Impossibly tall and broad-shouldered, Luke Sterling stands at the registration desk like he’s been plucked from the pages of Forbes and dropped into my very real small-town fever dream.
Tailored charcoal suit, sleek black coat still damp from the rain, and the kind of cool, corporate presence that makes my flannel shirt feel like pajamas and my paint-speckled leggings feel criminal.
My skin goes tight.Every nerve ending snaps to attention like it just got promoted.
My hands automatically smooth down my paint-stained flannel shirt—today's DIY disaster involved trying to patch a hole in the dining room wall—and I'm suddenly very aware that I haven't showered since yesterday.
“Mr.Sterling.”His name comes out like a question.
He turns, those ice-blue eyes sharp behind his glasses."Sage.I hope this isn't a bad time."
"A bad time?"I laugh, a slightly hysterical sound."No, it's a perfect time.I always conduct business meetings while covered in paint and mild desperation."
His lips quiver—almost a smile."I've found desperation can be highly motivating in business negotiations."
"Negotiations?"I step closer, noting the leather portfolio under his arm, and the scent of his cologne—clean, dark, ridiculously masculine—sneaks under my defenses like a well-timed Trojan horse."What kind of negotiations?"
"The kind that might solve both our problems."He glances around the empty lobby, then back at me."Is there somewhere private we could talk?"
My office—currently occupied by a goat with a paper-eating addiction—flashes through my mind.
"The dining room," I say, leading the way."Fair warning: it's under construction.By which I mean I'm pretending I know how to patch drywall."
"I've seen your plumbing skills.I’m prepared for anything."
The dining room is a study in elegant decay.
Original crown molding meets my amateur spackling job in a clash of eras.Drop cloths cover the hardwood floors, and the massive windows reveal a view of the falls that almost makes up for the fact that half the wall looks like it's been attacked by an angry toddler with a hammer.
Which, to be fair, is basically what happened when I tried to find the source of the leak.
Luke surveys the damage with the kind of calm assessment that probably serves him well in boardrooms.
"Ambitious renovation?"
"Desperate attempt to stop water damage."I gesture to the least paint-splattered chairs."Please, sit.Can I get you anything?Coffee?Water?A tetanus shot?"
"I'm fine."He sits carefully, avoiding a suspicious stain on the table."I'll get straight to the point.I have a proposition for you."
"A proposition."I sink into the chair across from him."I'm listening."
He opens his portfolio, revealing documents that look official enough to make my stomach tighten.
"SafeStay's beta testing has revealed some...significant issues.The platform is too complex for smaller properties.What I need is a real-world testing environment.A place where we can refine the system for boutique hotels and inns."
“O…kay.”
He blinks.“And I thought of you.”
"And you thought of us?"
"I thought of you."His gaze is direct, those blue eyes giving nothing away."The Cascade View Inn is exactly the kind of property SafeStay should serve.Family-owned, historic, facing the challenges of modernization while maintaining character."
"You mean falling apart but photogenic?"
"I mean authentic."He slides a document across the table."I'm proposing a partnership.The Cascade View Inn becomes SafeStay's primary beta site for the boutique market.In exchange, you get free installation, six months of premium support, and a marketing campaign that will put your inn on every travel blog from here to New York."
I stare at the document, numbers swimming before my eyes.
