by Sabrina York
Chapter Two
When the staff was all assembled in the tiny living room of the staff lodge, disquiet slithered through me.
Beyond Olivia, the housemaid, and Noel, the sautéed chef, there was Ben, the driver who doubled as a handyman and engineer. He seemed capable and clean, even though I’d dragged him from bed.
Jed was a different story. It was pretty clear I’d dragged Jed from bed. His hair was in one of those gelled, artsy swooshes some Generation Zs favor, but it was matted to one side from the way his head hit the pillow. Jed was a go-fer who covered valet service, luggage, room service, even cleaning and dishwashing when necessary. He was the lowest rung on the corporate ladder and he knew it. He acted it.
And, I wasn’t eighteen anymore, but that was still the smell of marijuana clinging to his logoed tee.
Then there was Ken Nora, the activities director. I was delighted to see Ken. I knew him by reputation as fabulous at his job. Some said he was fabulous at everything. I hoped that proved to be so.
The final person in the lineup was a petite female with long dark hair and dark make-up, who identified herself as Wren. Just Wren. She didn’t look like trouble, so I let it go.
“Is this all of us then?” I asked of Ken.
He flipped a page on his clipboard. “The client has also requested high-octane outdoor sports, so the company is sending a contractor for that. They’re due any minute.”
“Good.” High-octane outdoor sports meant less stress on the interior staff. Which was great, because they certainly didn’t seem high-octane in the least. And yes. Just then, Jed yawned loudly. When he caught me looking at him, he flinched and said, “Sorry,” with a laugh.
What. Ever. I dove in. “All right, kiddies. We have a client arriving in about twelve hours. We need to flip the house. Olivia and Wren, start with the bedrooms. Jed, take the bathrooms, and Ben—”
“Why do I have to do the bathrooms?” Jed asked in a snively voice. I hate snively voices.
My smile broadened. Or, it might not have been a smile. “Because,” I said. “If you smoke pot under my watch, you’re gonna get the shit jobs.”
“But pot is legal here. And the clients haven’t even arrived.” I was relieved he’d been briefed on that totem at least. Rules about ANY partying, while clients were renting the property—whether they were on site or not—were clear. Immediate dismissal.
I stared him down. “That’s not the point. You’re on the clock. On my clock. I’m not paying you to smoke pot. Now go scrub a toilet. And it better be perfect.” Oh, I should have been a mother. I bet I would have been a great mother.
Too bad that never panned out.
“Ben.” Yes. I was all business. Professional and remote. “I’d like you to check all the amenities—the hot tub, sauna, automatic shades…anything that could fritz out on us. Make sure everything’s in good working order. And Noel. I’d like an inventory of the pantry and freezer.”
The chef looked up at me as though I was a ray of hope in a dismal world for giving him a mission, snuffled, then wiped his nose on the cuff of his starched jacket, and nodded. He stood, with a heavy sigh, and plodded through the back door to the main house like Eeyore on his way to a root canal.
I allowed it, even though the meeting wasn’t over yet. We really didn’t need him for anything else. Except… “Oh, wait,” I called, fluttering a packet at him. “Here are their preference sheets.” That was another steadfast rule in my trade. Always follow the preference sheets. These people are too rich to put up with your shit. “Please make sure you study them,” I said as I handed them out to everyone else.
Olivia scanned her sheets, then squealed.
I glanced at her. As one does when a person randomly squeals like a horny peacock in the middle of a staff meeting.
“Ohmygod!” She said in a breathless huff, her eyes wide. “It’s Farley! She’s coming here.” By her tone, one would assume this was some sort of religious experience for her.
“Dude! Farley is renting this place?” Jed asked.
“It’s not a rental,” I intoned the corporate line. “It’s a Visit with a capital V.”
Jed wrinkled up half his face at me. “Why is the V capitalized?”
“Because it’s important. A rental is impersonal and low-end. Eden offers a once in a lifetime experience. A Visit to an exquisite location with luxury service, one of a kind amenities, and personalized events.” Lord love a duck. Would these people ever make it to corporate? Did they even want to?
“Right. So it’s Farley who’s coming?” Jed persisted, having brushed off the mission statement of my marketing plan for the entire company like the dust that it was. “The Farley?”
“I know it’s a Farley.” I flipped through the bios. Ah. There she was. Farley Weaver. Some kind of one-named pop star. She was the daughter of an uber-famous old-timey country and western singer I’d never heard of because I don’t listen to that kind of music. I don’t listen to pop either, but apparently my young staff did. They were fangirling—and fanboying—all over the place. “Okay. People. Settle down. Settle—I said, settle down.”
It wasn’t lost on me that I was starting to sound like Foghorn Leghorn. I say, I say. Settle down, son. “Yes, we will have a celebrity with us for the holidays, but I want to make one thing clear. Everyone who walks through that door is a celebrity. Every one of them deserves five-star treatment. Am I heard?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If they even think they may want a towel when coming out of the hot tub, you will be there to hand it to them. Before they even know they’re hungry, you’ll be discreetly setting a plate of fruit and cheese at their elbow, and ready to refill their champagne at any moment. And as for Farley? I’m sure she came here for a break from her crazy life. She probably just wants to be relaxed and anonymous. That means you may not ask for her autograph…” A groan rumbled through the ranks. “Or a selfie.” It rose. “Any questions?”
Jed’s hand shot up. “But if she offers?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If she offers to give us her autograph. That’s okay, right?”
I forbore rolling my eyes. “You. May. Not. Ask.” Could I make it any clearer than that?
Apparently not.
Olivia’s hand shot up. “We can talk to her, right? Just not look her in the eyes?”
I furiously scanned Farley’s bio. Nope. Nothing there about a basilisk stare. “Yes, Olivia. You may talk to her. And you may look at her.” A sudden image of Olivia peering at poor Farley through a crack in the door as she was sleeping popped into my mind. “You may look at her the way you would look at a normal client. In normal circumstances. And talk to her normally too. The way you talk to a normal client. Is there anything I can get you? Can I top off your drink? What time would you like dinner? You know. Stuff like that. Get it?”
“Got it.”
“Good.” I stood there for a moment, reveling in the fact I might have actually gotten a point across to one of them. But then a sizzle walked up my spine. You know. The kind that makes you shiver, but you don’t know why.
A second after that registered, I realized that everyone was looking over my shoulder at the front door. The cold draft told me there was someone there. The heat that sizzled through my veins, as I got a whiff of his cologne, told me who it was.
My skin went cold and then, just as quickly, went hot. The prickles spread and I shuddered.
Slowly, I turned, hoping, praying, howling to the universe that it not be him.
I should have known better.
The universe has a perverse sense of humor.
And damn. His blue-eyed gaze was as sharp, as penetrating, as it had been way back then. It hit me like a punch in the gut. He seemed taller, or maybe that was because he was more filled out. His face was tan, still etched in the likeness of a Greek god, but there was a warm weathering there, especially the crinkle of his eyes as he smiled. And that smile. Holy God. It should be registered as
a lethal weapon.
In that second, I had a weird out-of-body experience. Shock, perhaps?
Because here he was. The man I’d dreamed about for the last fifteen years, always wondering…
There were other people with him, all draped with backpacks and gear, but they didn’t register. I only had the capacity to process the fact that Cameron Cooper was here. Back in my life.
He was still handsome, beyond belief, but the-little-boy-lost-in-the-woods look was gone. His hair was buzzed back, but not too severely. There was still a little cowlick that flopped onto his broad forehead. And those eyes. Damn. Blue on blue on blue. With freaking dark lashes. It simply wasn’t fair.
His body had changed the most, I noticed on a visceral level. Where he’d been a healthy, athletic kid, well, now… Wow. Muscles on muscles. They rippled even as I watched.
And then I glanced at his face and I saw it. His shit-eating grin.
He’d known I was watching and flexed just for me.
The realization threw me from a simmering sea of lust into frigid ice bath.
No. No. No. No. No.
I was not going there again.
Why was he here?
He’d broken my heart way back when. Cracked it right in half.
I’d recovered, of course. Naturally. And now here I was, a professional and remote woman preparing to work with him again, armed with the knowledge that, if given the chance, he could break my heart all over again.
Ergo, I would remain professional and remote. With the focus on remote.
This was difficult to manage when he pulled me into an enthusiastic hug I had not expected, and was not ready for. It enrobed me in his unzipped camo jacket. The heat of his tee-hugged chest seared me. His heart thudded so close to mine I could feel it race. Our cheeks brushed, just for a second, making liquid heat well within me as the bristle of his beard scraped every nerve.
The hug was over almost before I knew it had happened, which caused a riot of regret and relief. His scent, however, clung. It sent me into a sensual spiral. He’d worn the same aftershave back then. I wanted to sink into it.
“I hope you meant what you said, Vic,” he murmured, almost in my ear. The whisper of his breath on my skin sent annoying little quivers rippling down my neck.
So, of course, I stepped back, crossed my arms so he wouldn’t be inclined to hug me again, and tipped up my chin. “And what did I say?”
I had to ask, because, generally, I say a lot.
“You said everyone who walks through that door is welcome here. I hope that means me too.” He grinned charmingly and even winked, but I wasn’t moved. I needed to focus on my work. I needed to herd these staff-kittens. I needed to pull off this very high-visibility Visit. The last thing I needed was to grapple with my feelings for a guy who’d broken my heart long ago and never looked back.
“Technically…” One of the guys with Cooper spoke up. “She said, everyone who walks through that door is a celebrity.”
Coop frowned at him. “Close enough, Mungo.”
“Not close, really. Not close at all.”
“True.” I felt the need to pipe in. “Not close at all. But…” I patted Coop on his way-too-wide shoulder. “Nice try. Why don’t you introduce your team?” Ha-ha. See how remote and professional I can be? “We were just discussing preference sheets. Please. Have a seat.”
I could tell from his put-out expression, he didn’t like me taking charge, but whatevs. I was the boss, after all. I was pretty sure Grant had told him so.
Being an obedient puppy—for the moment—Cooper introduced his team. Giz was a chill guy with rock hard guns who specialized in mountain climbing, Christie was their too-perky riggings expert, and then there was Mungo, the over-sized, long-haired, scary-biker-dude-with-the-heart-of-gold. One assumes.
However, one also assumes it’s dangerous to assume such things.
“Do you all have weird names?” Jed asked when Mungo was introduced.
Mungo met him with a grim gaze. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we do.”
“And you can call me Rocky,” Coop said, completing his circle.
Laughter spurted out of my nose just then. Not sure why.
Oh, hell, I knew why, but no one else did. They looked at me as though I were nuts, but I didn’t care. I was the only one who knew where that ridiculous moniker had come from. But I wasn’t telling. It was wise to ration your ammunition. Instead, I gathered myself, cleared my throat to telegraph to all that I was ready to continue, and—
A snout appeared between Coop’s legs.
My brain took a sec to catch up to my eyes. Yes. It was a snout. Definitely a snout. It belonged to a large, drool-encrusted Rottweiler.
I drew in a deep breath through my nostrils because I’d heard somewhere that breathing like that would give you spiritual strength—and I threw back my shoulders and I said, crisply, quite crisply, thank you very much, “Whose dog is this?”
“Oh. This is Rocky’s dog, Mason,” Mungo said, giving the creature a long, apparently exhilarating, scratch behind the ears. Mason’s tongue lolled. Wetly.
I stepped back as a drool-cicle dangled, then dropped into a slimy little puddle.
Coop grinned. “I named him after a buddy of mine because Mason Steele can really fart.”
“No,” I practically bleated. Sheesh. Really? “There are no pets allowed in the staff quarters.” It was like rule number 1. Or seven at least.
“Relax, Vic.” Coop said as he set his hands on my shoulders. “Grant gave me an exemption. On account of the fact that this was all last minute, and I couldn’t get a sitter for Mason, and I’m the only licensed high-risk adventure company available on short notice. So, yeah. I guess without me, and Mason, there’s no Visit, is there?”
I glared at Coop. Damn Grant. He could have sent me a heads up.
“Fine. But keep the dog off the grounds.”
Cooper batted his stupid lashes at me. “The dog’s gotta poop.”
“Yeah,” Mungo said. “Dog’s gotta poop.”
“Don’t be obtuse, okay? The clients have a small dog. This thing—” I waved at the very vision of a terrifying beast. It licked my hand. I pulled it back and wiped it on my jeans. Yuck. “This thing is huge. It would eat that Chihuahua for lunch.”
Cooper made a thinking face, tapping his chin with his finger and everything. “Hmm. Mason’s never eaten a Chihuahua before…”
“You know what I mean. Please. Keep your animal contained.” I glared at Mason, who gave a big doggy yawn, indicating he wasn’t even listening. “And by no means allow it to be in the guest area of the grounds.”
“Deal.” Coop thrust out a hand which I, perforce, had to take. And then he didn’t let go when he should have.
He made me wriggle away.
Some men are so aggravating!
I reclaimed my hand, my clipboard, and my cloak of authority, which I was sure they could all sense vibrating from my being. “So,” I said gustily. “Shall we go over the schedule for this Visit?”
“What an excellent idea,” Coop said, but I could smell the sarcasm in his tone. Hmm. Maybe Grant hadn’t told him I was the boss after all. Or maybe he needed reminding. The way he smirked at my annoyance made me suspect the latter.
I smirked right back at him then quickly resumed that cloak of authority thing and plowed forward. “Our clients are going to arrive at 10 am sharp tomorrow morning, so we need to all be out there in our uniforms.” I checked my clipboard. “Looks like they want a relaxing day. Something light for lunch. We’re bringing in masseuses and masseurs around three. They are going out to have dinner with friends around six.” I took a breath and glanced around the room to make sure I had their attention. Jed was investigating his fingernail and Olivia was staring at Cooper with an awestruck expression, but other than that, they seemed to be listening. Cooper had his chin on his fist and was staring at me and flapping his lashes. Nice. I turned back to the schedule.
“The next day, th
e 22nd, is the snow day.” I handed things over to Coop who described his plans for the day. I was happy to hear all the guests were leaving the house—either to frolic with Coop and his team by jumping out of helicopters onto mountain tops, or to take a helicopter ride to Langley to shop with Ken Nora. Days without the guests were a godsend. “The 23rd is a slow, lazy day around the house. Christmas Eve is the big day. It’s more skiing and shopping during the afternoon. I think Ken has a day trip to Lynden planned.” Ken nodded. “They want a traditional British Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve and there will be a Fairy Ball for Farley and her friends that night. That’s a big one. We’ll need all hands on deck for that. On Christmas morning, they would like to have an elaborate brunch while they open presents. They leave the next day. Remember, Tania, the little sister is vegan, but there are no other food restrictions to worry about.” I flipped through the papers. “There’s only one special request, and it’s for Don Julio 1942 tequila. Let’s make sure we have a few extra bottles in the liquor cabinet.”
I paused for a moment to check if I’d missed anything and Olivia filled the silence with a loudly whispered, “I heard a rumor about Farley.”
“Ooh. What?” Of course Jed wanted to know.
“I heard that she was going to announce her engagement to Jamison Smith soon. Do you think Jamison might come too?” she asked no one in particular, but Jed squealed nonetheless.
Dear God. I felt a headache coming on. “Ken. Where are we with the tree and all the decorations?”
He bowed. “Christmas is already up. Fairy Ball is on deck.”
“Excellent.” That was a huge load off the list, as decorating a house that size for Christmas could take hours. I made a mental note to do a walk-through as soon as we adjourned.
“Okay then. Everyone. You all have the master to-do list. If you finish your tasks, see who else needs help. It’s about 10:30 pm now, so we have eleven-and-a-half hours to flip this house.”
Jed raised a hand.
“Yes, Jed?”
“When do we sleep?”
I smiled. Like a crocodile. “When all the work is done.”
