Page 6 of In Spades

I raised my eyebrows. “The inn must be lucky to have you.”

She blushed again, then checked her watch. “I’ll get out of your hair so you can get back to work. Are you staying another night?”

“Two weeks, actually.” I glanced over my shoulder at the shimmering water just outside the balcony. “Figured it was time for some fresh air.”

She tugged a business card out of her pocket and handed it to me. “If there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, just let me know, Mr.—”

I took the card from her and ran my finger along the edge. “Solomon. Will Solomon.”

Kristin Boyd, the card read. Head Housekeeper.

My stomach grumbled loud enough to hear over my headphones. I glanced at the time.

Shit.

I’d been so focused on my project, I didn’t notice that several hours had passed. That always happened. There was no earthly reason for it. No deadline loomed over me, but I had a way of pushing myself like it did.

But I was bored and didn’t know how to not work.

With another groan, my stomach threatened to eat its way out of my body. I powered down my laptop, stuck it in the safe, punched the code into the keypad, and locked it up. I tossed my glasses down, grabbed my wallet off the desk, and shoved it into my back pocket. I remembered seeing a McDonald’s by the Piggly Wiggly on my drive into Beaufort.

The dollar menu was calling my name.

Ah, hell. I turned from the open door and began a quick sweep through the room for my phone. Losing that damn thing had become a full-blown habit. It didn’t help that I could go days at a time without checking it. That never struck me as a bad thing, but everyone else in my life disagreed.

“There you are,” I muttered, pulling it from between the cushions of the loveseat on the other side of my suite.

I wasn’t one to splurge, but I was here for two weeks, so I sprung for a bigger room. Might as well be comfortable.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Yikes. My hair was standing up on end like I’d stuck my finger in a light socket. It reminded me of when I pulled all-nighters during my undergrad at MIT almost two decades ago.

I grabbed my ball cap and pulled it on as the hotel room door slammed behind me.

Moving quickly with my head down, I took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. I’d almost made it to the front doors when a familiar voice grabbed my attention.

“Do you mind if I change in your office?” Kristin’s words carried through the lobby. A brunette dressed to the nines walked beside her.

“Of course. You know I don’t care,” the brunette chirped. Her high heels clicked as they made their way across the marble floor. “Do you need a ride over to Maddie’s since Mel is taking you home?”

“Nah,” Kristin said, yanking her hair out of the ponytail and flipping her head over before standing up straight again. The strands fell on her shoulders like a cascade of dark chocolate. “I’m just gonna drive over there tonight.”

The brunette eyed her sternly. “Get a ride with Mel or have Chase take you home. You need to blow off some steam, babe. Stop being so damn responsible for, like, three hours.”

Kristin shook her head. “I can’t. I got a call earlier from the school, and they...”

Her voice trailed off as she and the brunette slipped into a narrow hallway obscured by a potted ficus.

The blistering August heat smacked me in the face as I strode outside to the parking lot. Jeans and a pullover had been a ridiculous choice, but my thoughts were too fixed on Kristin to care. I didn’t know why, but part of me hoped I’d see her again soon. Numbers rolled through my mind as I walked toward my truck, and I smiled at the probability.

It was high.

Beaufort wasn’t much of a change in scenery from my home in New Bern, but it was nice to get out of my house. I was usually hands-off when my investment company acquired new properties. But the forty-five minute drive wasn’t that bad, and I wanted to scope things out now that I had purchased the Taylor Creek Inn.

Hotel management didn’t interest me at all. Plenty of talented people worked for me that could handle the day-to-day. But I wanted to see the place make money, so I decided to snoop around as soon as we got the metaphorical keys.

People tended to be more transparent if they didn’t know you signed their paycheck. I was great at cruising through life undetected.

I sank into the driver’s seat of my pickup truck as waves of heat rolled up the dash like a mirage. I cracked the window and cranked up. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced at the screen. Spenser Crenshaw—Isaac Lawson’s gopher.

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