“Kat. I can always tell when you’re trying to hide something. You do that weird thing with your chin,” I whispered, leaning over the front desk. Kat, my desk clerk, was trying her damnedest to keep a straight face and play dumb. She was a sweetheart and a people-pleaser, with a cheerful smile. Just the kind of person you would want to greet your guests when they came in. But she was so much of a people-pleaser that it seemed to physically pain her to have to deliver bad news. Luckily, she was also extremely easy to read. Her chin was just slightly trembling as she struggled to keep her mouth shut. I knew this was awful for her, but I needed to know.

“Seriously, I won’t be mad. It’s not your fault. I know that. I just need you to tell me if that stupid buyer showed up from the bank,” I told her meaningfully, without breaking eye contact. That was an ability I picked up from watching my dad do business when I was growing up. Occasionally, he would take me to board meetings, with the promise of ice cream if I behaved and stayed quiet. As I got older, I started actually paying attention to those meetings I attended, taking notes on my father’s strategies and demeanor when discussing business. He was big on eye contact. He used to tell me that, “Even when someone’s mouth is telling lies, their eyes will always tell the truth. So don’t just listen to words, watch the eyes.”

And nowadays, I did just that. Granted, even the tools of the trade I picked up from Dad weren’t quite enough to keep the Peppertree from sinking, but they did come in handy. Kat, for example, was quickly crumbling under my intense stare. She looked away, biting her lip and wringing her hands. Bingo.

“Okay, okay,” she sighed. “But you’re not going to like it, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news. Like, I really hate it.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m not mad at you. Just spill.”

“Fine. Well, there was a guy who came by the front desk earlier to check in. In fact, there were a few guys,” she began slowly, just barely meeting my gaze. Her face was turning pink. This really was torture for her.

“Okay. And?” I prompted her gently.

“Well, they all looked… like the kind of guy you’d expect the bank to send. You know what I mean?” she explained awkwardly. I shook my head, frowning a little.

“Uh, no. I think you’re going to have to be a little more descriptive than that,” I remarked. She heaved a sigh, her shoulders going slack as she stared up at the ceiling.

“They were all dressed nice. You know, slacks and business-y jackets. Suits and ties. And they all looked very serious. One of them didn’t even smile back at me,” she added, clearly a little offended. Despite my panic, I almost smiled. Poor Kat.

“Did they all come in together? As a group?” I asked. I was confused.

“No, no. One by one. But that’s what I’m saying-- I couldn’t tell you for sure which one of them was sent by the bank and which ones were just regular guests,” she admitted.

“Okay,” I said, crestfallen. This wasn’t making anything any easier. Then I perked up. “Oh! Which rooms did they check into?” I asked suddenly.

Kat turned around in her swivel chair to look at the keys missing from the antique hooks on the wall behind her. She pointed out three of the hooks, mumbling to herself. Then she turned back and said, “Room 16, room 12, and the Presidential suite. You know, the one next to yours.”

I could feel my cheeks going pink as my stomach turned. “My parents’ old suite,” I murmured. It was rare to find someone willing to pay for that suite these days. There were five other Presidential suites apart from mine and the one my parents used to live in, and those five were considerably cheaper, to encourage people to stay in them instead. It was bizarre that someone would choose that particular suite when the others were available. Unless the guest was another one of those tacky ghost hunter guys who was dumb enough to think he could summon my dad’s ghost by staying in his old quarters or something.

“He didn’t seem like… that type,” Kat added hastily. Obviously she sensed what I was thinking. I gave her a soft smile.

“Thanks. I hope not,” I said.

“Usually those guys have a bunch of camera equipment and stuff. This guy just had a suitcase and he was really, really tall,” she informed me. Her face lit up as she remembered more details about our mystery guy.

“Okay. Good. That’s helpful,” I acknowledged. I thought for a moment about what my next move should be. “Well, I can’t exactly follow the guy up to his room and wait for him to come out so I can interrogate him. But what I can do is go on a leisurely stroll around the resort and just see if I happen to run into him,” I mused aloud.

“Yeah! You can!” Kat agreed. She beamed at me, evidently relieved to have helped a little. I reached across the desk to pat her arm gratefully.

“Thank you. I’ll just start on that stroll now,” I told her.

“Good luck,” she whispered after me as I walked away. My mind was racing, my heart pounding. Somewhere in this building, this place I called home, there was a snake in the grass. Waiting, watching, anticipating the right opportunity to strike and rip the Peppertree right out of my hands. I wracked my brain trying to imagine what Mr. Big Money would look like. I couldn’t help but picture some middle-aged, smarmy guy with a pot belly, a pervy mustache, and an undersized suit from his glory days. He would look like some rude, obnoxious villain from an eighties movie or something, I was sure.

I walked up and down the hallways, pretending to just be on a casual tour of the building, but I had my eyes peeled and ready. I was determined to stumble across my enemy, and somehow I was just absolutely certain that I would immediately recognize him as the bad guy in my story. The villain who wanted to tear down the Peppertree and build some tacky mega-mansion in its place. Or sell the land and turn it into yet another boring, nondescript ski lodge that looked just like all the other ones. I loved the Peppertree not only for its sentimental value, but for the fact that it was unusual-looking. My dad had modeled it after this gorgeous lodge he visited in Switzerland with my mom. It was the place where he knelt down and proposed marriage to her, so it was a nostalgic sort of design on his part. Maybe I was a little biased, but I believed the Peppertree to be the prettiest and most interesting property in the whole region. And that was saying something, since our area of Colorado was home to all kinds of luxury resorts and ski lodges.

After I had explored the hallways and elevators to no avail, I decided to head downstairs to the lodge restaurant. It was a great, wide hall with arched ceilings and a wall of massive, crystal-clear windows. My father designed it that way so that guests could gaze out and admire the incomparable views of the mountains while they dined. It was one of my favorite areas of the resort, though I had to admit that the quality of the food had decreased rather dramatically in the past few years. After my father died, the talented French chef who had worked for him all my life was too stricken by grief to continue working here. He quit, and one by one his entire staff of loyal sous chefs, line cooks, bartenders, and servers all followed suit. So in the wake of my dad’s passing, I was first tasked with the awful job of filling a ton of empty positions in the kitchen. The staff working here now was alright, but they couldn’t compare to Chef Louis. No one could.

As soon as I walked into the great hall, I started sweeping around, searching the tables for a guy who might fit the description in my head. I tried to be subtle about it, but when my eyes landed on a strangely familiar face across the restaurant, I couldn’t help but gasp.

My heart thumped wildly as I tried to place his face. And then it hit me, like a ton of bricks. The man seated alone at a table across the restaurant, drinking what looked to be a glass of Scotch, was no stranger. In fact, there was a time when we were close. Very close.

The memories came flooding back to me, vague but poignant. Me, standing in my dorm room, the walls plastered with photos cut out of travel and nature magazines. The bed a mess of sheets and pillows. Tears were sticky and hot on my cheeks as I stood there with my fists clenched, looking at the man I adored, the one who broke my heart. Words were exchanged. Harsh words, the kind you can never take back.

“Your plan, the life you dream about—it’s just that. A dream,” he growled cruelly.

“A dream I will make come true!” I retorted, sniffling back tears.

“Someday you’ll wake up and understand reality. And I won’t be there to pick up the pieces for you,” he warned. “You’re always like this, Haley. Get your head out of the clouds.”

I couldn’t remember much else, it was so long ago. But I could clearly recall the image of him turning and walking out of the dorm, leaving me tearful and alone. It was a bad breakup, that much I knew for sure. And now, he was sitting in my resort, in my restaurant, drinking a Scotch like nothing was amiss.

Suddenly, my feet were carrying me across the room to him. It was as though my body had made the decision before my brain even got the memo. And it was too late to stop now, because he was looking at me with surprise, watching me as I got closer and closer. My heart was pounding, my thoughts scattering like scraps of paper on the wind. What the hell was I doing? What the hell was I supposed to say? And after all this time, was there anything left to say? After all, we had not seen each other in years, and the world had changed dramatically around us since that fateful night in my dorm room when he broke my heart and walked away.

Was I a glutton for punishment? I couldn’t fathom anything good coming from this, and yet somehow I couldn’t seem to stop myself from approaching him. God, he was just as handsome as he was years ago. No, he was actually even hotter than he was then. How was that even possible? His thick dark hair was perfectly coiffed, his suit impeccably fitted to accentuate his broad shoulders, hinting at the powerful muscle and strength underneath. Those piercing green eyes watched me, following my every step. I nearly shivered. The expression on his face was, as usual, totally unreadable. He was possibly the only man in the universe whose truth was hidden even from his eyes. Maybe that was part of why I was so drawn to him in the first place all that time ago—because he was a mystery. A code I could not crack.

I stopped in front of his table, hoping that I wasn’t blushing too hard.

“Haley Simmons,” he remarked, in that same even, gravelly voice that used to thrill me. I was taken aback to find that it still affected me the same way.

Determined to stand my ground instead of melting away like I knew he could make me do, I met his powerful gaze and smiled. “Chase Hawthorne,” I pronounced slowly. It felt weird to hold those syllables between my lips again.

“Please. Sit,” he ordered softly, and I had no choice but to obey.

Here we go again, I thought to myself.