Accidental Sweetheart

by Elana Johnson

  And he’d still taken the fall for a disaster that wasn’t his fault. He’d abandoned his last name at the city border and had chosen to go with his middle name as his last. At least that way, he could find some relief from the media that had been tracking him.

  He hadn’t seen them in over a week now, and Carter’s Cove was the perfect hiding place. The population of the island doubled in the summer, and there were more tourists here per square mile than anywhere else in the country—at least in June, July, and August. Sometimes September too.

  The Grand America had a sister hotel here—The Kipton Monoco. It was ritzy and high-end. The Heartwood Inn reminded him of it a bit, except here, it felt like a person would respond to your problem.

  At the Kipton, you’d get a cyborg. A cold-hearted woman who didn’t really care if your suite was too hot.

  “This is beautiful wood,” he said as she bent over another drawer in her desk and came up with a key.

  “Thank you,” she said, her professionalism unmatched. Well, maybe by Chet himself….

  He took the key and followed her out of the office.

  “There’s only one elevator that goes all the way to the twentieth floor,” she said, taking him past the regular bank of elevators for regular guests. Everything about hotels appealed to him, to the anonymity of them, to sitting by the pool, to eating breakfast alone.

  The Heartwood had gorgeous furnishings, all done by someone with an eye for detail. He wondered if that someone was Olympia. The elevator he’d use was on the other side of the lobby, down a hall with no other doors or reasons for anyone to come that way.

  She pushed the button, and they waited in tense silence. The ride up twenty floors didn’t happen as quickly as it would have at The Grand America, and he reminded himself he wasn’t there anymore.

  Wouldn’t be going back.

  And that he was happy about both of those things.

  True anticipation coated his mouth as he stepped off the elevator. This hallway felt homey for some reason, and he nodded toward the other door, which sat directly across from his. “Is that one occupied?”

  “Yes,” she said curtly, indicating he should open the door with his key. He held it in front of the sensor, and the light turned green a moment later.

  The suite spread before him, and Chet’s relief almost brought him to his knees. “This is great,” he said. “How big?”

  “Three thousand square feet,” she said, glancing around as if she needed to check that the room was ready. He had a feeling Heartwood didn’t rent this penthouse very often. Of course they didn’t. Five thousand dollars a month was insane, though he figured a piece of property on this island probably cost that.

  “How long will the guests be in the other suite?” he asked.

  “Why do you care?” she asked, the bite back in her voice.

  Chet swung his attention toward, her sensing something in her stand-offish mannerisms. He really just wanted to be alone so he could take stock of everything. Catch a shower. Order something to eat.

  Sit on a real couch.

  “I’m just wondering if I’ll see anyone coming up or down in the elevator,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, walking back toward the door. She opened it and stepped into the hall, holding the door open with her high-heeled toe. “Me. I live across the hall, Mister Christopher.”

  With that, the door slammed closed, leaving him blinking at the barrier she’d put between them.

  “Oh, this is going to be more fun than I thought,” he said to himself, a chuckle following the statement.

  “Where are you, dear?”

  Chet stood on the balcony on the twentieth floor, an astronomically high railing in front of him. The wind coming off the Atlantic Ocean, which sat only about fifty feet away, could’ve ripped his cellphone from his grip.

  “I’m safe, Mom,” he said. “You said to call when I had somewhere solid to stay, and now I do.”

  “It’s been weeks since we heard from you.”

  He worked hard not to roll his eyes, though she wouldn’t be able to see him even if he did. “I’m okay, Mother.”

  She’d wanted him to run right back to the plantation. They had plenty of room in that big old house, didn’t he know?

  Yes, he knew. He also didn’t want to be caged by those walls made of brick, stone, and parental expectations. He’d accepted her money, but he fully intended on paying her back once he found a job, once he started his new life.

  “How’s Grandma?” he asked. When his father had passed away, his mother couldn’t bear to live in the house alone. It really was too big even for a family, and his two siblings hadn’t lived there in over a decade. So she’d asked his dad’s mother to move in with her, and the two ladies had been roommates ever since.

  “She’s fine,” his mother said. “Just fine. She’s out in the garden. Want me to get her for you?”

  “No, Mom,” he said, suppressing a sigh. He should’ve texted. But then she’d have called anyway, claiming she didn’t know how to make her phone send messages like that. “I have to go,” he said. “I’ll keep in touch.”

  “CC,” his mother said, but he hung up. He hated that childhood nickname, and yet she insisted on using it.

  For a moment, he thought about throwing his phone over the railing. Watching as it soared through the sky and then landed in the sand somewhere. Maybe if he was lucky, he could launch it all the way to the ocean.

  In the end, he tucked it back in his pocket and went back inside the penthouse. After all, the wind was murder today.

  He had hot coffee in the kitchen, and though it was summer and much too hot and humid for coffee, he smiled at the brew. He’d never take for granted the simple things again. Never.

  Someone knocked on the door, and he grabbed his shirt off the back of the couch, stuffing his arms through before he opened the door.

  A man stood there, dressed impeccably for someone who pushed food carts through hallways. “You had the lobster dinner, sir?” he asked, his dark eyes bright with happiness.

  Chet suddenly wanted that more than the food, but for now, he’d settle for getting all the essentials in place. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t need the table.”

  “Of course not, sir. I’ll put it on the counter for you?”

  “Yes, please.” Chet dug in his backpack and pulled out a bill. It was a twenty, and way too much for a tip.

  He folded it and handed it to the man anyway, who bowed his way out of the room with a “Thank you, sir.”

  Chet locked the door behind him and turned toward the food. After he ate, he was going to shower.

  And then…then Chet was going to sleep in a real bed for the first time in three weeks.

  Chapter Three

  Olympia walked through the kitchen every morning, when Gwen would update her on anything she needed to know regarding room service, the restaurant, and the bakery. They catered huge events as well, and the Butler wedding sat on the calendar in just a couple of weeks.

  “So this is going to be the first course for the wedding,” Gwen said. “I just confirmed with Celeste yesterday on the final menu, and Teagan is working on that today.”

  “Great,” Olympia said, looking at the beautifully crafted dish. “Tell me what’s in it.”

  “It’s our lobster parfait,” Teagan said, his voice strong and clear. He was an excellent chef who worked at Redfin when he wasn’t in charge of the catering. “It’s got jicama slaw, mango gelée, and a nice lemongrass cream.”

  Olympia wanted to eat it right now, and she picked up the delicate glass and looked at the layers. “It’s exquisite.” She looked at him with a smile.

  “Thank you,” he said, his dark eyes sparkling with the compliment. He’d asked her out once, years ago. Right after Hunter had cut her heart out and thrown it as far as he could. She’d said no, because she simply couldn’t go out with him.

  He was dating someone else now, and Olympia tucked her hair behind her ear as Gwen
started detailing the other courses Teagan would be working on that day.

  “Can I have a sample sent to me later?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Teagan said. “Gwen and I will sample as well. I’ll text you when it’s all ready.”

  “Perfect.” She moved from the kitchen to housekeeping, catching the tail end of their morning meeting. Marie ran everything to do with the interior of the inn, and Olympia’s sister Sheryl took care of everything outside.

  Housekeeping seemed to be on track, as did the maintenance crew, who had just left their wing at the back of the inn. Olympia said hello to Sheryl, who jumped up from her desk. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” Olympia said, thinking of the meeting she had with her front desk staff in just ten minutes.

  “If you had someone…following you, what would you do?” Sheryl wrung her hands, her pale blue eyes wide and frightened.

  “Sheryl, what’s going on?” Olympia touched her sister’s arm, and she pulled it back quickly. A flinch, as if she’d been hurt before.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I just…there’s this guy that follows me home every night. He doesn’t do anything. Just keeps driving by. But last night, he parked in front of the Oscarson’s and just sat there.”

  Sheryl lived in one of the Heartwood family cottages—the farthest one north, on the outskirts of their property. She had a few neighbors strung out on the street with her, but it was a pretty remote part of the island.

  “Who is it?” Olympia asked.

  “A former employee,” Sheryl said. “He asked me out a few times, and I said no. He started harassing a couple of waitresses at Redfin. I fired him.” She looked over Olympia’s shoulder as if the man would be there. “I think I’m going to ask someone to drive me home from now on.”

  “I would,” Olympia said. “I’d file a police report too, and then ask a man to take me home.” She thought of Chet, and she had no idea why. The man was insufferable, with those long eyelashes and that perfectly sculpted hair. And that drawl. Her blood heated just thinking about his voice.

  Sheryl nodded, and Olympia’s phone went off, distracting her from her sister’s plight. “Let me know when you’ve talked to the police,” she said. “I have to get this.” She lifted her phone to her ear and turned away from Sheryl. “Hello, Niles.”

  “Just checking to see if you remembered we’re meeting this morning.”

  “Yes,” Olympia said, her heels clicking against the hard floor as she walked. “I’m on my way now.” She didn’t go toward the normal exit, but turned right and then left, using the passageways from the old prohibition days.

  The Heartwood Inn had six hidden doors on the first floor, so that when the police entered the premises one hundred years ago, all the alcohol could be concealed. Anyone drinking could too, though Olympia wouldn’t want to be stuffed into these cramped hallways.

  She unlocked the door and leaned her weight into it, as the hidden doors didn’t get used all that often. Half-stumbling as the door gave way, she spilled into the hallway where her private elevator sat.

  Well, hers and Chet’s now.

  “You just walked out of a wall,” a man said, and Olympia gasped.

  Chet stood there, a pristine white towel slung over his forearm. He only wore a pair of swimming trunks, and Olympia went mute at the sight of his bare torso. Chest. Shoulders.

  She tugged at the hem of her cardigan, dropping her eyes to it so she’d stop ogling the man in front of her. “Going to the beach?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You have a private beach here. I didn’t think that was possible on Carter’s Cove.”

  “There are bigger towels down there,” she said. “You don’t have to take the ones from your penthouse.”

  He looked at it and back to her, a smile curving those lips she suddenly wanted to kiss. “There are?”

  She shook her head to rid herself of the traitorous thoughts, and he frowned. “There aren’t.”

  “No,” she said. “There are towels at the pool and the beach. You don’t have to take the ones from your room.” Hadn’t she said that already? Her face felt so hot, and she was late, and wow, he had a great pair of shoulders. He’d obviously spent time in the sun, and Olympia couldn’t remember the last time she’d put on a bathing suit and relaxed on the sand.

  “Okay, great,” he said. “I’ll just take this one with me, though. That elevator isn’t very fast.” He gave her a smile that felt a little…something. Predatory. Sharp? Something. As he walked away, she felt like he’d just insulted her inn—again.

  She exhaled, wanting to call him back and give him a piece of her mind. This inn was over one-hundred and fifty years old. So the elevators weren’t lightning fast. Big deal. Was he in a hurry to get to the beach?

  Her phone rang again, and Olympia practically jumped out of her skin. She hurried out of the small hallway and down one more, where the conference room full of front desk staff waited for her.

  “Sorry,” she said to Niles. “I ran into a problem on the way here.” She slid into the nearest seat and nodded at him to begin. She only listened to the training with one ear, the rest of her mental energy going to “the problem” she’d encountered in the hallway.

  Chet sure was handsome—and he knew it. Smart. He knew that too. He’d take what little of her heart she’d been able to recover and stomp right on it.

  So why did Olympia’s pulse keep skipping every time she thought of his beard, his smile, his wit?

  After the meeting, Olympia sat in her office, her attention singular on her laptop. She’d learned something already—Chet Christopher didn’t exist. Anywhere, not just in Atlanta.

  She lifted her phone and called the front desk. “Yes, ma’am,” Niles answered.

  “Hi, Niles,” she said, leaning away from the computer screen. “I need to know who Chet Christopher really is. I know he paid cash for his room.” Suspicious. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen the signs yesterday. His desperation to stay at the inn had been right there in front of her.

  “Did he sign any paperwork? Have a car he had to park?”

  “Let me look,” Niles said. “Can I call you back?”

  “Of course.” Olympia went back to her online search, but Chet was a fairly common name, as was Christopher. This guy was good, she’d give him that. But she didn’t want to live across the hall from a man in trouble with the law. He could be dangerous for all she knew.

  Her phone chimed, but the text belonged to one of her sisters. Sheryl had said, I found someone to take me home at night. Talked to the police. They can’t do anything unless the guy does something.

  Olympia’s fingers flew across the screen. Good. That’s all good. Who’d you get to help you?

  Sheryl didn’t answer, and Olympia’s phone rang. “Talk to me, Niles.”

  “This isn’t Niles,” the man said. “It’s Chet.”

  Slightly stunned, Olympia sat back in her chair again. “Chet? How did you get this number?”

  “The Heartwoods are quite well-known around here,” he drawled. The sound of the ocean coming ashore came through the line, and a flash of jealousy hit Olympia. She wondered what it would be like to actually enjoy this island where she lived. If only she had the time.

  “Did you need something?” she asked. “I’m quite busy, and I’m expecting a call—”

  “From Niles,” Chet said. “I heard.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say that the private beach is spectacular.”

  “I—” Olympia went mute, unsure of what to say now. Was he being nice? Why? She waited for the backhanded compliment to come, but he didn’t say anything else.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, sir,” she said, choosing to go with the manager/guest persona.

  He chuckled, and she could only imagine what laughter would do to those eyes. Light them up from the inside, probably. She strengthened the parts of her that had started to go soft. “Can a guest order room service to be delivered to the beach
?”

  “Of course,” she said. “We have staff out there starting at ten-thirty.”

  “So I’m a little early.”

  Olympia had no idea what time it was, but she said, “Yes,” anyway.

  “Would you like to join me for lunch?” he asked.

  Once again, Olympia found herself without words. Her heart tap-danced in her chest, but her brain had taken a complete vacation.

  “Hello?” he asked.

  “I can’t,” she blurted. Not only would it be improper for the owner of the inn to dine with a guest, she barely liked this guy. Scratch that. She didn’t like this guy at all. He was always taking jabs at her, and just because he spoke with a sexy accent didn’t make him kind. “I’m sampling a wedding menu today with my staff.”

  She wasn’t lying, but she was glad to have a reason she couldn’t eat with him other than she didn’t want to.

  “Okay,” he said. “Maybe another time.”

  “Maybe,” Olympia said, and that also wasn’t a lie. They call ended, and she simply stared straight ahead, no idea what she was doing, or how she was feeling. Did she want to eat lunch with Chet Christopher?

  Yes, a voice whispered in her head. “Just as soon as I figure out who he really is.” She went back to the computer but found nothing.

  When Niles called back, he said, “He signed Chet Christopher, ma’am. No car. Nancy didn’t ask for ID.”

  Olympia heaved a sigh, her mood darkening by the moment. “We should check all guest IDs,” she said.

  “I agree,” he said. “But you’d asked to have him sent back to you, and he paid with cash, so….” Niles let the statement hang there, not really an accusation. Just a reason why Nancy hadn’t checked his ID.

  “Thank you, Niles. I appreciate it.” After hanging up, she sighed again. She needed to know who this guy was.

  Maybe she should go to lunch with him—and ask him. She looked out the window, mentally sorting through her choices for swimwear. Yes, maybe a relaxing lunch on the beach with the gorgeous Chet Christopher was exactly what she needed to do her job.