Frankly, he would have signed that contract regardless. It took care of his immediate interests. Luke had been worried about what would happen after Penelope finished school. He knew he was protective—overprotective, according to Pen—but he had good reason to be. It meant a lot to him that he’d been able to keep his sister close. Earning the bonus was a bridge he’d cross later, a problem for tomorrow.

Well, tomorrow was now, and Luke had to figure out what steps he needed to take to cross that bridge. Dealing with Mrs. Weatherfork was tricky. Yes, she was eccentric, but he’d also seen evidence of a brilliant mind beneath the oddities. She reminded him of a steel trap with a faulty lock mechanism.

“Since you brought up the subject,” he finally said, setting aside his musings and turning away from the window, “I had a few questions pertaining to the bonus.”

“Oh?” She folded her hands and encouraged him to continue.

“I was hoping you might provide more concrete guidelines.”

“Concrete,” she repeated.

“For how you plan to evaluate the game’s success,” Luke elaborated.

“The game’s a success if I say it is.”

“Yes,” he agreed, struggling to keep the irritation from his voice. “But what factors will you be basing your decision on?” Unable to resist, he grabbed his notebook and flipped it open. “Are you looking at registration numbers? Hotel revenue?”

“I don’t give a fig about the money.”

How nice for you. “What about notoriety? I know about the reviewer who’s here to cover the grand opening. Are you looking to build public interest?”

“Not exactly.” Mrs. Weatherfork returned to her desk chair. She patted her lap.

For a horrified second, Luke thought she was inviting him to sit there.

“Young man…” She waited until the ball of fur that had jumped up settled down, little black nose tucked into her arm. “You know I started this venture to make a point to my husband.”

He shifted uneasily. Luke had yet to meet the infamous Harold Weatherfork, but by all accounts, the goose was as goofy as the gander.

“Of course, I want the project to meet all standard benchmarks of success in terms of revenue and registration.” She stroked her hand along the back of the dog in her lap, smoothing down the tufts of fur. “But I also consider success to be based on what I’m trying to prove.”

There was that steel trap. “Which is…?”

“That romance is real, of course.”

Snap. And there went that faulty lever he was worried about.

“I want to show Harold that people are coming to this little rom-com world you’ve created because they believe—like I do—in the magic of two people falling in love against all odds.”

“True love.” Luke blinked. “That’s what you’re expecting me to deliver?”