She knows.
Or at least suspects something.
“Miss Storm has brought several new ideas to the conference program,” she adds. “But her event planning proposals are … ambitious.”
My father smiles slightly. “Ambition is rarely a bad thing.”
We start walking again across the lobby.
But my focus is gone.
Completely.
Because I keep seeing the way Harleigh looked at me just now.
Polite and distant.
My father continues speaking. “… and if the winter bookings stay strong, we could consider expanding—”
“Excuse me.” The words leave my mouth before I can think them through.
The three of them stop.
My father raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I just … forgot something in my office.”
That’s not even remotely convincing.
But he lets it go.
“For someone who runs a luxury property,” he says dryly, “you seem unusually disorganized today.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll catch up.”
I wait until they’ve stepped outside.
Then I turn and walk toward the hallway.
Not toward my office, but hers.
The corridor is quieter than the lobby. The soft carpet muffles my footsteps.
Her office door is half open.
I slow as I approach.
Through the gap, I can see her sitting at her desk, flipping through a folder. Completely focused on whatever she’s reading.
I knock lightly on the door.
She looks up and something flashes across her face when she sees me.
Excitement?
Surprise?
It disappears as quickly as it appeared and she schools her expression.
