While I survey the lobby, I take stock of how everything looks. How everything feels. The air feels just the right temperature to me. It’s an unseasonably hot June week for Ruby Bay, but I didn’t want to go overboard on the air conditioning. Steve finishes mopping and hustles his gear out of sight. Low steel drum music wafts across the room.

It’s all perfect.

Except for the fact that Jenny London is upstairs in one of our best suites. I have no idea what I was thinking, offering her that room. Something came over me when I saw her standing there, dripping champagne in the lobby. Some animal instinct. Get a room. Not that the room’s going to help her much unless she goes for dry clothes.

Or not. She’s more resourceful than I ever gave her credit for. She’s been out of school for what, six years? Seven? And in that time….

I’m hit with a wave of regret. I was such a prick back then. Clothes don’t make the person. I should have known that. And now, going back over all those memories…was it something else behind her eyes?

The more pressing question is…what was she thinking just now, when she stepped into that hotel room?

Was she thinking of me when she peeled that wet shirt away from her skin?

Did she bite her lip as she lifted her bra from her breasts and—

“Are you all right, Mr. Bliss? Should I bring you some water?”

Greg is at my elbow, peering over at me.

“Fine,” I tell him, and move to clap him on the shoulder before thinking better of it. I don’t want another tray of champagne to go down. “Everything’s fine.”

I’m a fucking grown man. I can handle working with the hottest woman to have ever walked through the doors of the Bliss Resort. I just can’t believe it’s Genevieve Starlight.

One thing I know for sure is that I’m never going to call her that again. I saw the anger move across her face like a thunderclap.

It’s time I got back to the office. She could be down any minute.

My father had a discreet wing built alongside the lobby complex so that everyone who keeps Bliss running can be close to the action. I’m sure he would say that I’m a little too close—that I should hire middle managers and spend more of my time networking with owners and guests. Maybe it’s a little non-traditional, but I have younger brothers for that who’d much rather spend their time with a cocktail in hand, chatting up our members.

The office wing itself is a wide space with a half-moon reception desk at the front. Sarah, the receptionist, looks up at me with a small shake of her head.