Another few long moments hang before he quietly asks, “Brief me on the media attending. Please.”

“Okay.” I exhale shakily, preparing to read from the screen. “Well, first we have Roshana Mafi from Luxury Travel Magazine.”

“What does she look like?” he asks, without missing a beat.

I scan the picture in the electronic dossier. “Middle Eastern, long black hair. Beautiful,” I admit with more than a hint of jealousy. “Exotic-looking. It says she’s thirty-two and lives in New York City.”

“Single?”

“Yes.” Why Belinda felt the need to include that, I can’t say.

“Make sure there are flowers in her room for her arrival. I’ll write the card myself.”

Almost Henry’s age, lives in his city, stunning. Single. I feel like I’m setting the two of them up. That idea makes my stomach clench.

But I scribble down the note on my pad of paper because that’s my job.

“Next?”

“Gerard Starsky from Glamour Hotel. Short, salt-and-pepper hair. Forty-five years old. Lives in San Francisco. Married to Rena. One daughter named Bella, aged seven.” It’s almost disturbing how much personal information is on here. “It says he interviewed you two years ago at the opening in Istanbul.” Mention of Istanbul reminds me of Henry sleeping with Belinda. I wonder who initiated that. I’ll bet he takes on his sexual conquests as aggressively as he does his business ones.

Anger creeps into my otherwise rattled psyche at the thought of him tormenting me like he did in the bedroom moments ago, seemingly for his own personal entertainment.

“I remember him. Write a note to him that says ‘Good to see you again. I hope you enjoy Wolf Cove even more than you did Istanbul’. Try not to make the writing too girly.”

So Henry writes personal notes to single women but has me write the rest. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s playing up his physical gifts. “And do you want me to send him flowers, too?” I ask as innocently as possible. I can’t resist glancing over.

Henry’s sharp gaze is on me as Michael works over the deep curves of the middle of his back, the sheet draped dangerously low on his hips. I feel the urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I bite my lip instead. His eyes drop to my mouth and he blinks once... twice... Otherwise, he reveals nothing. “Next.”

And so we go through the list, me giving Henry a rundown of every member of the media who will be arriving here to provide either accolades or criticism of a location that Henry himself holds dear, and him instructing me on what to include in the welcome notes to the males. Not the females though. He’ll write all of those himself, to include with the flowers I send them in his name. I don’t have to ask why.

A personal note from the busy Henry Wolf, himself? Few women would be unaffected by that. Look how I reacted to the one he included with my replacement vest. I internally gushed over it.

What a manipulative ass.

I cover up a yawn as we wrap up the review forty minutes later. Henry looks sleepy too, his eyelids drooping. Michael has moved to Henry’s quad muscles, the sheet lifted to uncover his leg. “You can go now. Come back at seven tomorrow.” He pauses. “Actually, make it six.”

6:00 a.m. I stifle my groan. “Don’t forget your dinner tonight.”

“Fuck,” he moans. “Right.”

Michael throws me a wink on my way past. “I’ll be at the staff lodge tonight, if you want to meet up.”

I glance toward Henry’s resting head, replaying his words, his request that I stay away from Michael. That Michael wants my “virgin pussy.”

Do I dare fantasize that perhaps Henry wants it for himself?

Because I’d save it for him, if that were the case. “Maybe another night.” I collect my things and head for the door.

What a weird day.

Chapter Sixteen

The entrance to Henry’s suite from the servants’ quarters is open a crack for me again. I slip into the room noiselessly.

“This is exactly the kind of bullshit that the future leader can’t get caught up in. Your grandfather and I have built this company with the strength of our family values.” The gruff man’s voice carries through the cabin.

Henry sits at the desk, twirling a pen between his fingers, his jaw taut. I’m guessing that it’s his father on the other end of the phone.

“What has legal said?”

“They’re still waiting on her to accept the severance package but it’s a no-brainer. She’s going to sign.” Henry sounds drained.

“Good,” the man mutters gruffly. “I don’t know, Henry. Between this and the Alaska gamble, I’m beginning to wonder about your ability to make sound decisions. Maybe your brother is more suitable.”

Henry slams the pen against the desk. “If you want this company driven into the ground within five years, sure, hand over Wolf Hotels to Scott. He doesn’t have an entrepreneurial bone in his body and forget any strategic marketing skills. The fucking idiot didn’t even finish his undergrad. I, on the other hand, have a goddamn MBA from Harvard.”

“Well, he seems to be doing well with the mines.”

“Because they’re mines. He digs for gold, throws it on a scale, and sells it for market price. A monkey could run that business!” He pauses to temper his tone. “Look, it was an unfortunate situation but it is handled, and it’s never going to happen again.”

What unfortunate situation are they talking about? I know I shouldn’t be listening, so I quietly sweep through and collect dirty dishes, keeping my head down while I learn about Henry. He has an MBA from Harvard—impressive. He has a brother named Scott, whom he clearly doesn’t think too highly of.

“You better see to it that it doesn’t, because one more fuckup like that and you’ll be the monkey peddling gold, if that. You’re already on thin ice with this Wolf Cove project. You’re about to embarrass our family with that catastrophic failure. A goddamn seasonal Wolf. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

I feel Henry’s eyes on me and I can’t help but glance over and offer him a polite smile, all the while feeling bad for him for his father’s harsh words. I don’t see why he wouldn’t be proud of his son’s accomplishments here, but I’m not a business tycoon. I’m sure it’s more complicated than hanging pretty chandeliers and gazing out at snow-covered mountaintops.

“When do you arrive?” Henry pushes out through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know. Ask my secretary.” The phone line goes dead.

And Henry heaves a sigh, resting his forehead in his palms for a long moment.

“He seems a bit abrupt.” I quietly edge in next to him, to where my laptop sits, inhaling the scent of clean soap. He’s dressed in cargo pants and a simple black long-sleeved shirt for another bear sightseeing trip with another group of important guests. I wonder if he ever gets bored of it.

“I’ve been planning this since I was a teenager—long before my father ever handed over the reins to Wolf Hotels. This summer, I will prove to him and every other asshole out there that the Alaska location is a fucking brilliant move.” His words are confident—even arrogant—but I sense a hint of fear and unease behind them, too.

“For what it’s worth, you’ve already proven it to me. I’d stay here if I could afford it. I mean, I know my opinion doesn’t matter much, but I’d stay.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” I’m instantly replaying my movements, wondering what I did wrong.

“Discredit yourself like that. Especially if you want your business to succeed one day.”

My business? Does he mean my soap business? I frown for a moment, searching through my memory. I never told him about that, did I?

The video. I mentioned it in there. And I guess he remembers.

Reaching for the extra mug I requested with room service—for me—Henry pours coffee into it, then cream and a spoonful of sugar, and slides it over to me wordlessly.