I close the distance to the table, edging up quietly so as not to interrupt the ongoing conversation. The other men—all in their fifties by my guess and dressed in camo, which is so inappropriate for this high-end restaurant, but they’re sitting with the owner so I guess it’s okay—are talking over each other, their voices loud and boisterous.

“Did you see that one by the river?” A man with a thick Midwest accent asks, spreading his meaty hands wide over a plate of pasta. “One swipe of his paw and your face would be gone! He had to be sixteen hundred pounds easily.”

“It’s very possible,” Henry says, casually validating the man’s story while pulling out the spare chair next to him. Finally, he calls me over with a “come here” wave of two fingers. He likes that move. Normally, I would hate it but there’s something so commanding and sexy about the way he does it.

I slide in quietly, feeling my cheeks flush under the sudden attention of the other occupants.

“Everyone, my assistant, Abbi. I’ve asked her here to take some follow-up notes before you all fuck off to the saunas and the bar and forget why you’re here: to give me your money.”

The table erupts in a loud chorus of laughter, while Henry offers nothing more than a small, satisfied smirk.

And I release a sigh of relief because, again, I’ve let my anxiety and my imagination get the better of me. I didn’t screw up.

The man directly next to me, a heavyset, graying man with a coarse beard, leans in toward me. “And here we thought he liked us for our personalities,” he jokes.

I smile politely as I open my iPad and shift my eyes to the screen.

“I need meetings booked with each of these guys for next week. Contact their assistants,” Henry begins. He lists his demands in a cool, even tone, while the others finish their meals, pausing occasionally to interject an important name or date. These men are all CEOs and VPs of big companies that reward their top sales teams with exotic, lavish trips, and Henry wants Wolf Cove to be their destination.

That’s the first leg of the notes. The second part is notes on the hotel itself—suggestions on improvements to the rooms and amenities, entertainment packages, and that sort of thing. Things that are ridiculous (a cigar room?) but I say nothing, judiciously tapping away at my screen.

“I think that’s it?”

The others all nod their heads in agreement as the server comes around to clear plates.

“Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for a real drink after this morning!” The Midwesterner slaps the table, rattling the centerpiece. The others chirp their agreement.

“Abbi, give us a minute.” Henry barely casts a glance my way.

I quietly duck out, smiling at each man before stepping away. But where do I go? Should I stay within easy reach? I settle on the bench by the unoccupied grand piano, set on a stage in the corner.

I’m far enough away that I shouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. If I didn’t have exceptional hearing, anyway.

I watch Henry, leaning back in his chair talking business with these men, his thumb casually rubbing back and forth across the handle of his fork. Yet another sexy, appealing side of him. He’s decades younger than them and yet they all obviously respect him.

“How’s it going?” Rachel’s sudden voice in my ear makes me jump. “I hear you’re working for the big boss, now.”

I look first at her tray full of drinks, then at her clothes, a version of the black servers’ outfit, with a few top buttons missing and a shorter skirt. With her white-blond hair pulled back in a big fluffy bun, her eyes dark and smoky, and her full lips painted red, she looks downright sexy. Too sexy for noon.

I haven’t seen her in days, which is crazy seeing as we live together, but that’s how these places work, apparently. “Hey! Yeah. Just here to take notes and then I’m guessing I’ll be back to the computer.”

“You’re the talk of the hotel, that’s for sure. Everyone’s wondering how the virgin landed a job like that.”

My mouth drops open. “How does everyone know about that?”

She frowns at me, then recognition fills her face and she laughs. “I was talking about a hotel virgin. But, seriously?”

Henry glances over our way and she whispers, “Better go and deliver these. Don’t want to make the wolf angry.” She stalks over to the table in her black heels, her calf muscles straining beautifully. By her flirtatious giggles and the men’s obvious ogling as Rachel sets their drinks down in front of them, I’d say my roommate is a big hit with the executives.

Even Henry’s heated eyes linger over her face, along her neckline, down to the swell of her breasts peeking out, only to hold her gaze when she leans over to set his drink in front of him, a seductive smirk curling his lips.

He wants her; it’s obvious to anyone watching.

A sharp pang of jealousy throbs within me. He’s never looked at me like that. I practically threw myself at him when I was drunk, we had that “moment” in the truck... then there was yesterday, in his room. But he has never looked at me like that.

He’s not attracted to me.

I don’t know exactly how obvious my envy is on my face, but when Henry glances over to catch my eye, a frown flits across his expression. It’s followed by a hard look that I can’t decipher but makes me nervous. I duck my head and try to refocus my attention on my notes.

Failing. I can’t keep my eyes off him.

Rachel leaves, her hips swaying a little too suggestively, attracting all their gazes. Except Henry, who now stares daggers at his glass.

“With that kind of service, who can say no to this place,” one of the other guys mumbles, and they all chuckle.

“Surprised you didn’t bring your other assistant here,” another one says. “Having an assistant like that at your beck and call...” His words drift off and his eyebrows waggle suggestively.

“Oh, hell. That leggy brunette. Kiera. Yeah.” The burly Carolina man puffs his cheeks out with an exhale. “Don’t know how you got any work done with that one around.”

“I had to let her go,” Henry says simply. “It wasn’t working out.”

Kiera. That’s the name Belinda mentioned the other day. She must be the assistant Tillie was talking about. The one that Henry fired for hitting on him.

While I should be more focused on the bruise to my ego—in the ten minutes I sat and quietly took notes, they decided they’d rather have the “leggy brunette” Kiera here—my curiosity is getting the better of me. What happened between them, exactly? What did it take to get her fired? Because after some of the stuff I’ve done, I’m almost positive I’ll be next.

And, arguably, Henry hasn’t exactly been a saint, either. Did he strip down in front of her, too? Did that send her mixed messages, like perhaps the ones I’m desperate to read?

I pretend not to eavesdrop as they finish up their lunch meeting and unease settles onto my shoulders. With a round of handshakes and “see you for dinner” commitments, the bigwig executives stroll away, their phones in their hands.

“Abbi. Come,” Henry commands, with as much warmth as you’d expect from a billionaire calling on his lowly assistant. He turns and strolls toward the exit. I jump up, smoothing my skirt and shirt as I rush to follow him out past guests and the hostess desk.

“See you later, sir,” Rich offers. Henry barely acknowledges him, throwing a wave in the air without even a glance. I mouth “bye” toward Rich. He responds with a sarcastic “have fun” look and a salute before pulling the phone receiver to his ear.

“Do you have any questions about your follow-ups to that meeting?” Henry asks coolly, his eyes skating over the lingering guests, some in hiking gear, others on their way to the spa, and yet others simply lingering in the lobby, their hands holding drinks and their speech slurred. It’s only two in the afternoon, but I guess when you’re on vacation, anything goes, even in Alaska.