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Don’t tell my grandparents this, but I’ve secretly been Team Tate ever since.
I smooth the front of my black swing dress with the peter pan collar and cuffs. I paired it with simple black, peek-a-boo toe pumps, globe earrings and a single gold bangle. A girl’s gotta dress up because this is sort of like a job interview. It just happens to be with Oliver Tate, the man I cannot seem to get out of my head. Maybe working for the Tates will force me to be professional—force me to move on.
And a resort libraryisa big deal. I feel honored that he trusts me with it. I guess my master’s in library science isn’t such a big waste after all, like my grandparents thought it would be.
I take in a ragged breath. Okay, time to go in there and make this work. Time to take Oliver from would-be-in-my-wildest dreams boyfriend to what he actually is now: My boss. Sort of.
I head up the stone steps to the massive oak sliding doors. It has bubbled panes of glass and the hardware looks like it’s been aged a few hundred years on an Italian castle.
Wow. A mix of neutrals and stainless steel, this thing is like a polished, European post-modern cabin in the woods.
I breeze through the doors and I’m Little Orphan Annie walking into Daddy Warbuck’s mansion. There’s a massive oak reception desk and two seating areas opposite one another, both with ornate fireplaces and landscape paintings. The place smells like fresh paint. It’s a blend between rustic and opulent. Not sure how they pulled that off, but they did.
“Sophie! You made it.”
It’s Oliver. He’s shut-the-front-door handsome, and my arms and legs break out in goosies as proof.
He’s wearing a black and white, buffalo plaid dress shirt and pink chinos. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. It’s high-end, business casual with an Oliver flair. Most distracting? His cedarwood, minty pear scent. I have no idea what it’s called but I’d know it anywhere.
And now I’m regretting my decision to spray my day-three hair with my dog Wilford’s dry shampoo. Bad choice, even if it is juicy peach scented. I should have just washed my dang hair. I’d run out of the human variety of dry shampoo. And yes, it felt wrong using a dog product on my hair, okay? Not my proudest moment.
But I’m here with Oliver. I should have taken better care of my hair hygiene needs. I rub the top of my part, hoping the white powder has fully dissolved.
He strides across the tile floors. They’re slate intermingled with a marbly tile.
“This place is…” I shake my head, my gaze going all around the vaulted ceilings.
“It’s nice,” he says. “Not that I can take any credit for it. Most of the decisions were made before I came on board for this one.” He places a hand at the small of my back and leads me around the corner to the elevators.
Reason 574 that it was the right thing to break up with Troy. His touch never made me shiver like Oliver’s does. Which could be a problem in our current situation, so I make a mental note—albeit a disappointed one—to avoid his physical touch.
Sidenote? I still can’t believe I met Troy the night Oliver didn’t show up. Maybe I looked at him like some sort of replacement?
In any case, this is my chance to ensure our business arrangement stays businessy. Not shivery. Businessy.
“You weren’t always on board for the Longdale location?” I ask, sidestepping so that his hand drops from my back. Talking about the resort should be a safe topic.
Something in his expression does a stutter step before he continues, his gaze down the hall and out the side door. “No. I’d actually originally told Sebastian he’d have to get the Longdale Lake property up and running without me. I was busy with other projects for the company.”
My stomach plunges to my knees when I realize that he’d tried not to move back to Longdale. He wasn’t jumping at the chance to be here—the place I’ll never move from, as I promised my mom.
We step into the elevator, and I wall up, like those hamster balls that make it so you can’t lose the little guy. You know, the clear plastic things? I use that visual to remind myself to keep my feelings protected, and to not let anything get to me.
It’s not always the healthiest metaphor to use. But it matters with Oliver. It’s the only way to survive.
“You boys sure do stay busy,” I say. “You have, what, ten resorts now?”
“Yeah. And this year is our tenth anniversary in business.” He whistles low. “I can’t believe it.”
“What was more pressing than this place? I’m sure it’s important to you all, since you spent every summer here.”
He nods as we leave the elevator on the fourth floor.
“It’s true. It is. It’s smaller than we’ve ever done. And we’ve never built one in a secluded location like this.”
“But you had to come and save us from those no good, very bad wind turbines.”
His face falls. He knows it was my grandparents’ company that tried to get those installed. He knows their company has struggled ever since they lost the land bid to the Tates. The tips of his ears burn pink.
