He cuts Belinda off with “Get rid of her. Get her on a ferry right away. I can’t have staff making up their own rules, and we’re not running a damn brothel. What’s her name?”

“Rachel Avery.”

Is that my Rachel? I don’t know her last name but she works at the bar. Two nights ago... She wasn’t in her bed when I got up to head to the showers.

My stomach sinks. It must be her.

And Henry just demanded her firing. I glance at him, wondering if he realizes who she is to me, but he simply stares straight ahead, unaffected. “The other issue?”

Belinda’s lips twist, her poor attempt to hide a smile. “This morning, a guest complained that two of our staff were utilizing the spa for their own personal needs last night, while she and her friends were waiting for service.” Her eyes settle on me. “I can’t say that I blame them for being upset.”

My stomach drops. The three women waiting in the lobby when Katie dragged me into the room last night. Without permission. That was them. This is about me.

Oh my God.

I’m unable to stop myself from reaching for Henry’s knee below the table, squeezing it hard as my heart pounds inside my chest. Henry’s gaze flickers to mine. With my eyes, I plead for him not to press, not to ask for details, not to fire me—or Katie—on the spot. Worse, I’ll die if Belinda has figured out what “service” Katie provided and that becomes a topic of discussion.

He must pick up on my discomfort—anyone would, my face is likely ghostly white—because he dismisses everyone with an, “Okay. That’s all.”

I could kiss him, right here, right now.

“Sally, Belinda, a word.” Everyone gets up. “Wait for me in the hall, Abbi.”

I duck out and round the corner, hugging my iPad to my chest, my legs wobbly, my blood rushing through my ears, throwing my balance off even more. I consider running and never looking back.

“Sally? Is this true?” The walls aren’t soundproof and, thanks to the empty, quiet hall, I can easily hear Henry’s deep voice through the door.

“It’s news to me.”

“It was your assistant, Henry,” Belinda offers, the smug tone glaringly obvious.

“I’m aware that she was in the salon last night. Sally cleared it with me.” Henry’s calm voice gives me a false sense of security.

“I did,” Sally jumps in. “It was dead in there. Not one person waiting. I can’t imagine who would complain about anything.”

“And did Henry clear the use of the esthetics room?”

There’s a long pause. “I wasn’t aware that it extended to that. No,” Sally finally offers.

“They were in there for almost twenty minutes.”

“Who?”

“Abbi and one of the estheticians.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as tears threaten.

“It would have been Katie. She’s the one who orchestrated all this. A roommate, I think. She’s a bit of a live wire.” Sally sighs. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware. I’ll deal with it.”

Oh no. I’ve gotten Katie into trouble. Or worse, fired! Both Katie and Rachel gone?

“Hold off on that, Sally. I’ll get back to you. Give us a minute,” Henry says.

I take several steps back, so it doesn’t look like I was eavesdropping, just as the door swings open and Sally steps out.

One look at me and sympathy fills her face.

“Please don’t fire Katie. It was my fault. I made her do it,” I whisper. That’s not at all true, but I’ll say anything.

“Don’t worry. I think it’ll blow over. And by the way,” she gestures toward her own hair, “stunning!”

I offer her a tight-lipped smile, wishing I could revel in the compliment. The moment she turns the corner, I step closer to the door to resume my listening.

“What are you accusing me of?” The venom in Henry’s voice is sharp and rank. I’ve clearly missed something important.

“It doesn’t look good, Henry.”

“So?”

“Just tell me you’re not fucking her,” Belinda hisses.

“I’m not fucking her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you believe.”

I know that’s a lie.

“This isn’t New York. We’re secluded here. The future owner of Wolf Hotels fucking his assistant will have everyone’s tongues wagging. Do you want that? Because your father will hear about it, even if it’s not through me. And I’m guessing he won’t be happy.”

What would happen if the Mr. Wolf thought Henry and I were sleeping together? Does he really care what his son does? I guess so, if it reflects on his company. By the sound of the phone conversation from the other day, he takes a lot of pride in the Wolf name. Something in the back of my conscience pricks at me about that conversation. I can’t put my finger on it, though.

There’s a long pause and then I hear Henry ask, “What were they doing in there for that long?”

“What do you think they were doing in there?” Belinda snaps, then sighs. “It’s a waxing room.”

“For twenty minutes?”

I want to crawl into a hole and die. I can just imagine the look on his face.

“I have two guesses. Maybe your little farm girl is loosening up a bit. And if it’s not for you, then it must be for someone else.”

Footsteps approach the door and I scamper back just as it flies open. Henry steps out and simply stares at me, his face a cold mask. He looks pissed.

Belinda steps out behind him. “I’ll meet you on the dock at one?” Her gaze skates over mine briefly. The woman despises me, and it’s purely out of jealousy. It’s almost laughable, given who she is and what she looks like.

“Yup,” Henry says without turning to regard her. “And please add a conduct warning to Miss Mitchell’s file for utilizing hotel property for personal needs.”

My face blanches.

I watch her stalk away triumphantly, waiting for her to round the corner before I plead with Henry. “Please don’t have Katie fired.”

He begins pacing back and forth, his hands on his hips, not saying a word. And then, when he does, it’s not what I expect. “Is it for Michael?” he hisses.

My mouth drops open. “No!”

He seems to weigh that single word, his gaze drifting over the length of me. “I’ll see you back at my place around five,” he says more calmly. “Take care of those follow-ups.”

In seconds, he’s gone, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

Chapter Twenty

I’ve always hated nylons.

They’re itchy and confining, and, without a doubt, I always end the day with a snag in them somewhere. My mama made me wear them to church growing up, even on the hottest summer days. She said it was improper to go bare legged. Only heathens do that, apparently. I guess my mama and the uniform decision-makers at Wolf agree on something, because one of the requirements is that all females must wear nylons with their uniform dresses.

And I still hate them.

I hate them so much that I sat in Henry’s living room and peeled them off with a loud sigh of relief. And the fitted pencil skirt that isn’t meant to be worn while wrestling with a fitted sheet? That came off fifteen minutes later, allowing me freedom to crawl around the king-sized mattress because the bloody corners of this ill-fitting elastic won’t stay down today.

I don’t bother putting them back on right away. I watched Henry’s boat float away with him, Belinda, and a dozen guests on board. He won’t be home for hours and, with my white button-down shirt barely covering my panties and my hair pulled up in a messy bun, cleaning Henry’s cabin suite has been a hundred times easier and faster, and a hundred times more comfortable.

Now finished, I push the nightstand back to its place and flip the switch to turn off the vacuum. Peaceful silence fills the cabin once again. I heave a sigh, giving my sore neck a rub.

“This is a new take on the uniform.”

I squeal and spin around to find Henry standing in the entrance to the bedroom, the nylons that I left on the couch dangling from his fingertips. His normally cool, guarded mask is off, but I can’t read the dark and thoughtful look that sits there now.