Hailey:

Monday morning, I’m supposed to meet Connor Perkins at the local diner, Goat Morning, for breakfast. I arrive on the dot of eight, and a gum-chewing waitress leads me to a booth in the back, where my new boss is sipping a cup of coffee.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Perkins,” I apologize, sliding into my seat and extending my hand toward him. “I’m Hailey Martell.”

He smiles in greeting and shakes my hand. “You’re not late,” he assures me. “I was early. And please, call me Connor. Have you eaten, Hailey? The pancakes here are excellent.”

I decide on the strawberry walnut pancakes. As Connor ponders his choices, I study him discreetly. I know from Lana that he’s in his seventies, but he looks younger. His hair is grey, his eyes are a piercing shade of blue, and his jaw is square. He’s got a Harrison Ford thing going on.

“What do you think of Goat so far?” he asks me once the waitress has taken our order.

My thoughts immediately go to last night, to Sean and Nick. “I just got in on Friday,” I reply, trying to get the two men out of my mind. “I spent most of my weekend cleaning, but from what I’ve seen, I think I’m going to like it here.”

“You’re staying at Elvira’s cottage, aren’t you? What do you think of it?”

“I love it.” I’m not lying. The cottage has great bones, and it would have been beautiful back in its heyday. I can’t wait to restore it to its former glory.

“That’s good.” His tone seems almost sad, and for a minute, he doesn’t say anything. Then the waitress shows up with orange juice and coffee for me, and he seems to gather himself. “Let me tell you about the job.”

I lean forward as he fills me in on my responsibilities. “There’s not a lot to it,” he says. “We do some reporting, but mostly, it’s about what’s happening around town. People send you details of their events, and you order it by date, categorize it, and so on. Lana was able to write a book at the same time, and you’re going to keep running your own magazine, right?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

He nods. “Of course. As long as the job gets done. Now, we do have an office, and you’re welcome to come in daily, but it isn’t necessary. We go to print Wednesday, and that’s usually when I need you there, but apart from that one day, feel free to do work remotely.”

I’m going to like working for Connor Perkins.

Over breakfast, the conversation turns to Goat. Connor tells me he’s lived in the town since its founding. “It’s changed a lot, of course. For a while there, Goat was shrinking, but not anymore. Ever since we decided to play up the town name, tourism has become our biggest source of revenue. Elvira has done an amazing job as mayor.”

Elvira Grantham sounds formidable. “There’s an election coming up, isn’t there?” I ask Connor. “I saw lawn signs all through town.”

“Yes, Eric Hardy is running against Elvira,” Connor says. “A smug, sanctimonious bastard, if there ever was one. Last month, I’d have told you there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll win, but things have tightened.”

“Why?”

“There’s a subdivision on the outskirts of town,” he says. “You’d have passed it driving in from Portland. Most of the people who live there are retirees. Hardy wants to transform Goat into something sterile and cookie-cutter, and his message seems to resonate with them.”

His expression turns disgusted. “The guy ran three businesses into the ground. Now, he wants to add Goat to that list.” He takes a bite of his French toast, and the food seems to cheer him up. “Still, I try not to get too involved. We’re officially neutral at the Weekly Goat.”

After we’re done eating, we drive to Connor Perkins’ house, which is a beautiful Colonial mansion surrounded by ten acres of forest. The Weekly Goat’s offices are in a converted barn in the grounds. Skylights and large windows let in natural light, and lush green ferns dot the space. On the back wall is a large mural of downtown Goat. It’s the nicest office I’ve ever seen in my life, and the painting is stunning. All the businesses in downtown Goat are captured on Connor’s back wall. Goat Morning, the diner that we were in, Nick’s bar, the Randy Goat, the bed-and-breakfast, it’s all there, painted with love and skill.

“Oh wow,” I murmur, unable to take my eyes off it. “Who’s the artist?”

“I am.” Connor looks faintly embarrassed. “I spend a lot of time in this space. I wanted to brighten it up.”

“It’s lovely,” I tell him, my voice sincere. “I’m really looking forward to working here.”

Connor assigns me two articles to research and write for the next issue. I work on them until four, and then he chases me out. “You just moved to town. Go look around. Get to know people. Have fun.”

I smile at him in gratitude. “I do need to go shopping,” I admit. “My refrigerator is empty.”

“Go then,” he urges, handing me a key. “I won’t be here tomorrow. Feel free to work from home if you’d prefer. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

After stopping at the grocery store to stock up on food, I pull up to Elvira’s cottage. My cottage. It’s five, and I have four hours to get ready.

Secret confession: I’m really nervous about tonight. I’ve had one-night stands before—after Matt, that’s all I’ve allowed myself to have—but this arrangement with Nick and Sean feels different.

No, it isn’t. It’s friends-with-benefits. It won’t be weird unless you make it weird.

Cooking always relaxes me. After I put away my groceries, I make myself a stir fry with chicken, red peppers, and broccoli. Even though the dish calls for garlic and onions, I leave them out for obvious reasons. For additional relaxation, I gulp down a glass of wine as I chop vegetables, and I pour myself a second glass and take it into the shower after dinner.

There had been a mirror in Sean’s hotel room six years ago. He’d pulled me down on his lap, spreading my thighs with his hands. “Keep them open,” he’d murmured into my ear. “Watch.”

Nick had squeezed my breasts while Sean had teased my clitoris with his fingers, and I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes away from our reflections. It had felt so shocking, so carnal, so necessary.

I place my glass on the ledge as I shave my legs. Once I’m done, I rub my favorite lotion into my skin, inhaling the fragrance of jasmine and lavender. I dry my hair and let it hang loose down my back, before turning to my closet.

After fifteen minutes of indecision, I settle on hot pink lace panties, a matching bra, and a red polka-dot wrap dress. I’m in the middle of swiping some gloss over my lips when there’s a knock on my door.

It’s nine. They’re here.

My heart hammers in my chest. “Coming,” I call out, a slight tremor in my voice. I have no reason to be nervous, yet it’s with unsteady feet that I make my way to the front door.

Nick and Sean are standing there, Sean holding a bottle of wine in his hands.

When he sees me, his lips curl into a smile, and his eyes run over my body. “That’s a lovely dress,” he says, his voice low and intent. “Let’s go inside and take it off.”

Oh boy. Let the games begin.