Kinley

A dozen adults fidget like children, grinning up at me. Just how much of my warning speech carved through their excitement and into their brains isn’t clear, but they’d damned well better follow my instructions.

“Remember, the key word here is professional. If I get any reports of Mr. Singleton being disturbed for autographs or pictures, if anything goes missing from his room, if the tissue he wiped his nose with or the fork he used to eat his salad shows up on Ebay, you’ll no longer have a job here.”

“It’s going to be a long summer. I’m sure you’re all aware of Mr. Singleton’s past antics and behavior, so please don’t put yourself in a position to be dragged into that drama.”

“He can drag me into his room,” one of the housekeepers murmurs, and giggles spread across the room.

My frown quiets the laughter soon enough. “Which is why no one but Harriet, Clark, or myself will be providing any services to Mr. Singleton’s suite. If he calls for maid service, Harriet is the one you contact. If he orders from room service, or needs anything from a concierge, call Clark. If it’s something you aren’t sure about, you call me. My phone will always be on. No one else goes to his room. Is that understood?”

I’m met with reluctant nods and mumbled agreements. “For every week we make it through without an incident, there will be a bonus on your paycheck.” Yeah, now I have their attention. “So, don’t be the one who spoils it for the rest of the staff by trying to sneak a picture or pester him for an autograph.”

I know they think I’m being too harsh, and most aren’t comfortable taking orders from me in the first place. I’m twenty-three years old, only two years out of college, and I own the most successful resort in the state of Kentucky. Foxhaven Retreat has always been known for its peaceful setting, friendly staff, and top notch service. There’s no way I’m going to let that reputation falter. Young or not, my father trusted me with this place, though I doubt he expected me to inherit it so soon, due to the actions of a drunk driver.

We’ve had minor celebrities stay with us before, but no one near the caliber of Marcus Singleton. There isn’t a person in the country who doesn’t know his name, either from his band, Jilted, his modeling, or frequent run ins with the law. At only twenty-six, he’s lived a life most could only dream of, but he doesn’t seem to appreciate any of it.

“Okay, meeting dismissed. Clark and Harriet, please stay.”

The rest of the employees filter out of the room, and I close the door behind them.

“Four months,” I breathe. “Do you think we have a chance in hell of keeping everything under control here for that long?”

Clark and Harriet have both worked here since I was a kid. Clark was my father’s go to man when he needed someone he could count on, whether it was to procure some random item for a guest or discreetly remove a trouble maker. As an ex-military man turned security specialist, he’s seen and dealt with it all, so I’m confident he can handle whatever arises with our upcoming problem child.

“With bonuses at stake, the staff will fall in line,” Clark assures me.

“It won’t keep Singleton from getting snockered and puking off his balcony, though,” Harriet points out. At just past fifty years old, Harriet is a no nonsense, blunt woman who seems to fear nothing and has a habit of letting whatever she thinks spill out of her mouth. She’s amazing. “Or throwing his mattress in the pool, like he did last month in Australia.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. He’s supposed to be staying here for the relaxing atmosphere and to escape the partying life while he works on his next album. It’s just him, not the whole band, so we just have to hope he’s not too wild and deal with the issues as they come. This is worth more than the money he’s paying to stay with us. You both know as well as I do that this could lead to a lot more celebrity bookings. So, whatever requests he has that aren’t illegal, please do your best to fulfill them, or let me know if you can’t. If he gives you or our other guests any trouble, please bring it to my attention immediately.”

I turn to Clark. “Herb and Nigel are taking over your usual security duties. While he’s here, Marcus Singleton is your only job.”

“I understand.” Clark and Harriet smile at each other.

“What am I missing?”

“Nothing, dear. Your father would be very proud of you,” Harriet says.

“You sounded just like him,” Clark agrees.

Let’s hope I have half his strength and determination. Over the next four months, I have a feeling I’m going to need it.

Clark alerts me the second the limo arrives at our gate. Mr. Singleton’s label has arranged for security to guard the perimeter of the resort, and they’re working with our security officers to ensure only guests are allowed onto the property. It’s not really an issue right now since they’ve managed to keep it quiet that he’ll be staying with us, but that will only last so long. I’ve never been so glad that Dad had the foresight to fence off the entire property, right down to the sandy beach.

A few minutes after I get the call, a sleek, black limo pulls up just outside the lobby doors. A man who’s around fifty years old, but looks closer to thirty, thanks to the marvel of plastic surgery, climbs out first and nods at me while he barks into his phone. “Yes…yes, they know the routine. Make sure he has sparkling water in his hotel and the green room or all hell will break loose. I’ve got to go. If there are any other fires, put them out yourself, that’s what I hired you for.”

Dropping the phone in his pocket, he approaches me. “Sorry, interns,” he scoffs. “Have to hold their damn hands half the time. I’m Sully Hadwell, Marcus’s representative. I assume you’re prepared for him?”

It would be a fair assumption and I really hope I’m not lying when I plaster on my customer service smile and shake his offered hand. “Yes sir, Mr. Hadwell. I’m Kinley Matthews, the owner of Foxhaven Retreat, and I personally checked his suite. All of his requests have been met, and I have a personal concierge who will be on call for him through the duration of his stay with us.”

“Great, great,” he mutters, taking his phone out again to check a message after it dings. He steps away to make a call, and my attention is drawn to the limo as the other door opens.

I know what Marcus Singleton looks like, you would have to be blind or have spent the last few years stranded on an island not to recognize him, but I still do a double take. Not because he’s famous. I’m not the type to get star struck, and from what I’ve read and seen about this man, I already don’t like him. No, I’m not impressed by his fame or fortune.

My sudden fascination has an equally shallow cause.

The man is gorgeous.

Television cameras and tabloid pictures just can’t capture the type of beauty he possesses. I stand, fixed in place, my well-rehearsed welcome spiel forgotten, as he slings a guitar across his back, tucks a rolled-up notebook into the back pocket of his dark jeans and walks toward me.

His manager is still busy cursing someone out on his phone when Marcus plants himself in front of me and frowns. “Can we get inside? I have work to do.”

The rude words spilling from those perfectly shaped—if not a bit on the plump side—lips shock me back into reality, and I force my gaze to meet his. Christ, that’s not any better. Dark, intense eyes squint a bit in the harsh sunlight, and he sighs, opening his mouth to speak again.

“Mr. Singleton,” I say, beating him to it. “Welcome to Foxhaven Retreat. I’m Kinley Matthews, and—”

“Yeah, I heard you tell Sully. I’d like to go to my room.”

This is one area where my father was so much better than I am. He could stand calmly while a guest threw a tantrum, called him names and worse. Then when they were finished, he’d solve their problem, and in the end they looked the worse off for it. To him, it was all part of the job.

I’m not that even tempered.

I force a smile back onto my face and try not to grit my teeth. “Of course. Please, follow me.”

Two bellhops quickly unload his luggage and rush it inside while he and his manager follow me. “The bar is located on the north end,” I begin. “And the gym and pool are—”

“Yeah, I read the brochure. I don’t need a tour. Just skip the scenic route and give me my key.”

Yeah, that overwhelmed by too much sexiness feeling? It’s gone. A beautiful face and body are a waste on someone who can’t show even the smallest amount of decorum and manners.

It’s going to be a long four months.

We step into the elevator, and his manager hangs up the phone again. His lips turn up in an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to excuse my friend. It’s been a long trip.”

“I’m not your fucking friend, Sully.”

Sully just nods at me, and we make the rest of the ride up to the suite in silence. Nobody speaks as I slide the plastic key card into the slot in the door and swing it open to reveal our best and most expensive suite.

The sitting room has been furnished with comfort in mind and boasts a modern look with a plush gray sofa and matching armchairs. Pale blue walls surround the plush, white carpet that has been freshly shampooed. A large television hangs on the wall in front of the sofa, above an electric fireplace.

It’s a beautiful room and guests tend to ooh and ahh over it when they first enter. Mr. Singleton tosses his bag on the floor, leans his guitar against an armchair, and flops onto the couch, pulling out his phone.

A tap at the door draws everyone’s attention, and Clark and Harriet enter.

I nod at Clark, and he introduces himself, “Hello, Mr. Singleton, I’ll be your personal concierge while you’re staying with us. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me.” He holds out a card with his number, and Mr. Singleton stares at it for a moment before taking it and tossing it on the coffee table. “I’m also the security officer assigned to protect you in case you run into any problems.”

Anger heats Clark’s face, but he does an admirable job of swallowing it down. Instead of commenting on the fact that the asshole didn’t even say hello, much less thank you, he nods and retreats to the doorway.

Harriet glances at me before she follows. “My name is Harriet, Mr. Singleton. I’m the head housekeeper who will be looking after your room. If you need anything from me, you can dial zero and ask for the housekeeping office or call my direct line.” She doesn’t bother handing him the card and drops it onto the coffee table instead.

When he fails to respond to her as well, she nods at me and mumbles, “I’ll be going back to work now.”

All I want is to get this over with, but I’m doing my best to remain professional. “The bedroom has a hot tub and—”

My explanation is cut off again as he says, “I’m sure I can find the bed. Just leave my key on the table and let the housekeeper know she can clean in the afternoons while I’m in the studio.”

Fine. I’m done.

“Very well. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.”

Clark and I leave, and as I pull the door shut behind me, I hear Marcus mutter, “Not likely.”

His manager’s voice filters through the door, but I can’t tell what he’s saying.

What the hell is this guy’s problem? He wanted a quiet place to stay and avoid the paparazzi, and he has it. You’d think he was being locked in a cell, not a five star resort suite.

Clark glances at me on our way back down in the elevator. “That guy is going to be trouble.”

“Just keep him happy the best you can. A bad review from him could ruin any chances of hosting high profile celebrities in the future. That suite sits empty more often than not because of the price. It’d be nice to keep it occupied.”

“Don’t worry. I can handle him.” Clark grins down at me. “If anyone ends up grabbing him by the balls and teaching him some manners, it’ll be Harriet.”

He’s right about that. “Yeah, cleaning while he’s gone in the afternoons is a good idea,” I chuckle.

“I can’t believe you got to meet him,” Anavrin gushes. “Is he as gorgeous in person?”

Anavrin has been my best friend since we were kids, and I defended her on the playground against a bunch of middle school bitches bullying her because of her name. It’s not her fault her parents were grunge fanatics who thought calling their kid Nirvana backwards was a great idea.

“More,” I groan. “But he’s a total asshole.”

She grins. “Like, a bossy, alpha male type who ties women to his bed?”

“You have to stop reading those books. Assholes aren’t sexy. He’s been here a week and hasn’t said more than two words to anyone since he basically told us all to fuck off the day he arrived.”

We take a seat at the small, outdoor café with our lunches. “Bad boys turn me on. This is not a secret,” she replies.

“Oh Lord, not again,” Foster says, walking up behind her and planting his hands on her shoulders. “Say it with me, Ann, bad boys make bad husbands.”

Foster and I met freshman year of high school. I introduced him to Anavrin, and the three of us have been inseparable ever since.

Anavrin grins and looks up at him. “But they’re awesome in bed.”

“And you’re one to talk,” I scoff. “You have a different boyfriend every time I see you.”

Foster shrugs. “None of them are delinquents. And I’m trying to take your side here, Kin.” He takes a seat beside me. “So, who is the bad boy?”

“Marcus Singleton. Remember, he’s staying at Kinley’s resort? Ugh, he’s so gorgeous!” Anavrin gushes.

“Yeah, I take back my objection. I officially issue you an exception for that bad boy. Rock his world, Kinley.”

Ugh, these two drive me crazy sometimes.

“So, what’s the plan today?” I ask, to get them back on task.

“Nana needs her grass cut. It’s really overgrown, and you know she won’t ask anyone for help,” Anavrin says.

Foster runs a hand down his arm. “I could use some sun. It’s no use building up these guns if they’re all pasty.”

Anavrin rolls her eyes. “Sure, that’s why I asked you.”

“How is she doing?” I ask.

“Better. She’s found a new social group, a bunch of widows who get together to play Euchre. She seems happier.”

Anavrin’s grandfather passed away last year, leaving his wife of over fifty years alone for the first time. We pitch in to help out as much as possible since she refuses to move in with family. I can’t really blame her. She has a beautiful house just outside of town with a large yard and in ground pool.

Her husband’s fight against lung cancer drained their savings and also forced them to borrow against his life insurance, so she was left with very little other than the house and property, and lives mostly off her pension from thirty years as a school teacher. Which is dismally low.

“Good. I keep meaning to call her.” I should’ve called her. She’s always been very kind to me since I was a kid, but I’ve been grieving the death of my father, and the thought of talking about her loss as well was just too much.

Foster drains his glass. “Well, hurry up and eat so we can get started.”

“Sure, I’ll just choke this sandwich down real fast,” I reply.

Foster sits back and grins with me. “Now, we all know you have no trouble swallowing.”

Anavrin cracks up, and I give him the finger.

“Love you too, Kin,” he laughs.

It’s late afternoon when Foster pulls into the driveway at Anavrin’s grandmother’s place, and we all hop out of his truck. It takes us over four hours to get the whole place cut, edged, and cleaned up. Anavrin sweeps the last of the grass from the walkway, and Foster has just headed inside to use the bathroom when Nana waves me over.

For such a small woman, she has a presence that makes the biggest man sit up and pay attention, probably from all those years of keeping children in line at school.

“Get your butt over here, girl, and give me a hug before you go sneaking off,” she says.

She hands me a glass of iced tea and pats the porch swing for me to sit next to her. “Now, tell me how you’re doing.”

“Pretty good. The resort is prospering. So far, I’m holding it all together.”

“I only met your daddy a couple of times, but once was enough to see how proud of you he was. I’m sure he still is.”

A knot forms in my throat. Damn it. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to call you.”

She pats my leg. “Honey, I understand. Grief is brutal, and largely a solitary endeavor no matter how much your family or friends want to help.” She shakes her head. “Losing both parents so young, it’s a shame.”

Mom died when I was a baby, so I didn’t go through the grief I have with Dad. At least, not that I remember.

Anavrin and Foster join us, and we spend a few minutes chatting and laughing before hugging Nana and heading to Foster’s truck.

“Ugh, I smell like a lawnmower, but I don’t care. I need a drink before I head home. You guys in?” Anavrin asks.

“Pass,” Foster says. “But I’ll drop you off if you want to take a taxi home.”

After my little conversation with Nana, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

It’s past midnight when I return, but I’m not ready to go inside. It’s such a beautiful night. The humidity is usually torture this time of year, but we’re getting a small respite and I don’t want to take the cool night air for granted, so I follow the paved path around to the gazebo. There are a few gazebos scattered across the property, but this has always been my favorite. It’s nearly hidden in the tree line, but one side faces the lake, giving me a fantastic view of the water shimmering with starlight.

It’s so hidden in shadows, that I don’t realize there’s a form slumped on one of the benches until I almost trip over a sneaker. My eyes adjust a little more to the dark, and I realize there’s a guitar leaning against the bench.

A sudden flame appears from a lighter, illuminating Marcus’s face, and he chuckles when I jump.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t think anyone would be out here so late.”

“It’s barely midnight,” he scoffs. “That shouldn’t be late at your age.” Sweet scented smoke tickles my nose, and I take a step back. Weed is legal here so I don’t have a problem with it, but I don’t want a contact high.

I swear, every word out of this guy’s mouth rubs me like sandpaper.

“You don’t know my age,” I snap.

“I know plenty.” A beam of moonlight escapes the thin cloud cover and shows me his grinning face. “Twenty-three, business school graduate, never married, no kids. Inherited your father’s resort.” His lip tucks in at the corner. “Living the dream, aren’t you?” He picks up a bottle of bourbon sitting on the bench beside him and takes a drink.

The way he belittles my accomplishments makes my life sound tiny and insignificant. “I’d prefer to spend my nights in my hotel, rather than a different one every night, in unfamiliar cities.”

“Touché,” he replies, wiggling the half empty bottle at me. “Drink?”

“No thanks.”

I turn to leave before I say something I’ll regret. I have a bit of a buzz from the two drinks I had with Anavrin, and it’s infuriating to have to be nice to such an asshole just for the sake of business.

“Stay,” he barks.

Anger heats my face. “I’m afraid my obedience training wasn’t successful. I don’t follow commands.”

Rough laughter pours into the night. “Clearly. I was trying to ask you to stay and have a drink with me.” His tone is different, lighter, if not a bit melancholy. In the time he’s been here, no one has visited him other than his manager, who is obviously just stopping in to keep him in line. He’s probably bored, or even lonely.

After a little hesitation, I take a seat on the bench across from him. “I don’t want a drink.”

“More for me,” he says with a shrug, tilting the bottle again.

“Aren’t you here to dry out?” The question leaps out before I can think about it.

He gives me a sour look. “Cut me a break. It’s past midnight, which means it’s my birthday.”

His revelation surprises me. “Oh-I didn’t know. Happy Birthday. Do you have plans to celebrate?”

A grin crawls across his face. “Why. Are you offering?”

Whoa. Where did that come from?

“I meant plans with your friends. Not a boring business school graduate who runs a resort.”

“I never said you were boring.” He flicks his lighter again. “And no, I have no plans. So, what are we doing?”

It’s sad, really, that someone who is loved by thousands of fans doesn’t seemed to be liked by anyone, enough that he spends his birthday alone, with no one even acknowledging it.

I’m probably going to regret this.

“Can you leave without getting mobbed? There’s a great Mexican restaurant a town over. They’ll even sing to you for your birthday.”

The first genuine smile I’ve seen from him sends my heart into a tap dancing routine. Fuck, he’s beautiful.

“I’m sure I can sneak out.”

I need to get out of here. Professional. I’m supposed to act professional. “Eight o’clock, then, Mr. Singleton?”

“Holt,” he corrects. “My friends call me Holt.”

“Holt,” I repeat, glancing back over my shoulder as I step out of the gazebo. “But I wouldn’t call us friends.”

His laughter makes me fight a smile. “I’ll grow on you.”

Why did I get myself into this? I yank off the fourth outfit I’ve tried on with a groan. It’s just dinner at a casual Mexican restaurant. It doesn’t matter what I wear. Yeah, right, just dinner with one of the most famous musicians in the world, who just so happens to look like a model. Shit, he has modeled before too. I’m going to look like a potato next to him no matter what I wear.

My phone beeps with a message from the front desk that our car has arrived. Our car. I’ve never been chauffeured around in my life. I’m so far out of my comfort zone here. Though I’m the one who asked Holt out to dinner for his birthday and chose the restaurant, he insisted on arranging transportation for safety’s sake. We need his security team nearby just in case he gets spotted.

Panicked, I throw on a pair of jeans I know make my ass look good and my favorite red blouse. Screw it. I’m going to dress the way I would if I were going to dinner with Anavrin. It’s not a date, after all.

Clark grins at me from the front desk when I get downstairs, and I stop to talk to him. “I’ll only be a couple of hours. If there are any problems—”

He holds his hands up. “We’ve got it under control. You have a good time.”

I roll my eyes at him. “This is not a good time. I’m keeping our guest happy.”

The expression on his face earns him a quick middle finger, and his laughter follows me to the door.

A shiny black car waits out front, and Holt leans against it, a smirk planted on his face.

I almost stumble at the sight of him. His dark jeans and fitted tee shirt do nothing to hide the lean muscled body beneath. His arms are crossed, causing his biceps to bulge, and I watch as his lips spread into a smile. Probably because I’m standing here ogling him like a teenage fangirl.

“Happy birthday,” I tell him, finally finding my words.

“Thanks.” His gaze washes over me from head to toe, and I curse the butterflies that take flight in my stomach.

This is not a date, Kinley. He’s a famous rock star and you’re a nobody. Plus, he’s a dick and you don’t like him. Don’t get distracted by all the sexy.

“Ready?” he asks, opening the car door.

Nodding, I get in and slide over. He takes a seat way closer to me than necessary in the roomy vehicle and nods to the driver, who has already been told the address of the restaurant. While it’s nice not to have to worry about driving, finding a parking spot, and stuff like that, I’d hate to have to plan everything ahead like this. I can’t imagine not being able to just meet your friends for dinner.

“So, how old are you today?” I ask, trying to calm my nerves with small talk.

“You mean you haven’t googled me and memorized my life story? I’m a little hurt.”

His lips tilt up at the edges as I roll my eyes at him. “Wasn’t that interested.”

“Psh, all my fans google me. It’s okay, you can admit it.”

The teasing tone of his voice makes it hard not to smile. “I’m not a fan. So, you can just go google yourself.”

His eyebrows jump up, and he lowers his voice. “I’m not a fan of self googling. I’d much rather google you.”

Ignoring the dirty turn this has taken, I shift in my seat and reply, “I’m boring. The only thing you’ll see are college graduation pictures and a tiny write up in the town newspaper when I took over the resort.”

His dark eyes latch onto mine. “I have a feeling there’s much more to you than that.”

“Nothing that a search engine would tell you.”

We pull up at the restaurant as he says, “Then you’ll tell me.”

“Said like a man who is used to getting what he wants,” I reply, getting out of the car.

His arm brushes mine as we walk inside, and he shakes his head and mutters, “You have no idea.”

I ask for us to be seated in a small side dining room, and we choose a corner table where Holt can put his back to the room and hopefully avoid being recognized.

It doesn’t work.

We’ve only managed to order our food and munch on a few of the free tortilla chips when a woman approaches with her cloth napkin and a marker. “Oh my god! I love you so much! I lost my virginity to one of your songs. Will you please sign this for me?”

A forced smile jumps to his face, and he takes the marker, scribbles on the napkin, and hands it back to her. She thanks him and retreats to her table where she starts to take pictures of him.

“Subtle,” I murmur, and he nods at me, his lips pressed together.

“Try to ignore them.” He slaps his hands together, and grins at me. “Now, you were getting ready to tell me all about yourself.”

“Was I? I don’t remember that.”

“It’s true. You can trust me. I have an awesome memory.” I’m captured by his killer smile again. For someone who is known as a complete asshole, he sure can be charming.

“Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. You get three questions that I’ll answer with complete honesty.”

He opens his mouth, and I hold up my index finger. “But, I get the same.”

A flash of something crosses his face. Regret? Fear? I’m not sure. When he hesitates, I add, “If you don’t want to—”

“I’m in. But I get the first question.”

A waitress brings our food, and he waits until she retreats before continuing.

“Is running a hotel your dream job?”

That’s the last thing I expected him to ask, and I pause for a second before replying. “Running a hotel? No. Owning the resort my father built from nothing and made wildly successful? Yes. I’ve always wanted to take over the family business. Foxhaven is my home and I love it.”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply because a group of three people walk up, and one of the girls squeals loud enough to make me wince. “Oh god! It is you! I love you! Oh my god, you are so gorgeous! Is this your girlfriend? Can I get a picture with you?”

All three are freaking out and talking so loudly he doesn’t get an opportunity to answer them. Instead, he throws me an apologetic glance. Their behavior is calling more attention to us and now others are starting to exclaim and take pictures.

“Damn it.” He gets to his feet and grabs my hand. “Come on, we have to get out of here. This shit devolves fast.”

I’m not sure what he means until we get to the front door and a mob of people has formed outside. The restaurant manager and hostess are trying to keep them outside, but it won’t last long.

Holt’s phone pings with a message and after glancing at it, he grabs a waitress’s arm. “Show me the back way out.”

Nodding, she leads us through the dining room and into a kitchen where a wave of heat smacks me in the face. We weave between employees and barely dodge a waiter with a massive tray of food before finally throwing open the back door.

The black town car is parked so close, we can’t even open the car door completely, but we manage to squeeze inside. “Lock all the doors,” Holt orders, and the driver obeys. I feel a little safer once I hear the locks click into place.

I can’t believe the size of the crowd that the driver slowly makes his way through. We weren’t here twenty minutes. How the hell did everyone find out?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested this,” I tell him.

“I should’ve known better,” he mumbles.

“Should we drive around and make sure they can’t follow us back? So word doesn’t get out where you’re staying?”

“Too late. People have pictures. It’ll be on entertainment news by tonight.” Sulking, he slides down in the seat. “You should set all your social media to private.”

What?

“No one is going to be interested in me!”

The only answer I get is a shake of his head.