“Thank you,” I say politely. “I’m excited to be here.”
His gaze flickers downward.
To my collarbone. Where the off-shoulder sweater dips and the edge of my tattoo peeks out. The absence of the burgundy blazer Diana gave me earlier is obvious.
One dark eyebrow lifts slightly.
“You’re not wearing our normal business attire.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I reach up to tug the collar of the sweater higher. I tried, but the blazer wouldn’t fit over the bulky knit.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’ll be sure to have it right tomorrow.”
He studies me.
Then nods once.
“See that you do.”
His attention shifts away almost instantly.
Like I’ve already been dismissed.
“Carry on,” he says to Diana.
Then he turns and walks across the great hall, disappearing toward a hallway near the executive offices.
I exhale slowly.
And that’s when I notice Diana.
She’s watching him leave.
Her expression …
Well, if admiration were a sport, she’d be winning gold.
Her eyes practically sparkle. She might as well be panting and circling his leg like a puppy begging for attention.
Eventually, she clears her throat. Composure snapping back into place like a steel trap.
“Now,” she says crisply, turning back to me, “shall we continue the tour?”
I nod.
But my mind lingers on the man who just walked away.
Porter Garrison.
General manager of the Belicourt.
And apparently …
Very particular about dress codes.
Isit alone in my office, the door shut tight against the muffled sounds of the hotel above me. Down here in the basement, time moves differently. It’s slower. Peaceful.
The space is enormous for an office—larger than some of the guest suites upstairs—and every inch of it reflects generations of wealth and control.
