As he approached the bodyguards, the larger one headed toward him with his hand out in greeting.

“Hello, I’m Harrison Vachon.” He spoke with an unusual accent—sounded French, but different.

“Brodie Bowie. So, I understand you need a larger suite?” And, right then, he caught a glimpse of the princess. With her luxurious dark hair, huge black sunglasses, and bright red lipstick, the bombshell tapped furiously on her phone.

Too busy updating your social media accounts to deal with your travel plans, princess?

“When she booked, she’d only planned on bringing me.” The man was the size of a linebacker. “Gustav was a last-minute addition.”

“Is there a problem?” Maybe he’d underestimated her tiny principality. He didn’t need security issues in Owl Hoot.

“Not at all. But she’s the princess of St. Christophe, and her parents are protective of her.”

Awesome. A pampered princess. “Okay. I’ll take care of it.” He gave the man a curt nod and made his way to the front desk. Nodding to the clerks, he slipped into the manager’s office. “Go ahead and clear out my suite. Rosie and her entourage can stay there.”

The manager gave an amused grin. “Rosie?”

“Come on, man, she licks barbecue sauce off her fingers like the rest of us.” On his way out, he rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “Think you can get someone to bring my stuff over to the bunkhouse?”

“You got it.” The manager got up. “Sorry for kicking you out.”

“No big deal. I’m not home all that much.”

As he crossed the lobby, the princess glanced up at him, and their gazes caught. Held. It was the strangest feeling, but time slowed, the chatter in the lobby dulled to white noise, and he watched her jaw slacken, red lips part, and her pale cheeks turn pink.

On any other woman he might’ve picked up attraction, but this one just looked flustered. And it was reinforced when she quickly dropped her gaze back to her phone.

He had no idea what that was about, and he didn’t much care. Pampered women weren’t his thing. He sped up to get back to Gray’s reception. Throwing open the door of the salon, he found his brothers gathered in serious conversation. But, by the time he’d reached them, they’d dispersed.

He caught up with Will. “Hey, what was that all about?”

“We were just talking about that email from Pierce,” Will said. “Trying to figure out how we can help him. I’ve got Ruby, so I can’t do it.”

The oldest sibling had taken on the full-time job of raising their half-sister. Over the course of one summer, Will had gone from being the nine-time world freestyle ski champion to stay-at-home dad. It was humbling.