Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Aw, shit.
I don’t want to share anything with Finch, not even a fucking barstool.
My phone pings and I fish it out of my pocket. One new text from Piper.
Where are you? We need to talk. Like now.
I down the drink, letting its warmth blanket my brain before I type, Back soon. What’s up?
Piper: The restaurant downstairs doesn’t sell duck eggs. No restaurant on the property does.
Maybe it’s the brandy, but I’m lost.
Brock: Okay?
Piper: A reviewer claimed they got food poisoning from the eggs, but that’s never been on the menu. Not once.
I frown at the screen.
That’s something, all right, even if it’s proof we’re being fucked over.
Good work. I’m heading back now. We’ll talk when I get there.
I stand on my private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan.
A few lazy yachts slip through the summer night, their lights twinkling in the descending darkness like my own ghostly thoughts.
The best view of the lake in this city is a nice backdrop for meditation—even if it’s not getting me anywhere tonight.
A gentle rapping echoes through my room.
I turn toward the glass door. My blood flares a hundred degrees hotter when I see she’s changed into this sleek onyx-black dress, elegant and still cut too low where it counts.
And anywhere is too low on this woman, considering a single inch of her skin turns me into a drooling beast.
Then I notice Miss Landers standing behind Piper, and my lust deflates. I gave them both cards to get in, but if I had my way, only one of them would be surprising me now.
I cross over to the door and slide it open.
“Duck eggs,” I say as soon as they’re outside. “Tell me everything.”
“It’s not just the eggs,” Piper says.
That grabs my attention.
“There’s more?”
“Yep. You remember that review I mentioned where someone whined about threadbare towels? They had pictures, all ivory towels without the W for Winthrope. Well, the housekeeping manager told me they don’t circulate towels without the letter. It’s how they keep yours separate from guests’ towels, and old ones are donated and replaced monthly.”
I suck in a cutting breath from the cool night.
“I knew it was bullshit,” I tell her.
“There was also that one-star review about the flat Coke,” Jennifer says.
I glance at her.
Flat Coke?
Flat fucking Coke?
Someone wasted the brainpower and several minutes of their short life on this rock to knee me in the balls over flat soda?
“Even I don’t think there’s anything deeper there,” I say. “It happens sometimes. The suppliers aren’t perfect.”
“Actually...” Piper bites her lip. “The hotel only sells bottled drinks everywhere but the downstairs restaurant. The restaurant has fountain drinks, but they’re never sent up for room service. If they got a flat Coke, they opened a can and let it sit too long. I’m pretty confident you can’t blame the restaurant for that. There’s also the one-star review about the bitchtastic manager—”
“Bitchtastic manager?” I repeat. Now there’s a new one.
“Sally Ettinger,” Piper finishes.
The name doesn’t register.
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t understand. There’s no one here by that name. No one I recall.”
“Exactly. Yet there is a one-star hell review about a manager named Sally. They even claimed she’s the head of operations,” Piper says, tapping her pointer fingers together.
If I weren’t so shocked, I might relish the fact that she’s confirming I’m sane.
My sabotage theory isn’t a baseless conspiracy, and it’s killing her to admit it.
“Javier Sanderson is the lead manager. He has been since the day Gramps transferred him from our flagship in New York,” I bite off, each word burning more than the last.
Piper nods. “I know. I spoke to him.”
“What? You weren’t supposed to—”
“Relax. We acted like normal customers,” Landers cuts in. “He doesn’t know we’re with you.”
Anger knifes through me.
I knew it.
I fucking knew it all along.
My gut never steers me wrong.
Someone’s paying people to lie about my properties, and after my little visit to Oasis Springs today, I have a damnably good guess who that someone is. Especially when the grim reviews aren’t hitting our properties outside the US.
But why?
What would motivate that cock-weasel to go out of his way to slash my throat and piss on my grandparents’ legacy?
What did we ever do to him besides smoke his greedy ass, fair and square?
The damn award, I think wretchedly. Is that what’s behind this?
“Are you okay?” Piper whispers, concern flashing in her eyes.
“Absolutely,” I lie. “Fantastic work, ladies. I’ll take it from here.”
Piper’s face pulls tight. Jennifer stares at the floor.
“What?” I bite off.
Dammit, I’ve got to get a handle on my temper, even if they have no right to prod at me.
“You could let us help,” Piper says quietly. “We’ve helped you get this far, right?”
“Your assistance is appreciated. Both of you. However, we may be dealing with an active fraud case and corporate liable now. I’ll need my legal team for that.”