CHAPTER TWO
EZRA CALDWELL
“Look out!” The shouted warning echoes in Hearthstone Lodge’s atrium before a splash of cool liquid hits my head and shoulders, dousing me in something sweet and distinctly coffee-like. Ice cubes rain down and scatter across the marble tile as Keisha from the concierge desk hurries over.
“Are you alright?” She searches the upper levels of the lodge while speaking into a walkie-talkie. “Does someone have eyes on what happened?”
A couple of guests lean over the balconies to stare below, confusion rife on their faces until my narrowed gaze connects with violet eyes wide with guilt. Pointing at the woman, I tell Keisha, “ There. Bring her to me. I’ll be in my office drying off.”
I shrug out of my suit jacket and tug at the soaking fabric clinging to my chest as I march out of the lobby, my shoes squeaking with each step.
This isn’t the first time something has fallen from the tiered balconies surrounding the heart of the lodge. People are careless. They fumble cell phones, water bottles… Once, a social media influencer accidentally dropped an entire tray of sandwiches. I don’t know what the hell they were trying to promote or how it happened, but a guest’s golden retriever had been happy to gobble them up.
Most items land in the long planters strategically placed to avoid head-on collisions and massive legal fees, but there are a couple of unavoidable impact zones. Places where a guest has to stand just right from above, and an unlucky someone’s timing becomes shit—like mine.
My younger sister Kennedy walks out of her office and abruptly stops. “What happened to you?”
“A cup of morning coffee, that’s what.” She follows me into my office down the hall and watches as I strip off the ruined shirt and replace it with an extra I keep in a desk drawer. Sometimes a late night turns into sleeping on the leather sofa in the corner, so it helps to keep spare clothing available for quick changes. My siblings joke about my overly prepared tendencies, but once again, it’s proven to be necessary.
Kennedy tilts her head. “Did it explode in your face?” She gestures to the wet jacket and shirt, amusement hiding in the corners of her pressed lips.
“No, it fell from the damn sky.” My fingers fight to push the tiny buttons through their holes on the fresh shirt as frustration quickens my pace. “Damn balconies. Damn clumsy-fingered, violet-eyed…” I continue to mutter under my breath when Keisha knocks on the doorframe with the culprit of my disastrous morning standing behind her.
“Lauren!” Kennedy greets the woman attempting to use Keisha as a barrier between us. “Is everything okay? Keisha, we’ve got it from here, thank you.”
She nods, casts a sympathetic glance toward Lauren, then disappears.
“I spoke with security, and they assured me that you shouldn’t have any more trouble with paparazzi while on the property. But if they’re still hounding you…”
“No, no… That’s not why I’m here.” Lauren looks between me, Kennedy, and the discarded clothing hanging on the back of a chair before her gaze falls to my half-covered chest. A flush of scarlet rises to her cheeks as my dick swells with interest.
Dammit.
Who cares if there was a flare of attraction in her stare? Who cares if her rosy blush has me curious to know if it matches the color of her nipples?
I don't have time to lust after a guest.
She studiously refocuses on my sister. “There was an accident.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I grunt, determined to control the flame of desire threatening to spark free.
The last staff meeting replays in my mind as a distraction, and I recall the mention of increased security due to some minor celebrity arrival. She must be the celebrity. An actress? A model? Her pretty curves and wholesome features give off girl-next-door vibes—perfect for screen and print.
“Oh, no! You weren’t the one who—”
“Yes, she was,” I cut Kennedy off, snapping my collar into place after finishing with the damn shirt buttons. Though charcoal twill hides my bare chest from view, it doesn’t quell the burn left from Lauren’s brief show of interest.
“I’m so sorry. I saw someone with a camera and panicked.” Lauren bites her lip, my eyes instinctively drawn to the pink plumpness before common sense takes over.
I don’t need to be staring at Lauren’s bow-shaped mouth. Or the way her breasts fill out that vee-neck sweater that shows just a hint of cleavage. No fucking way can I afford to be distracted by a beautiful woman when said beautiful woman is the reason I’m sticky, stinking of sugar and caffeine, and fighting an inappropriate hard-on.
And late for a meeting.
Plus, she’s a celebrity . Probably an entitled diva.
My mind adds more fuel to the fire of annoyance in my gut and purposely ignores the lower stirring of attraction.
Kennedy’s brow furrows. “Was it one of the gossip rag photographers? I’ll let our head of security know.”
“No, it wasn’t. They didn’t even have their camera pointed my way; it was hanging around their neck while they juggled a backpack and tumbler. I just…” She shrugged and sighed. “I wasn’t thinking. That’s how I bumped into the balcony railing and dropped my coffee.”
A glance at my watch shows it’s fifteen minutes after ten. This entire fiasco will have me running behind for the rest of the day.
Fuck.
I hate getting off schedule. That’s my twin brother’s specialty: going with the flow, pretending time has no meaning unless it involves an emergency for the fire department, then Beckett is all business.
After the quick swipe of a wet wipe—another item I keep on hand for emergencies—I toss the crumpled cloth and stare at Lauren.
I don’t know why I had Keisha bring her here. It was obvious from her shock in the atrium that she didn’t purposely drop her drink, so there’s not much for me to do.
She’s a lodge guest, and it wouldn’t look good for the owner to scold her anyway.
“Next time, be more careful,” I grumble, ushering both women out of my office. Hopefully, the photographer I’m meeting in one of the conference rooms won’t be too pissed to be kept waiting for so long.
“Crap, don’t you have that appointment with Jean Marcelle?” Kennedy asks as if reading my thoughts on my face.
“It started a quarter of an hour ago. Let’s hope your tenuous connection to an influencer friend of Nora’s is enough for him to overlook my tardiness.”
Lauren stutter-steps and pitches forward on the carpet runner. Instinctively, my hands reach out to stop her fall—landing on her soft waist to squeeze gently—and a blast of something sweet tickles my nose.
Floral, not fruity.
Her shampoo?
“Sorry… again …” Lauren’s grip on my arm tightens before she finds her footing and lets go. “Is Hearthstone Lodge a magnet for influencers? Or other high-profile guests? The lodge and town websites didn’t mention being a hub like Aspen or Jackson Hole for celebrities.”
“Don’t worry; you won’t run into anyone you know here. Nora Olson is a body-positive influencer, but she’s also a local… ish . She lives in High Ridge,” Kennedy explains. “The point is, one of her social media friends hosted an event at the lodge a few months ago, and over the course of organizing that event, we got on the subject of marketing and—” My sister stops to take a breath as we enter the atrium. She must realize she’s running out of time to tell this story and jumps to the end. “She put me in contact with a photographer friend of hers. That’s who Ezra is meeting with.”
“Oh… Because you’re the marketing director?” Curious violet eyes peek up at me. I didn’t even know purple eyes were a real thing.
Are they real? They could be contacts.
Kennedy answers for me while I’m contemplating if Lauren is wearing contacts or not—something I shouldn’t give a damn about.
“Ezra is my brother and manages Hearthstone for our family.”
“I see. Now, I’m even sorrier for ruining your morning. I can pay for dry cleaning. Just send me the bill.”
“Forget about it. Our laundry services will suffice. Ken, are you joining me?” The conference room is a few more steps. This little chat needs to end, so I can focus.
“Why don’t we all go?” Kennedy snakes an arm through Lauren’s to hold her in place.
“What?”
“Why?”
A mischievous grin forms as Kennedy drags her hostage forward while I tail behind them. “This isn’t the paparazzi, Lauren. This is a professional whose purpose is to make Hearthstone Lodge look good to potential guests, and I think it’d be amazing if you posed for some shots. It’ll be good for your image—representing a small-town resort—and we could use the heightened exposure for business.”
My sister is talking out of her ass.
Never mind the bullshit about us fixing Lauren’s public image, our finances are fine. We’re not desperate for a celebrity endorsement to keep the lights on. Even if Hearthstone Lodge wasn’t solvent on its own, I’m a fucking billionaire after starting my hedge fund over a decade ago.
“This is ridiculous. You’re not—”
“Good morning, Mr. Marcelle. Apologies for our late arrival, but there was an accident that needed our immediate attention. Do you need anything before we get started? Water, coffee?” I swear Kennedy looks at me at that last part.
Ever since she fell in love with a military man she wrote letters to when he was thousands of miles away, she’s been bolder, more outspoken—more like the rest of us Caldwells.
Which is good.
I’m happy to see my baby sister come out of her shell.
But damn… Does it have to mean bulldozing her way through my perfectly scheduled days?
And dragging the woman my body has an inconvenient attraction to along for the ride?