I scroll down the list, searching, but don’t spot the one I’m looking for.
Recalling the spelling of the name etched on the name tag she had pinned to her sweater, I type it into the search bar.
Storm, Harleigh.
The file appears instantly, and I click on it.
Her employee profile opens with a small photo in the upper corner. And there she is. Golden hair. Blue-eyed. Sun-kissed skin that suggests she spends a lot of time outdoors.
Her smile in the photo is easy. Confident but unforced.
I lean back in my chair, studying it.
The new hire is …stunning. That’s the first word that comes to mind. Not polished in the way most women who work at the Belicourt are, or someone who spends hours in front of a mirror, carefully curating their appearance.
No. This girl looks like she stepped straight out of a Wyoming summer. Wild. Bright. And self-confident.
What really caught my attention, though, wasn’t the way she looked. It’s the way she looked at me earlier. Most employees get nervous the first time they meet me. They fidget. They avoideye contact. They stumble over their words like they’re afraid I might fire them for choosing them wrong.
Harleigh Storm didn’t do any of that. She looked me straight in the eye. Like she wasn’t the least bit intimidated. And she made no excuses or apologies for not knowing our dress code on her first day. She simply said she’d be dressed appropriately tomorrow.
That alone makes her … interesting.
I don’t care if you mess up. Everyone messes up. That’s how you learn. All I ever want or expect is assurance that you will rectify the situation and do better in the future.
I scroll through her file. Date of birth. Education. Employment history.
My eyebrows lift slightly.
Bachelor of science in outdoor recreation and tourism management. University of Wyoming. Graduated this last spring.
I glance back at the birth date.
A quiet chuckle slips out of me.
Twenty-one?
“Geezus. Just a baby,” I murmur to the empty room.
When I was twenty-one, I was full of youthful fire and big dreams. I thought I had the world at my feet.
Now, I run the world. At least the tiny corner of it that exists on this mountaintop.
I skim the rest of the file.
She’s a local girl. Grew up on a ranch outside town.
Wildhaven Storm Ranch.
The name rings a faint bell somewhere in the back of my mind. Ranching families in Wyoming tend to stick around for generations. Proud of their family legacies, much the same as the Garrisons are of ours. Hell, the Storms have probably been here longer than my family, if I’m honest.
Her résumé is short. Not a lot of experience to speak of. Summer jobs. Hospitality internships. A few glowing references from professors who clearly liked her.
I’m surprised Peter, our recently retired head of the corporate hospitality department, decided to give someone so green the opportunity. There’s something … refreshing about it.
No jaded corporate polish. Just a young woman who seems genuinely excited about working here.
Which is either very charming or quite naive.
