her, seeing as he’s not attracted to silly little girls.

But I’m here to scribe notes, I remind myself with a small smile. That, I can handle.

“Any major complaints about facilities?” Henry asks Ryan.

“A few guests on the top floors have complained that their showers take too long to heat up.”

“Where is their hot water coming from?”

“Third floor.”

Henry’s jaw tenses. “I’m no engineer, but that sounds like a design flaw.”

Ryan clears his throat. “Yes, sir. I already have the plumbers working on installing additional hot water heaters specifically for that floor and rerouting the pipes. There is space in the fifth floor maintenance area.”

“Minimal disturbance to our guests, I hope?”

Belinda steps in smoothly. “I’ve already sent Cristal to their rooms. For those who complained, I’ve comped their first nights’ room stay.”

That’s thousands of dollars, just like that. Does it matter to a guy like Henry? To a hotel like this? I can’t comprehend the magnitude. To me, it sounds crippling.

Ryan’s expression is tentative as Henry regards him silently for a moment, cool and calm. “Do the same for the fourth floor.” He then turns to me. “Abbi, schedule a call with George Duncan for later today. He’s west coast.”

I mark it in my notes, pretending I know who that is. Hopefully I can find something in Henry’s inbox that tells me who George is. By his tone, I’m guessing the conversation isn’t going to be pleasant.

Henry moves on, dominating the meeting in a no-nonsense fashion, the tension radiating from him almost tangible. He is under a lot of pressure. Rightfully so, I guess. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to open a luxury hotel.

Each person around that table keeps their eyes glued to him, like they don’t want to miss a prompt. He intimidates them. That would make sense, seeing as he intimidates the hell out of me. He’s an entirely different guy from the patient one who taught me how to swing an ax, and the sheepish one who smiled as he held up the wrong tie and admitted to being color-blind.

And the vulnerable one I watched come apart by his own fist.

His hand sits on his brawny thigh, his fingers strumming a slow, rhythmic beat. The hand that was gripping his cock so tightly yesterday, pumping it from root to tip until he came.