Page 45 of One Big Little Secret

“This is a large building with balconies and several entrances. There are a lot of potential security risks here. Surely, our guests would feel safer with a little more security presence, and the guards wouldn’t be stretched so thin. It will also save you from any bad PR out of the gates if it stops any incidents.”

“Fair enough. And where would the money come from? This needs to work with our current budget. We’re already near our limit for security costs.”

“Well… if we streamline the cleaning schedule and make everything more efficient there, we wouldn’t need to look further.”

There’s no point in fighting it when she’s right—and we both know she is—but goddamn, I want to.

I stand up before she annoys me some more.

“Sounds like you have everything under control,” I say, proud of myself for showing a little restraint. Dex and Archer, eat your fucking hearts out. “Well done, Salem.”

“Miss Hopper,” she says. “Please call me Miss Hopper, Mr. Rory.”

My ghost of a smile dies.

What the fuck?

No matter how much she calls me Mr. Rory, I hate it.

But this is a professional environment. If she wants to keep this so rigid and stale we can hardly breathe, that’s fine and goddamned dandy.

“Miss Hopper, I read you loud and clear.” I nod at her and leave the room before I can say anything toounprofessional.

Then I spend the entire week licking my wounds. I search for something I can critique, not to reprimand her, but to teach her.

Yes, she’s whacked my inner asshole over the head and it’s hard to restrain him.

Still, there must be something she’s doing wrong—something I can improve.

That’s my role as mentor, right? To identify her weaknesses and help her obliterate them. To make her stronger, smarter, and better than anything she’d be without me.

But when I show up early in the morning, she’s already there, splitting her time between her office and walking the halls when she’s not at the front desk.

From discussing issues with Bekah to ensuring the rooftop pool and bar are ready to go by eight a.m., she’s perfectly hands-on.

There’s nothing I can fault her for with operations.

Not in good faith.

Not when she’s so damn smiley with the guests, either, putting on this picturesque welcoming smile.

She’s a human chameleon, I’m sure. Mostly because I’ve never seen her make that face with me since that night on the boat.

Obviously, it’s personal.

What else do I deserve for making it that way?

After a few more days monitoring thehuge, streamlined beast that is The Cardinal, I head back to our office in Lee’s Summit.

The Cardinal is our biggest new project, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have plenty more in the works. New deals to close, established properties to check, keeping up with the company’s ever-growing portfolio.

“Hey, Archer? You in there?” I knock on his office door, which is slightly cracked open.

Weird. He’s the kind of antisocial freak who loves to shut the world out—especially his annoying little brother.

“Hey, so I was thinking—”

The door falls open and I see Arch leaning against his desk, his sleeves rolled up, and Salem on the red sofa in front of him.

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