Chapter 4 Terms and Conditions Apply
TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY
SAGE
The phone starts ringing at seven AM sharp, cutting through the October morning quiet like a caffeinated rooster with boundary issues.
I stumble from the office couch where I spent the night—Buttercup curled up in her makeshift pen beside me—and grab the front desk phone before it can wake half the county.
"Cascade View Inn, this is—"
"Sage Winters, you little minx!" Eleanor Fitzgerald's voice booms through the receiver with the enthusiasm of someone who's been awake for hours plotting. "I just saw Mira's Instagram post. When were you going to tell us about your billionaire boyfriend?"
I nearly drop the phone. "My what?"
"Don't play coy with me, dear. Luke Sterling? The man from TechCast magazine? The one who's apparently spending intimate midnight moments in your lobby?"
Through the lobby windows, I can see the morning sun trying to break through the lingering rain clouds, casting everything in that pale, washed-out light that makes the mountains look like a watercolor painting.
It should be peaceful. Instead, it feels ominous.
"Eleanor, it's not—"
"I'm calling an emergency breakfast meeting at the diner. Sarah's already working on a special menu for couples. We need to strategize how to maximize this publicity for the whole town."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a moment, then set it back in its cradle just as it immediately rings again.
"Cascade View Inn—"
“SAGE.”
My older sister Harper's voice is sharp enough to exfoliate.
“Claire just sent me screenshots from the Alder Ridge Facebook page. Care to explain why you’re playing pajama peekaboo with Seattle’s hottest CEO in the middle of your lobby?”
“Can I explain? Technically, yes. Will you let me? Probably not.”
“I can’t believe you did it. You actually got him out there.” Claire joins the verbal ambush—eight months pregnant, breathless, and clearly mid-scroll. “What he’s like? Is he tall? Does he smell good? He looks like he smells good.”
“He smells…fine. And,” I inch closer to the receiver, “it would help if you could keep your voice down. I’m not exactly trying to broadcast it.”
Harper snorts. “Trying to broadcast what, Sage? The fact that you pimped yourself out on an app to trap a billionaire?”
“I’m not pimping anything. I’m managing a situation. And I swear to God,” I whisper into the phone, “one of you texts this to Aunt Marcy and I’m deleting you from the family tree.”
“Relax, no one’s texting Marcy,” Harper says, not even a little convincingly.
“She’s already in the Facebook comments,” Claire adds. “She said, and I quote, ‘Sage always did like a man in glasses.’”
I cover my face with my hand. “Jesus take the whole damn wheel.”
The groan I make is covered by the sound of footsteps outside the office.
I turn at the sound of footsteps—measured, deliberate—as Luke Sterling descends the main staircase like a perfectly curated press release in motion.
Dark-haired with threads of silver. Broad-shouldered. Sharp angles softened just enough to be dangerous.
He's every inch the Seattle CEO prototype: expensive watch, perfectly rumpled button-down, and the kind of quiet confidence that usually hides a portfolio of red flags.
The glasses are designer. The smirk is practiced. And the way he moves—like the entire room should already know who he is—makes something familiar slide down my spine.
Just like Derek.
In Seattle, there’s a hundred different variations of him.
Different face. Same algorithm.
I can practically hear the LinkedIn headline: Visionary leader. Data-driven. Impossible to emotionally access without a blood sacrifice.
But then—he pauses halfway down, adjusting his glasses like he’s calibrating for clarity instead of ego, and his gaze finds mine through the office window.
It’s not smug.
It’s curious.
Blinking, he mouths: “Everything alright?”
I shoot him a thumbs up, returning to the phone. "Look, Thelma and Louise, I have to go. I have a guest to—"
“Pretend like you’re not dying to get laid by?” My little sister Claire’s tone is like melted butter. “We know it’s been a while. You barely talk to men. Last guy you ‘dated’ thought flossing was a personality trait. And don’t even get me started on Derek. Plus, you never meet people.”
“Dating is the last thing on my mind,” I exhale. “I’ve got a whole inn to take care of, unless you two forgot. And for the record, I meet people. All the time.”
"Goats don't count," Claire says.
From her pen in the office, Buttercup whines as if she's personally offended.
Luke is now standing near the fireplace, clearly trying to give me privacy while remaining close enough that Buttercup can make eyes at him through the office doorway.
“She has a point,” Harper adds. “And you’re deflecting. A classic Sage strategy when you’re in deep.”
“And speaking of deep…” Claire adds slyly.
“Do not finish that sentence,” I say into the phone, turning slightly away from Luke. "I really do have to go. I'll call you back later."
"Don't you dare hang up on us," Harper starts, but I'm already disconnecting the call.
The phone immediately rings again.
I let it ring.
And ring.
I step out of the office and face an eyebrow-quirking Luke Sterling, who blinks.
"You can answer it.” He gazes at the office behind me. “I don't mind waiting."
“No, no. It’s just…Small town. Word travels fast."
"About furry, heat-seeking missiles like Buttercup?”
"About mysterious midnight visitors with blue eyes and billions.”
The phone stops ringing. For exactly thirty seconds. Then it starts again.
"This is going to continue all morning, isn't it?" I ask the universe.
As if in response, my cell phone starts buzzing on the desk. Then the inn's second line. Then what sounds suspiciously like a car pulling into the gravel parking lot.
Luke glances toward the windows. "Is that the local news van?"
I look outside and see a small white van with "KOMO 4 News" emblazoned on the side.
"Shit."
"Should I ask why the news is here?"
"Mira may have been slightly more enthusiastic about that Instagram post than I realized."
The front door chimes as someone enters, bringing with them the crisp October air and the scent of coffee.
"Sage!" Sarah Mitchell calls from the entryway, carrying what appears to be an entire tray of coffee and pastries. "I brought reinforcements!"
She bustles into the lobby, her natural hair wrapped in a colorful headband and her vintage band t-shirt already dusted with flour from the morning's baking. Her warm smile falters slightly when she sees Luke.
"Oh. You're really real."
"I get that a lot," Luke says dryly.
"Sarah manages the local café. Eleanor Fitzgerald’s place,” I explain. "Sarah, this is Luke Sterling."
"I know who he is," Sarah says, setting down the tray and extending a flour-dusted hand. "I read TechCast. That article about your new hospitality security platform was fascinating."
Luke shakes her hand, blinking steadily behind his glasses. "You read the whole article?"
"I read everything about hospitality tech. I'm studying restaurant management, and cybersecurity for small businesses is becoming essential." She pauses. "Also, Ellie called me at six-thirty this morning demanding I create a romantic breakfast special in your honor."
"A what now?"
"The Sterling Romance," Sarah says cheerfully. "Two buttermilk pancakes shaped like hearts, local berry compote, artisanal sausage, and our signature mountain coffee blend. I figured if I was going to be dragged into this town-wide matchmaking conspiracy, I might as well lean into it."
The front door chimes again. This time it's Eleanor Fitzgerald herself, wearing what appears to be her finest vintage scarf and carrying a bouquet of autumn flowers.
"Perfect timing!" she announces. "I brought centerpieces!"
"Eleanor," I start, but she's already arranging flowers on the registration desk like she's preparing for a photo shoot.
"Now, I know this is all very sudden," she says, addressing Luke directly, "but you have to understand that Sage is practically family to this whole town. We're very protective of her."
"I can see that," Luke says.
"And we're very supportive of her romantic endeavors," Eleanor continues. "Especially after that disaster with Derek."
"Eleanor," I say sharply.
"What? I'm just saying, it's nice to see you with someone who appreciates quality." She beams at Luke. "You do appreciate quality, don't you, Mr. Sterling?"
Luke's ice-blue gaze shifts to me, and I feel my cheeks warm under his scrutiny. "I'm beginning to."
The front door chimes a third time. Now it's a woman with a notepad and a man with a camera.
"Excuse me," the woman calls. "I'm Jenny Walsh from the Snoqualmie Valley Record. We're here about the Sterling romance story?"
I close my eyes. "The what story?"
"Local innkeeper finds love with tech billionaire," she reads from her notepad. "It's already trending on the town's Facebook page."
"Trending," I repeat.
"We just need a quick interview and maybe a photo by the fireplace?"
The inn's phone rings again. My cell phone buzzes. Buttercup cries out from the office, either commenting on the chaos or demanding attention.
Luke steps closer to me, his voice low. "Is this normal for your marketing strategies?"
The question hits too close to home. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you obviously have a very... engaged community here. And you mentioned you were a former marketing executive." His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. "I'm curious about how you're leveraging social media and local partnerships to drive bookings."
"I just... try to stay involved with the town."
"The goat yoga, the viral-worthy incidents, the strategic photo opportunities..." He's studying my face now, and I feel like he's reading code I didn't know I was writing. "It's actually quite sophisticated, from a digital marketing perspective."
"Sage is very creative," Sarah jumps in. "She's always coming up with new ways to promote the inn."
"I'm sure she is," Luke says, still watching me. "I'd love to hear more about your methods."
"Maybe we could discuss it over breakfast?" I suggest, desperate to change the subject and get away from the growing crowd in my lobby. "I was about to start cooking, but since Sarah showed up…”
“Ah, so you cook here? As well as run the place?”
"The chef quit last week," I admit. “Probably not as good as the…” I peer at Eleanor, “…Sterling Romance special, though.”
Luke nods, pushing those austere glasses up the bridge of his aquiline nose. "I'll take whatever you're making. As long as we can eat somewhere without the media attention."
I look around the lobby, which now contains two reporters, Eleanor still arranging flowers, Sarah unpacking what appears to be enough coffee for a small army, and the distant sound of more cars arriving in the parking lot.
"The kitchen it is," I say.
As we head toward the back of the inn, Luke leans close enough that I catch a hint of his cologne—something clean and expensive.
"Just so you know," he says quietly, "I'm very good at recognizing patterns."
"Patterns?"
"Mm-hmm. And this whole situation? It has all the hallmarks of a town that is very invested in its businesses.”
I swallow, wondering where this is going. “It…is.”
"I wonder,” Luke says, holding open the kitchen door, “if you’ve heard about my most recent product. It’s called SafeStay. And it works with businesses,” he glances down at me, “like yours.”
It doesn’t. SafeStay is a cybersecurity package for ‘luxury’ hotels and accommodations.
But from what I’ve read, Luke Sterling plans to implement the tech at a few Seattle area small businesses.
Like mine.
And the publicity from a joint venture like that would be all that Cascade View Inn needs.
As I walk past him into the kitchen, I try not to smile. “Really? I had no idea. Why don’t you tell me more?”
It’s a good thing my mouth can stay in check. Because my brain definitely cannot.
The plan is working.
I haven’t had many good ideas since taking Cascade View Inn over. Since Grandma Rose died.
Since I blew up my career.
Since Derek.
But tricking Luke Sterling into coming here might be the best one yet…
Or so I hope, as I open the fridge, the plastered smile shaking on my face.