I smirk and leave my phone in the drawer for now, then I head back out into the main area, social media cell and note in hand.
Ash glances up as I approach, and there’s something hopeful in his expression. Like he’s waiting to see if I’m going to tell him he’s doing a good job or that he fucked up somehow.
“Here you go.” I set them on his desk. “This phone is logged in to all our accounts. Instagram, Facebook, TikTok. Passwords are there for when you need to access them from your laptop. Username for the laptop is wilde_admin. Password’s on the note.”
“Got it.” Ash picks up the phone. “I’ll start going through everything today. Check the posting history, engagement rates, what’s been working and what hasn’t. Start building a strategy.”
“Perfect. Take your time, get familiar with everything. You need anything, just reach out. My office is right there.” I point to the corner.
“Thanks, Mason. Really. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Welcome to the Wilde Charters family,” I say.
There’s something about the way he smiles. I should walk away. Go back to my office. Get some actual fucking work done.
But I find myself standing there, staring into those muddy green eyes, trying to figure out why the hell they feel familiar. There’s something there. Something just out of reach.
It’s like staring at a photo that’s slightly out of focus. You know what it’s supposed to be, but you can’t quite make out the details.
“You all right?” Ash asks, and there’s concern in his voice.
“Yeah.” I shake myself out of it. “Just thinking. You seem familiar. Sure we haven’t met?”
“Positive. First time in Mistberry.” He says it quickly, almost too quickly.
“I just mean your face is distinctive,” I clarify. “Not generic. You’ve got… distinctive features.” Silence. “Well. I’ll let you get to work.” I turn to go, then pause. “And, Ash? You don’t have to try so hard. Just be yourself. That’s enough.”
He nods and lowers his attention to the phone. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
I march back to my office, but I feel his eyes on me the whole way.
Once I’m back behind my desk, I pull up the invoice spreadsheet I’ve been avoiding all morning. Numbers. Facts. Things that make sense.
But my gaze keeps drifting back to that desk by the window.
Ash is bent over his laptop now, completely focused, and there’s something about the curve of his neck, the way he tucks his hair behind his ear, that sends another jolt of recognition through me.
But it’s gone before I pin it down.
I force myself to focus on the spreadsheet. Invoices. Supply orders. A tour to prep for in two days.
Work. I need to focus on work. Not on why our new recruit keeps pulling my attention like a magnet.
Not on why his voice wavers in that specific way.
Not on why his scent feels wrong, artificial, like he’s hiding something underneath all that cologne.
I shake my head and dive into the numbers, determined to get through at least one fucking spreadsheet without getting distracted.
But every few minutes, my gaze drifts back to that window.
And I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something obvious.
Something right in front of me.
7
ANITA
