Chapter Twenty-Seven
The marble floor of the Belicourt lobby gleams under the morning light streaming through the tall windows. Every surface looks polished within an inch of its life—exactly the way my father likes things.
The place is quiet this early on a Tuesday. A few guests sit with coffee in the lounge area, and the front-desk staff move with that crisp, professional efficiency we drilled into them.
My parents walk beside me. My father’s hands are loosely clasped behind his back as he surveys the room.
His keen eye evaluating everything.
Every light fixture. Every piece of furniture. Every employee.
Behind us, Diana Fairchild clicks along in her heels, her tablet tucked neatly against her side. She’s dressed in a black pencil skirt and her company blazer, immaculate, as always.
“Your mother is spending tomorrow at the spa. When I walked down this morning to set it up, I spoke with Lorna. Her reservations are down,” my father says.
I nod.
“Fall bookings have been strong. I expect there will be an uptick soon,” I say.
Diana clears her throat. “Yes, and also once the ski resorts open in November. A lot of the ladies prefer a day of pampering while their husbands are on the slope.”
“Same as when they’re in Vegas and their husbands spend all their time at a poker table,” Mom says.
“Exactly,” Diana says.
We pass the grand staircase. Sunlight glances off the brass railings.
“And we’re now including spa services in our romantic getaway packages,” I add.
That seems to pacify him.
“And the conference spaces?”
“Most are booked through the end of the year.”
He nods once. “That’s excellent.”
We walk a few more steps.
He says something else.
I hear the sound of his voice.
But the words don’t register.
Because the lobby doors slide open, and Harleigh walks in.
My chest tightens immediately.
She’s wearing fitted black slacks, a soft ivory blouse tucked neatly into them, and her tailored blazer. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail that swings against her back as she crosses the marble floor. A leather satchel slung over one shoulder and a coffee cup in her hand.
She looks … professional.
Gorgeous.
Completely unaware that I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I left her tucked in bed three days ago.
My father stops walking.
I realize he’s waiting for an answer.
“Porter?”
I blink. “Sorry,” I say. “Could you repeat that?”
“Your mother asked if you planned to join us for dinner tomorrow night.”
Damn it.
I rub the back of my neck.
He gives me a long, assessing look.
“Uh, yes. I’ll make a reservation at the steak house upstairs if that works for you and Mom.”
Harleigh stops to speak to Mabree before proceeding to her office.
She sees us. And for just a second—one tiny second—her eyes meet mine.
A polite smile appears on her face.
The kind employees give the boss. One that doesn’t reach her eyes.
She keeps walking.
“Miss Storm,” I call. The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
She pauses.
Turns.
Her expression stays professional, but there’s curiosity in her eyes as she walks over.
“Good morning.”
Her voice is smooth.
Controlled.
I clear my throat.
“Dad,” I say, gesturing toward her, “this is Miss Storm, the new social events and conference planning manager I was telling you about.”
She steps forward immediately, extending her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Garrison.”
My father brightens the instant he takes her hand.
“Ah, yes,” he says warmly. “The brightest new member of the Belicourt team, I hear.”
She gives him a genuine smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Storm. Porter tells me you’ve done some excellent work,” my father continues.
She nods politely. “I do my best, sir.”
“And this is my mother, Della,” I say.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Storm.”
“You too, ma’am.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“I don’t mean to be short,” Harleigh says. “I’m running late for a meeting.” She glances toward the hallway that leads to the offices. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course, of course. Keep up the good work,” Dad answers.
She nods to him, and her eyes return to me. “Mr. Garrison.”
Her gaze slides to Diana. “Miss Fairchild.”
That’s when I notice it. Diana is standing very close to me. Closer than necessary. Her shoulder almost touches mine.
And suddenly, I remember Harleigh’s question from the other night.
“Are you two a thing?”
I feel heat crawl up my neck.
Without thinking, I take a big step sideways. Putting space between us. But it’s already too late. Harleigh’s gone. Walking across the lobby toward her office.
I watch her go.
Every instinct in my body tells me to follow her.
To catch her before she disappears down that hallway.
But what the hell would I say?
Good morning, Miss Storm. By the way, I can still taste you. Feel your skin under my hands.
My father clears his throat. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “that young woman seems bright.”
Diana nods. “She’s been very effective so far.”
I drag my attention back to them.
“Yeah,” I say, “she has.”
My father watches Harleigh disappear down the corridor. “She carries herself well.”
He looks at me. “Where did you find her?”
“Peter found her actually. Before he retired.”
“Yes,” Diana speaks up. “She graduated just this year. A local girl.”
He hums. “That’s unusual for a position like that.”
I shrug. “She’s more than qualified, and she came highly recommended. By both her professors at the University of Wyoming and the GM at The Gilded Crown resort.”
Diana glances at me.
Something flickers in her expression.
She knows.
Or at least suspects something.
“Miss Storm has brought several new ideas to the conference program,” she adds. “But her event planning proposals are … ambitious.”
My father smiles slightly. “Ambition is rarely a bad thing.”
We start walking again across the lobby.
But my focus is gone.
Completely.
Because I keep seeing the way Harleigh looked at me just now.
Polite and distant.
My father continues speaking. “… and if the winter bookings stay strong, we could consider expanding—”
“Excuse me.” The words leave my mouth before I can think them through.
The three of them stop.
My father raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I just … forgot something in my office.”
That’s not even remotely convincing.
But he lets it go.
“For someone who runs a luxury property,” he says dryly, “you seem unusually disorganized today.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll catch up.”
I wait until they’ve stepped outside.
Then I turn and walk toward the hallway.
Not toward my office, but hers.
The corridor is quieter than the lobby. The soft carpet muffles my footsteps.
Her office door is half open.
I slow as I approach.
Through the gap, I can see her sitting at her desk, flipping through a folder. Completely focused on whatever she’s reading.
I knock lightly on the door.
She looks up and something flashes across her face when she sees me.
Excitement?
Surprise?
It disappears as quickly as it appeared and she schools her expression.
“Mr. Garrison.” She sets the folder aside. “What can I do for you?”
Mr. Garrison.
Geezus. I hate the way it sounds, coming out of her mouth now.
I step inside and close the door behind me.
Her eyes follow the movement.
Something in the air shifts immediately.
“You don’t have to call me that when we’re alone,” I say.
She folds her hands neatly on the desk. “Yes, I do.” Her tone is calm.
Silence stretches between us as we just stare at one another.
There are a thousand things I want to say.
A thousand things I probably shouldn’t.
She picks the folder back up and stands. She rounds the desk and walks toward the door.
I block her way.
“I really am late for a meeting,” she says, her eyes not meeting mine.
Another silence.
God, this is awkward.
Because the truth sits between us like a loaded gun.
What happened between us didn’t change anything.
I straighten slightly. “About the other night …”
She lifts her chin slightly. “You don’t need to say anything.”
I frown. “I think I should.”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s not necessary.” Her eyes flick to mine. “We both know what it was.”
“And what was it?”
She hesitates. Then answers softly, “A reckless mistake. One that won’t happen again.”
She’s giving me an out.
I nod. “Okay,” I say.
Because she’s not wrong.
She works for me.
That fact isn’t going to magically disappear.
I step out of her way.
“Are we good?” I ask.
Her expression shifts slightly.
Like maybe she didn’t expect me to agree.
She smiles, and her posture relaxes.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” she says. “It was bound to be a little weird today, right?”
She laughs, and it’s a real laugh.
She waves the folder again. “I really have to go.”
That’s my cue.
I nod once. “Of course.”
She opens the door, and I follow her back into the hallway.
The distance between us slams back into place.
Boss.
Employee.
Lines drawn exactly where they’re supposed to be.
I walk back toward the lobby and out the front doors, where my parents and Diana are waiting.
My father looks up when I approach. “Find what you were looking for?”
I nod. “Yeah, I did.”
He claps me on the back, and we walk out to the waiting car.