Page 98 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

Moving on from the shelves, I cross to the window. Beneath it, there’s an antique mahogany desk and rolling chair. On top of the desk is a stack of creamy stationery monogrammed with the letter B in forest green.

Hudson comes to my side, nodding to indicate the stationery. “I took the liberty of using the logo you designed, and I ordered in bulk two weeks ago.” He slides open the top drawer where more stationery is lined up. “I had matching envelopes made, too.” He slips one out and hands it to me. The Beachfront address is printed on the back flap. “I’m going to keep a supply of stamps and pens in here, too.” He arches a brow. “It’s good for branding, right? Any guest who writes a letter from The Beachfront will be advertising for us the old-fashioned way. I figured it’s just another way to market that’s not online.”

“Wow!” A small laugh bursts out of me. “You’ve really been paying attention. I’m so proud.”

“Well.” He presses a palm to his chest and bows. “I had a riveting instructor.”

When he straightens, his eyes are full of warmth, gazing at me as if there’s nowhere he’d rather be. He takes a step closer, and I start to edge toward him, like we’re on opposite ends of the same piece of twine wrapping back up into the ball we came from.

And that’s when I know Hudson Blaine isn’t someone I’ll be able to untangle myself from easily.

Hudson is a man.

A man who sees me.

He’s put in the time, asked the questions, and listened to the answers. To him, I’m more than just one of the McCoy triplets. The Tripsters. Tripalicious. Trippy McGee. Those were all nicknames the kids tossed around in Apple Valley. Back then we were a source of entertainment, not individuals. And being in the fishbowl—all the attention—I thought I wanted it …. Until I didn’t.

But I’ve opened up to Hudson now, shared all sides of me—even the worst of it—and in his eyes I still see nothing reflected back but the best.

So I step into his arms now, and he gathers me in, gently nudging me back, back, back, until I’m pressed against a wall of books. I smell the paper and dust from the old covers, but now it’s mixed with the hint of woods and spice that’s pure Hudson. When I lay a hand on his chest, I feel the pounding of his heart against my palm. I tip my chin up, and he dips his head until his lips graze the edge of my ear.

“When I finally kiss you,” he says, “it’s going to mean something to me.” His breath is warm against my skin. “It’s going to mean everything.”

“To me too,” I say. This is what I’ve been longing for, and also what I’ve been afraid of since I first saw Hudson again. Because the truth is, I want him to kiss me and mean it. I want him to claim me.

I want to be his.

“I’m not sure you’re ready,” he says. His voice is a raspy almost-whisper. He’s right, but I lean into him anyway, just as a low rumble sounds in the back of his throat. His heartbeat is a rhythm pulsing straight into my soul. But then the pulse shifts to the pocket of my sundress. Another pulse. Again. And again.

Hudson groans. “I think that’s your phone.”

I groan too, then I quickly check the number, and my stomach flips.

“It’s my boss,” I say, and the instinct to be at Francine Tomlin’s constant beck and call kicks in. “My old boss,” I add. Then I step away, my cheeks flushing as I smooth a hand down my skirt. I can barely remember how to be a professional—at least the kind of professional who works at Luxe. Because the truth is, I feel like a completely different person than the one who used to work there.

“Francine! What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“And I wasn’t expecting to call,” she says. “But I had to reach out when I heard the news.” Her voice has that familiar nasal hum she uses when she’s reluctantly impressed.

I blink. “What news?”

“That you got Lincoln James and Hadley Morgan to stay at some little inn where you’re working in the Adirondacks. The Beachfront Inn sounds so … quaint,” she says. “So I have to ask how you were able to tempt such a big fish to a tiny small-town pond.”

My stomach lurches.

How does Francine know Hadley and Link are here? It’s been less than a day, and I definitely didn’t post about them coming. I told almost no one, in fact. Just the Johnsons. And my cousins knew, I guess. And okay, yes, my family’s famous for being a big part of the Abieville gossip mill, but they’re also as loyal as they come. Every one of us would do anything for the others.

So who did this?

“I’m sorry, Francine.” I square my shoulders, preparing for damage control. I know the drill from handling celebrities at Luxe. Deny, deny, deny. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you don’t have to play coy with me, Olivia,” she coos. “I know how the game is played. I only wish you’d had these kinds of moves before you left us. You’ve obviously leveled up, just like you said you would. So brava, Olivia. Brava.”

I dart my eyes to Hudson, feeling nauseated. He asked me to stay and manage Link and Hadley’s visit because he trusted me. I promised them total privacy while they were here, and I failed them.

I failed him.

“I’m not sure what you heard or from whom,” I say in a low voice, “but I’m begging you, please don’t share this information with anyone else.”

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