Page 20 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
Curiosity is stronger than coffee, and mine’s gone cold. So I type his name into the search bar, half-expecting a LinkedIn profile or a local directory or maybe an Instagram with too many gym selfies and motivational captions.
Nothing.
No results. Not a single relevant hit.
Who books a three-week stay without leaving a digital footprint?
I chew on the edge of my thumbnail and blink at the empty screen, as if it might suddenly confess something.
I suddenly hear footsteps and slam the laptop shut like I’ve just been caught Googling my high school ex. I straighten my blouse, pretend I was absolutely doing anything else, and look up just in time for Ana to push through the door, looking as harried as I feel.
She’s clutching her tote and wearing that sheepish, wide-eyed look she always puts on when she knows she’s late but hopes her dimples will soften the blow.
“Hey,” she says, breathless. “I’m so sorry—thank you for letting me take the morning off. I had to go to the bank, and of course nothing goes as planned, and then traffic?—”
“It’s okay.” I wave off her apology before she can spiral. “Really. I survived. Barely. But survived.”
She exhales, shoulders dropping. “Thank you. What can I do?”
“Girl—” I take a deep breath.
Ana laughs and sets her bag down. She’s already looking around, ready to dive in, but I stop her with a hand on her arm. We need more help. But Aunt Edie’s medical bills keep piling up, and we’re barely scraping even with the rooms full most nights. I haven’t said it aloud, not to Ana or Thea or even Edie, but sometimes it feels like we’re hanging by a thread made of stubbornness and goodwill.
“We’ve got a lot to catch up on,” I say. “We’re low on flour, tea tins, and about a hundred other things. I need to go into town this afternoon to restock.”
She nods quickly. “Okay. I’ll handle front desk while you’re gone.”
“Maya’s coming in by three. I told her to help out with Kettle Hour prep. I’ll try and convince either Hazel or Thea to come up and lend a hand, too.”
Ana raises a brow. “Good luck with that.”
I groan. I glance at the clock on the wall. We’re inching closer to Kettle Hour, and my body already feels it—an ache between my shoulders, the tension coiled at the base of my neck, that tight squeeze of pressure that comes from trying to keep too many plates spinning.
I probably won’t be around for today’s hangout, but with Maya and one of my sisters around, they can power through it.
Ana’s watching me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.”
“You should take a break. Go breathe for ten minutes.”
I shake my head. “Maybe when I come back from town. Right now, there’s too much to do.”
She sighs, but she doesn’t argue. We both know how this goes.
I hand her the clipboard. “Here’s the updated list. Maya should be on time, but just in case, start setting up the tea cart early. I’ve already prepped some of the scone mix and put it in the fridge.”
Ana nods, slipping into her usual rhythm. It helps, having her here. Her steadiness is one of the reasons I haven’t fully unraveled yet.
“Oh,” I add, remembering. “And Amee said something about her bathroom tap. I’ve called the plumber, you can call them again if they aren’t here in an hour.”
“Okay.”
“By the way, you didn’t cancel the booking for the guest who missed four days.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh. I completely forgot. I’m so sorry—I’ll do it now.”
“Never mind,” I say, already pulling the door open. “He showed up a few minutes ago. He’s settled in.”
