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1
SADIE
Ishook the rain off my jacket and wiped my fingers under my eyes, hoping I didn’t look like a crazed raccoon. My fingertips came away smudged with mascara.
The dash from my loaner car to the front porch wasn’t short enough to keep the torrential downpour from soaking me to the bone. I fished a hair tie out of my pocket and slicked my wet hair up into a high ponytail. Clutching my weekender bag under my arm, I pulled my shoulders back, hoping to make myself look like a respectable boarder.
Would it have killed them to leave on the porch light? It was pitch black and raining after all.
Not finding a doorbell, I knocked on the storm door, then waited.
And waited.
Lauren always found the cheapest vacation rentals in the towns our boss wanted us to explore. Yes, as office manager it was kind of her job to keep us on budget for travel, but the woman took things to the extreme. If there was a penny to be pinched, you better believe she pinched it so hard it bled. That meant I’d had some real gems of rental experiences on my assignments.
After a few more minutes passed by, I fished my phone out of my pocket and pulled up the confirmation email from Lauren. I didn’t want to be the asshole banging on the wrong door at—I winced when I double-checked the time on my phone—shit, eleven forty-eight at night. Between an overturned semi on the Pennsylvania turnpike and a twenty-mile stretch of construction in Ohio my GPS didn’t warn me about, I was rolling in here about four hours later than expected.
I’d been in the car for sixteen hours and I wanted a hot shower and cool sheets. In that order.
Stepping back a bit, I read the black iron house numbers affixed to the brick by the front door. 1752, same as the email said. I copied and pasted the address directly out of the email back into the maps app to make sure I hadn’t accidentally done some kind of East vs. West or Avenue vs. Street fuckery when I first started my trip uncaffeinated.
Nope. No mistaking it. This was the right address.
Pulling open the storm door, I knocked harder this time. A minute later, muffled swearing came from the other side of the door before it swung open and revealed the bluest pair of eyes I’d ever seen.
Those eyes were pissed.
“Yeah?” The man looked down his nose at me, which wasn’t too hard since he had to be at least six-two.
Okay, real talk. I’d lived in Manhattan for a few years, and sometimes you encountered out-of-this world beautiful people doing regular everyday shit. At the corner bodega, or the laundromat, or waiting in the same line at the hot new brunch place. It was always breathtaking and fleeting, and left you wondering what their life was like, walking around being so damn attractive day in and day out.
But never in my twenty-four years on this earth had I been this close to one of them. This guy looked like he should be in a cologne ad in Italian Vogue, not glaring at me on the front porch of a brick Victorian in Kelly Bay, Michigan, at almost midnight on a Wednesday night.
Shit, maybe my boss was onto something. Maybe this little Podunk town was a hideaway for beautiful, rich people trying to stay off the radar. What were the odds this guy was some male supermodel who ran a quaint vacation rental on the side?
He sized me up, but not in the same thirsty way I did him. Fuzzy gray house slippers peeked out from under the loose sweats hanging low on his hips. They were the only thing about him that looked cozy or inviting. The rest of him was made up of hard edges. The tight black thermal shirt clinging to his chest did him all the favors, and I was not mad about it. The whole comfortable athleisure wear vibe didn’t gel with the clenched jaw and granite eyes thing he had going on though.
“What?” He huffed the word out with more annoyance than the first one he’d spoken when he opened the door. I guess when you looked that good you could get away with poor guest relation skills and still keep getting rentals.
“I’m your new guest, Sadie Davis.” I stuck my hand out. “Sorry I’m so much later than expected. There was an accident and—”
“No.” He retreated into the shadows of the house.
Not only was there no porch light on, but there were no lights on inside either, except the blue flicker of a TV coming from a room off to the side of the main hall.
Someone not used to getting constantly screwed over on travel arrangements by their terrible coworker might not have had the same quick reflexes. “Excuse me,” I shoved my booted foot into the door before he could shut me out, “but I’ve got the payment confirmation right here.” I waved my phone screen at him.
He glared down at my foot before swinging his icy gaze back up to my face. “Lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’ve got the wrong address. So, if you’ll get your foot out of my door—” He stepped back and gave my shoe another pointed look.
“No. Nope.” I shoved my phone at his dumb, gorgeous face. “1752 South Taylor Street, that’s what the email confirmation says. That’s this house.” I pointed at the house numbers, keeping my foot firmly planted. “Right?” It probably would have been smart to keep the gotcha out of my tone, but I was not in the mood to be told I didn’t have a place to stay tonight.
He let out a sigh like he was discussing a decades-long property-line dispute with a crazy neighbor and snatched the phone from my hand. “Let’s have a look.” He squinted at the phone for a moment before using his thumb to scroll down the message and muttered something that sounded like fucking Brody, but I couldn’t be sure. “Hmm. I see,” he said.
Finally, we were getting somewhere. “Great. I’ll grab my suitcase and—”
“You got scammed.” He held my phone back out to me.
“What? No.” I took my phone back but refused his derisive explanation. “My company paid for me to stay here for the next four weeks.”
