Page 19 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
It’s warm.
Golden light filters in through lace-trimmed curtains. The bed is big and old-fashioned, with a quilt that looks handmade and a carved wooden headboard. There’s a vintage armoire in the corner, an armchair that invites naps and novels, and a tiny tea station with a real ceramic kettle. Not an espresso machine or minibar in sight.
There’s a kettle motif stitched into the pillowcases. I should hate that.
I don’t.
“It’s called the Kettle Suite,” she says, stepping inside to set the key on the dresser. “My Aunt Edie named it so. You’ve got the view of the backyard orchard. Bathroom’s just through there—clawfoot tub, antique tile. If you need anything, call the front desk. Someone’s always around.”
She moves through the room like she belongs to it. Like it belongs to her.
I’m still standing near the door, taking it all in. She doesn’t fill the silence with small talk. Just lets it stretch, lets me absorb.
“This is…” I start, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Nice? Unexpected? Exactly what I didn’t know I needed?
“I love it.”
She meets my eyes again—those same dark ones that practically undressed my ego at the front desk.
“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “See you around.”
She turns and walks out. Just like that.
No lingering glance. No over-the-shoulder flirtation. Just professionalism with a side of calm authority.
I’m stunned.
Because for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel… settled. Like I’m not being asked to prove anything, perform anything. Like maybe it’s okay to just exist.
I look around the room again.
Simple.
But yeah. It works.
MARGOT
Ishouldn’t be thinking about him.
But here I am.
Leaning against the counter in the back office, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. I’m about to search for a guest online. It’ll be my first time ever doing so, and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Cal Reid.
The name sounds like it should belong to someone in exotic wine distribution or possibly romantic Hollywood films—someone from a sharp-looking catalog, definitely not someone wandering late into the Key & Kettle Inn with a duffel bag and a deep sigh.
He’s… something else. Polished but quiet. Out of place but not uncomfortable.
And way too handsome for my sanity.
Square jaw. A beard. That voice like warm cedar and apologies. I’m annoyed because I usually don’t notice these things in men.
Stop.
This is exactly the kind of spiral I don’t allow myself anymore.
But I can’t help it. I’m curious and his profile has no name, no address, no social media accounts, nothing.
