One Bossy Date: Chapter 2

Fuck, fuck, also fuck.

I haven’t been off the damn plane for an hour and I already have an irate reviewer on my hands. One more pissed off influencer in the legion torpedoing my crown jewel resorts.

What kind of review will finding the goddamned CEO of the entire company naked in your shower cause?

I resist the urge to put my fist through the wall, imagining the carnage.

It won’t take ten seconds to go viral, and that’s all I—or Winthrope Resorts—needs right now.

I’ve got to take care of this shit.

I still have the phone pressed to my ear, and there’s still no answer after a dozen rings. Another reason for our lackluster reviews, I guess.

Finally, there’s a click and someone picks up.

“Thanks for calling Winthrope Lanai. This is Shelly. How may I help you?”

Wake the fuck up, Shelly, I think, wondering if the night crew has any coffee on hand.

Her voice is so monotone it sounds like she’s been napping.

“Are you tired, Shelly?” I clip.

“Huh? Well, it’s three a.m. and I—”

A groan slips out of me.

You never tell a guest you’re exhausted on the job.

What kind of train wreck am I running?

“How can I help you?” Shelly asks again.

“Shelly, this is Brock.” I emphasize my name so she doesn’t ask Brock who. The last thing I need is for this influencer to find out how far up the food chain I really am. “There’s been a serious mistake. Someone overbooked the presidential suite. I need to know who made my reservation and the reservation for—” Damn. I don’t know her name.

That may be a first.

Usually, a girl as pretty as her knows exactly who I am before she sees my package.

Shit.

I look over to the chair, where my little intruder has gone from bright red to pale. I hate that my gaze lingers.

She’s all long legs and shy curves, barely concealed behind her skimpy pj’s. Rumpled blond bed hair spills down her shoulders, and her starlit green eyes only meet mine when she thinks I’m not looking.

She chews her plump lip nervously—and it does nothing to calm these devilish, intrusive thoughts I’m having.

In another life, I’d be having a very different night, alone in a room with a woman like this.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Piper,” she says.

Great. Of course she’s named after the guy in that fairy tale who steals all the kids with his magic flute and marches them away.

“Piper what?”

“Renee,” she whispers.

I’m not about to make the porn-star-name joke that springs to mind. It certainly won’t help anything now.

And I watch her reach for the bed on her good foot, pulling off the closest blanket and throwing it over her bare legs.

Too bad. If we weren’t in crisis mode, I wouldn’t mind seeing her lounge around in those little pink panties longer.

“Shelly, I need to know who made my reservation and the reservation for Miss Piper Renee. I also need a new room ASAP because there’s an existing guest in the presidential suite this weekend,” I say, glancing at her foot again.

In the light, the cut looks small, but it’s still oozing blood. She really should have a bandage and an alcohol wipe.

“And please send up a first aid kit for Miss Renee, pronto.”

Piper laughs. “You’re standing here in a towel, so I think we can skip the formalities. You don’t have to call me ‘Miss.’”

Is it missus then? My jaw clenches.

Shelly must hear that. “Is everything okay, sir?”

Fuck no.

And it feels like it can only get worse.

“It will be if you just do your job,” I say coldly.

“Do you have a preference for what room you’d like?” Shelly’s voice strains like she’s finally realizing the sky-high pile of shit she’s in.

I’m about to ask for a honeymoon suite.

It’s the next tier down, right below this one.

At this point, I’d rather have Miss Renee keep the best room plus whatever else I can manage to avoid getting nuked into slag online. But something she said replays in my head.

We do have mediocre reviews, and most of those aren’t coming from the top-shelf suites.

“Put me in a room on the Garden level,” I say.

If I’m being kicked out of my usual room, I might as well find out how most of my guests stay.

“Garden room. Right,” she says, like she’s checking if she heard me right. “Let’s see, I’m going to put you in room… one oh nine. Will that work?”

“Yes.” I hang up, trying not to slam the phone down as I look at Piper. “Let me get dressed, then we’ll sort this out. Stay off your foot.”

She blinks at me and frowns.

I stomp to the massive closet beside the main door and grab my duffel bag. I didn’t expect to unpack until tomorrow and I usually sleep naked.

Apparently, it’s going to be a while before I get any shut-eye, though.

It takes me five minutes to change in the bathroom.

When I walk out, I find Piper still lounging in the chair, holding a tissue to her damaged foot, the blanket pulled aside.

Shit, I’m staring.

I was so gobsmacked earlier that I didn’t appreciate the way her t-shirt hugs her mango-sized tits or how perfectly those lace panties cling to her sweeping hips.

I wish I wasn’t so observant now.

“They haven’t come with your first aid kit yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Goddamn, someone needs to overhaul the entire training program.

I’m about to make excuses or at least apologize when we’re interrupted.

Knock-knock!

I nod. “Better late than never.”

I head for the door and yank it open.

“First aid kit as requested, sir,” a uniformed attendant says.

I take the white box from him. He gives me a quick update on a system error from the front desk, supposedly the cause of this insane mishap.

When he’s finished, I shut the door, walking back into the sitting room and tossing the kit in Piper’s lap.

“For your foot.”

“Thanks.” She opens it and takes out a sanitizing wipe and a bandage, then sets to work on her foot.

“Once you’re dressed, I’ll have someone come up and clean the floor so you don’t step on glass again.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, mouthing the word more than saying it.

She doesn’t even look at me.

It’s not just because she’s cleaning up her foot. She’s trying like hell to avoid me.

No improvement. She’s going to draw and quarter you in that review, you dolt.

“How do we make this right?” I ask, stepping closer and stopping next to her, waiting for her to meet my eyes.

She looks up at me and winces.

“…are you kidding? You weren’t exactly Mr. Congeniality until you found out what I was. Honestly, I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I thought you were a serial killer here to axe murder me.”

“Serial killers and axe murderers aren’t the same,” I point out. “One is fueled by total psychosis; the other is a raging case of reckless—” I stop, pinching the bridge of my nose as she gapes at me. “I listen to a lot of crime podcasts when I’m traveling, okay?”

I sigh. That’s hardly the full truth but we’re not getting into that.

She gives me nothing.

Just two hot accusing green pinpricks for eyes.

I shrug. “Whatever. The point is, you didn’t look scared while you were gawking at me in my birthday suit.”

She glares at me and makes a startled sound. “Um, what? Do you hear yourself? I woke up to a noise inside my hotel room on a floor with a private elevator. You can’t possibly blame me for thinking you were either a murderer or an employee. And I know most resorts don’t send staff into rooms while their guests are sleeping, so I had to assume the worst…”

Ah, there she is.

Feisty.

I’d rather have her spitting venom than acting like she’s made of wood.

“Looks like there was a problem with the system. Once the first reservation was made, the system should have locked out the same dates. I don’t know how this happened, but rest assured I intend to talk to the people who made each reservation and my IT manager. At Winthrope, the customer is god, though. So will you let me make the rest of your stay enjoyable? I know what a dreadful fucking start this is, and I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, tell me.”

For a second, she looks around like she’s considering it before her eyes meet mine again, her lips open, and—

“No.”

Damn her.

She’s determined to make this more difficult than it needs to be.

Apparently, I’ll have to work my ass off to win Princess One Star over.

“Think harder. There must be something,” I urge.

She raises a hand and taps her fingers on her face like she’s pretending to think.

“Hmm. Nope. Sorry, but there’s no chance this doesn’t go in the review,” she says, holding up a finger. “But, since you’re groveling so nicely, you still have a chance to decide what else makes it into that review.”

“I don’t grovel,” I snap. “This wasn’t intentional, you know. As I said, there was a system error and—”

“Winthrope is a multibillion-dollar brand, isn’t it?” She raises her voice. “If the computer system can’t handle basic reservations that budget chains manage without this kind of epic fail, then maybe you should invest in better software.”

She sighs, bringing her hands up and pushing each one away from her like she wishes she could shove this whole incident aside.

For my sake and the resort’s, I hope to hell she can.

I’ve taken too much negative heat online lately.

If shit like this nightmare happens regularly, I can see why. But I have a hard time believing it does.

My staff is competent.

Mostly.

Our systems are top notch, even if the code occasionally breaks and turns into overcooked spaghetti.

“I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.” She sighs, rubbing her ankle. “You’re just a hotel manager, so—I shouldn’t take it all out on you.”

My jaw clenches.

I’m anything but a simple manager, but nothing good can come from telling her the truth.

“I’m sure no one from the main company consults you on software purchases,” she continues. “But look, I haven’t quite slept off my jet lag yet. It’s been an eventful night, and…I’m not dressed. I appreciate you taking a downgrade so I can keep my room. But I need sleep. So if you really want to help, can you just leave?”

Of course.

I’m such a frigging blockhead.

While I spent half this conversation draped in a towel, I didn’t even consider the fact that she might not be comfortable talking to me in her pajamas. “Sorry. I’ll go, and we’ll figure out a way to salvage your vacation first thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“…that won’t be necessary.”

I hope she’s right, but I can’t let this slide.

If there’s some way to wow her, to outshine my buffalo dick move, it could even do wonders for our online credibility. As I grab my bag and exit, I think back to my grandfather’s advice.

Never let a good crisis go to waste.

Once I’m set up in my new room, I pull out my laptop and start furiously Googling Piper Renee.

Please be some wanna-be web star with seventy-six followers who are mostly friends and relatives.

That would be a huge save right now, but even before the page populates, I know it won’t be true.

No one comps the top suite for a chick with a handful of followers.

The first hits are her socials.

Instagram photos and Reels with millions of views in some cases.

I swallow, hating how fucking dry my throat feels.

Then there’s TikTok. She has over five hundred videos there over the past two years, most with decent reach and a few big breakouts. Her followers are in the low six figures.

“Damn,” I mutter.

The most annoying woman alive isn’t exactly a celebrity, but her network is wide enough to deliver a serious kick in the balls if she torches Winthrope.

And her content runs the gambit, ranging from old-school reviews to showing off pretty scenery and a few where she’s just goofing around.

Most of her videos are focused on US travel. It looks like the Pacific Northwest is her favorite stomping ground.

Also, birds. Lots of them. I’ve never seen anyone waste so much time in a pretty place filming some feathered dinosaur-knockoffs pecking at rotting trees or tapping at bugs in the grass.

Still, I can’t help watching her run along a sunny Oregon beach in a silky green sundress, the wind pulling it around her frame, all lethal curves and a peach of an ass any man would love to sink his teeth into.

Especially this dumbass flicking intently through her content.

Over forty videos in, I look down and realize I’m hard as a nail.

“Idiot,” I mutter.

I know how insane this is.

Getting hard for her feels like getting hot for a hissing cobra.

Also, there’s no rhyme or reason to some of her stuff, or maybe it’s just my age talking.

A glamping shack in Idaho got a rave review and lots of shout-outs in other videos while a luxury resort in Colorado got two lukewarm stars.

What the hell?

Even worse, a quick look at the most popular people leaving comments tells me she’s connected. There are other travel junkies with a significant footprint, followers soaring into the millions combined.

I feel myself going pale.

There’s no question about it.

A horseshit review from this woman blasted across the web could deal months of damage to Winthrope Lanai’s travel base, and even hurt my other new resort in Maui.

Never mind my reputation.

I can see Gramps now, showing up from London to rap me on the knuckles in his very British, very eccentric way that really means what the fuck are you doing to the company I founded, you little rat?

Shit!

I have to win this wildcat over, somehow, even if I have no idea where to start.

I grab my cell and call the front desk.

“Thank you for calling Winthrope Resorts. This is Shelly. How may I help you?” She picks up on the first ring this time and she doesn’t sound like the undead.

Progress.

“This is Brock Winthrope. If Piper Renee doesn’t have a breakfast package for her entire stay, make it complimentary, please. If she’s paid for a package, credit it back immediately.”

“Sure, no problem. Anything else, sir?”

“She’s a reviewer, Shelly. You understand? We need to pull out all stops after someone’s mistake sent me barging into her room. Use your imagination. Spare no expense,” I say, hoping this goldfish at the front desk has one.

“Um, I can do that…” She doesn’t sound confident. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“A basket with some goodies from the shops in town. A ten-pound bag of our signature peaberry beans from Wired Cup to bring home. A full day comped at the spa. Hell, all of it.” I sigh, hating that I can’t hide my frustration. “Help me out here. You must know the client base better than I do and their preferences for odds and ends. I’m not a good ass-kisser by nature, and frankly, I’m not sure what else to do.”

I wait as Shelly clears her throat.

“People love to get out and explore, don’t they? That’s kinda the whole charm of Lanai, lots of gorgeous beaches and places to go without the crowds on other islands. We could comp her one of the sightseeing tour packages? Or have the concierge arrange something special?”

“Now you’re thinking,” I say. Then I remember Piper’s foot and frown. “Except, I’m not sure how much she’ll be up to long walks for the next few days. Hold off on finalizing anything until I’ve investigated further.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll be in touch.” I cut the call and resume scrolling through Piper’s videos like the madman I am.

The place she kept raving about in Idaho was family owned. She advertises it as an authentic bed and breakfast.

Apparently, some local kid took her around to the best places and his mom made cheese-blanketed comfort food for every meal.

If her foot isn’t giving her hell, she’ll want a local experience.

Right. That’s something I can work with.

I just don’t feel comfortable trusting this to my staff.

When you’ve been top dog as long as I have, you find out fast that no one else is ever quite as invested in your shit as you are.

I know the island well enough, don’t I? I’ve been coming to Maui and Lanai since my balls dropped, and there’s nothing else pressing on the agenda.

If I have to play tour guide to Miss Snapping Turtle, so be it.

Yes, I’m not the best people person.

Yes, this could be awkward as hell.

Yes, I could just blow everything to kingdom come if I get under her skin deeper than that glass did.

She certainly made it clear I’m the last person she ever wants to see again.

Still.

The risk would be mine alone.

Win, lose, or draw, I’m not above rolling up my sleeves.

I don’t know if I can even talk her into doing this.

I just know I’m not trusting anyone else with this job.

Punching up my email, I send a note to my resort manager—the real one—letting her know to notify me as soon as the private elevator opens.

If Miss Renee is spotted anywhere else on our property, I want to know immediately, building in a fail-safe in case someone misses the elevator being used.

I should feel a little guilty going full stalker.

I don’t.

After five hours of fitful sleep, I wake up to three missed calls from a few minutes ago and my phone ringing again.

Groaning, I wipe my face with my hand and answer. “Yeah?”

“My shift just ended, but I wanted to make sure I got you, sir. She’s having breakfast at Café Oceannaire on the second floor. I comped her breakfast and left a note under her door to let her know, per your instructions. But I can’t tell you if she found it. She still looked rather groggy when she came down.”

“Thanks. On my way now.” I dart out of bed, fumbling for my clothes as I hang up.

In an alternate universe, I might enjoy the challenge of taming Piper Renee in a very different way.

In this one, I’ll do my damnedest to make her grateful for my company.

I head downstairs in a three-piece suit, dressed to impress.

After our first encounter, I figure more layers are probably for the best.

Whatever helps her not picture me stark naked—though the fact that I know she will makes my lips turn up.

I walk into the restaurant and glance around.

A few well-dressed people sit at tables or linger around the brunch buffet.

Then there’s Miss Renee.

She’s all alone at a table for two, shockingly underdressed compared to the usual crowd. Is she still in her pajamas?

At least she’s wearing shorts this time, hunched over the big ceramic coffee mug with both hands wrapped around it like it’s anchoring her.

I pull out the chair across from her and sit.

“Enjoying your complimentary breakfast?”

Her head jerks up from her coffee cup and the hazy half smile she was wearing looking out at the ocean disappears.

“Um, yes. Of course. Thank you.”

“Have you tried the lobster yet? It’s brought in locally every day and sinfully delicious,” I say, trying to play it up. “Plenty of folks go home preferring Hawaiian lobster to anything they’ll find out east.”

She stares at me like she doesn’t comprehend a word I say.

Lovely start.

“Mr. Manager, you don’t have to worry. I probably won’t mention you in the review. I’ve been thinking it over and I don’t want that incident to become a huge distraction from whatever else I say about this place.” She sighs, glancing away and then back at me again. “Also, I’ve heard rumors the CEO is a major hardass. I’d feel a little bad if he finds out and blames you, all over some crappy software bug you had nothing to do with.”

Major hardass, huh?

I suppose my reputation precedes me.

“So you’ve done your homework on Winthrope Brands. Who did you hear about the CEO from?” I ask, ordering a coffee from the waitress who stops by.

She takes a drink of her own, frowns, and sets the cup down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I should’ve asked for a refill,” she says glumly. “My coffee’s gone.”

I look around, but our waitress has disappeared.

Damn.

Then again, I own this place.

“Hold on. I’ll get you more.” I stand.

“Is that something hotel managers usually do?” She laughs.

It is when they need to survive a battery of reviews with their skin intact.

“Sure,” I lie. “The coffee is impeccable here and it shouldn’t wait. I had a hand in sourcing it myself.”

I stab at my chest proudly. She almost rolls her eyes.

Too much, I guess.

Maybe she’d be more impressed if I mentioned the fact that sourcing this coffee also had me steering my yacht into a once-in-a-century Seattle storm to help coffee mogul Cole Lancaster save his now-wife from a total psycho.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Another server who waited on me last time I was here walks by and stops with a big smile. “Ah, welcome back, Mister—”

Shit, shit.

Don’t say my name, pal. She already thinks the new CEO is a walking stick up the ass.

“Brock,” I spit quickly.

He blinks at me. “Really?”

What do you mean, ‘Really?’

It’s my damn name.

“Yeah. Don’t wear it out.” I nod briskly.

I can practically feel Miss Renee’s eyes glued to me, questioning whether or not I’m sober.

He slaps my arm, beaming at me like I just loaned him my custom Tesla, a gift from a man too rich to name who knows a lot about rockets. He really enjoyed his stay in our Arizona resort with its own observatory.

“Thanks, boss. I mean Brock. Wow!” He stands woodenly. “You’re such a down-to-earth dude. You don’t deserve half the crap they give you.”

Goddamn, this kid is going to blow this and bury me alive.

“Do you need anything?”

“Two of the house coffees.”

“Sure. Do you need cream and sugar?” he asks.

“Monk fruit,” Piper says.

I stare at her. I barely know what the hell that is, but it’s her second cup of coffee, so I’m going to assume we have it.

“You heard the lady.” I nod at the kid. “Monk fruit sweetener. While you’re at it, bring her a fresh lobster omelet, too.”

“Got it! I’ll be right back.” He walks away.

I drop down across from her again.

“Oh, I usually eat light. I’m not sure I need lobster this early. I mean, sometimes I even skip breakfast. Intermittent fasting is my jam.”

Of course it is.

When you live on TikTok, you’re prone to following every damnable fitness and diet fad—even at the expense of indulging yourself for one flawless Hawaiian morning.

I try not to glare.

“Make an exception today. No one turns down free lobster,” I say, pinning on a fake smile.

“Lobster for breakfast? I know it’s Lanai, but is that even a thing among rich people tourists?”

“It is at Winthrope,” I say matter-of-factly.

I try not to let my gaze linger, or start slipping down her chest.

Fuck, I knew she was beautiful last night, but I didn’t notice the blue streaks in her chin-length blond hair, framing a pink mouth made for heaven, hell, and everything in between.

“Nice hair. It’s a good fit for Lanai, all spun gold and bits of blue. Very colorful.” It just slips out and I instantly regret it, even as her cheeks turn red and she looks away from me.

I clear my throat.

“Obviously, I meant nothing else by it. I’m not blowing smoke up your—yeah.”

Do not picture her peach of an ass, man.

Hit the brakes on the brownnosing.

She drums her fingers against the table. I can’t blame her for being annoyed.

“Look, Brock… I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’m just going to be blunt. I appreciate that you’re nice enough and trying to make up for last night, but I’m only in Lanai for a few days. The way we met was weird enough. You showing up for breakfast feels even weirder.”

I hold up my hands. “Guilty as charged. Understand, I couldn’t leave you high and dry after what happened. How’s the foot?”

She doesn’t answer and looks down at the mug in her hands, fidgeting.

“Have I insulted you?” I venture. “I promise you that was never the intention—”

“I just…are you stalking me? Watching my every move?” She looks up with her lips pursed. “We both might be better off if you just leave me alone.”

Well, fuck.

The best-laid plans of mice and men collapse before my eyes.

“I’m the manager,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Your stay at my hotel got off to a dreadful start, all because of an outrageous employee error—”

“I thought you said it was a computer error?” She raises an eyebrow.

“That was half of it. The software shouldn’t have allowed the same room to be booked twice. However, a new employee was trying to be very helpful to me and make sure my room got booked, so when the computer wouldn’t allow him to book the reservation, he overrode it and booked it for me anyway. The code was changed this morning. Staff will now call a manager if they ever need an override. It’s definitely never happening again, and I’m sorry as hell you had to give us the kick in the cock we needed.”

Oops.

That makes her giggle, at least, this bright sound that startles me for a second.

“Pardon my French. Anyway, glitch or human error, it’s my job to make it right,” I tell her.

“That’s nice and all. But the problem wasn’t the bug. It was thinking I’d be murdered in the middle of the night in my fancy room.” She sits back in her chair and sighs. “Honestly, I’m not sure you can make up for that. There’s no way to fix running into each other like we did… This place sure is beautiful and I’ll do my best to be fair. But I’d be lying if I said it isn’t pretty tainted for me.”

Shit.

Overreacting much?

Somehow, the scars my stupidity left on her psyche feel worse than a bad review.

If she keeps dwelling on it, this could be a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Miss Renee closes her mouth, but the way she grinds her teeth into her lip makes me think she has more to say, and none of it’s good.

“What else? Let me have it, lady. Everything,” I demand, curling a fist on the table.

She stares at me intently.

I’m slightly grateful her cup is empty by the time the waiter returns with refills. He puts a small container next to Piper’s coffee.

“Liquid Monk fruit.”

“Thanks!” She looks up at him.

I nod at the kid and he walks away.

“Well?” I repeat.

“Well, what?”

“I don’t think you’re done, and if you’re holding back any punches, there’s no need on my account,” I say firmly. “Hit me, Piper Renee. Bruise me.”

Her eyebrows go up.

“Okay, martyr man, I didn’t want to get into it but… It’s annoying that you’re this crazy about making things right, and I think it’s only because you’re scared of getting lit up online. I may be just another travel vlogger in a thousand, but my stuff is authentic.” She tears open the monk fruit packet and dumps it into her cup, stirs, and sips. “FYI, I’m not into massive suck-ups coming after me with baskets of goodies and comps purely because they’re afraid they won’t measure up.”

Shit.

I’d better tell Shelly to cancel the Love Lanai basket. I also need to choose my next words very carefully.

“Miss Renee, I never asked you for anything less than authentic. I simply don’t want anyone jetting off from my resort after a damn Halloween funhouse experience rather than a world-class luxury escape. If I went about repairing the damage wrong—”

“Which time? Which time, Brock?” The way she says my name sends fire through my blood. “Was it when you carried me across the room half-naked? Or when you practically shoved a free lobster down my throat like you think it’d make me forget what happened? Like I could ever forget stepping on broken glass and seeing you buck flipping nak—never mind.” She takes a fast gulp of coffee.

Too fast. She coughs loudly into her hand.

Damnation.

This firecracker is going to leave a smoking crater where my nose used to be.

“Both times,” I bite off.

She looks at me slowly and takes a sip of water from the other glass in front of her.

“Well, you’re honest, I guess. That’s one point. And this stuff is pretty good.”

“The coffee?”

Thank fuck we’ve done one thing right.

“Yep. Divine. Even better than the Wired Cup stuff back in Seattle if that’s your supplier. I did a little research and heard the coffee was supposed to be this special extra perk to keep people happy and coming back. I heard Mr. Hardass CEO even dragged his whole team to Kona for a taste test just to make sure it was right. Can you imagine?”

Are my eyes daggers?

Yes, lady, I can imagine.

Because I am Mr. Hardass and I was there. Absolute perfection is a reasonable demand when I’m buying the world’s rarest coffee by the truckload just to keep my guests happy.

It was also amusing as hell watching Cole Lancaster pretend he wasn’t smitten with that little coffee geek he married who was just his smartest lab wonk then, but I digress.

“Can we focus on us?” I say, trying like hell to shift the subject.

“Sure. I’m glad you admit you’ve made some real dick moves.”

Oh, you little screamer, if I wasn’t playing peacemaker, I could show you dick moves you’d never complain about.

“They weren’t dickhead moves…were they?” I growl.

She looks at me like I’m stupid and laughs awkwardly again.

“Oh? You want to decide that, huh?”

I roll my eyes.

“Listen, I get the message, loud and clear. No attempt to smooth this over with lobsters and massages is ever going to be enough, and I’m sorry to hear that. I also understand.” I inhale sharply. “I wouldn’t want some ogre intruder who woke me up from a dead sleep bribing me with gifts either. Still, isn’t it best practice to make sure guests enjoy their stays? I don’t have a time machine.”

“Disappointing,” she says, raising a brow. “I was expecting you to offer me the full H.G. Wells experience.”

Is that a joke?

I don’t fucking laugh.

“As for showering in your room, you know I thought it was mine,” I continue. “The error won’t happen again. I’m not sure what else I can do except change the future, and that means making the rest of your stay here so goddamned glorious you go home exhausted with a smile plastered on your face that makes your fucking cheeks hurt.”

“Sounds painful.” She winces and takes another long pull of coffee.

Damn her, is everything I say cursed?

She stands, grabs her coffee, and starts walking past me.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I call after her. “Miss Renee!”

“Getting some peace and quiet like I asked for when you invaded my space again. I’m finishing my coffee in my room,” she says without looking back.

“Your lobster—”

“Eat it. No one turns down free lobster, right?”

My hand cramps.

When I look down, I see I’m clenching it so hard my knuckles are bone-white.

Goddamn, she has a talent for stressing me out with a simple conversation.

Snarling, I pick up my coffee so fast it sloshes out over my wrist.

I swear and chug a few quick sips anyway, then pull out my phone and email the front desk to assign Miss Sunshine a two-thousand-dollar spa credit.

Time to break out the big guns.

A minute later, the server returns with a buttery omelet that smells like fresh lobster and cream. He stares at Piper’s empty seat.

“Oh, she left? I can keep this warm for her if you’d like.”

“Just give it to me.” There’s no point in wasting perfectly good lobster eggs. “Oh, and one more thing—it’s Mr. Winthrope. We really adhere to formalities for staff morale.”

His face sinks, but damned if I care.

Because there’s no point in pretending I’m not on my very last thread, and I don’t need to bite my own tongue off trying to hold it for this strange, insufferable woman.