“You’re my new receptionist,” I say slowly. “Hanna’s text says you have to work at the desk. What does she mean by ‘have to’?”
Because my plan calls for me to be at the front desk. Spreading sunshine and upselling like crazy and narrowing our product deficit slowly but surely.
Quinn raises his eyebrows. “Hanna didn’t tell you about the will?”
“Your grandfather’s will?”
I shake my head. I hugged her at Fox’s funeral, both of us crying, but we didn’t get a chance to talk.
“If my siblings and I want to keep the land, we have to do whatever he tells us.”
“The land…? You mean this land?”
He nods. “And in my case, what he told me is that I have to be the Hott Spot receptionist for two months.”
I’m having trouble tracking. “‘He’? You mean your grandfather told you? How?”
“Letter,” he says succinctly. “He wrote me a fucking letter. He had a sick sense of humor, and he thought it would be a howl to put the guy who’s definitely not a people person on a front-desk job.”
I bite my lip. Because he’s just expressed my worst fear out loud. This is the worst time possible to put a “not a people person” at this desk. When I desperately need sales to go up, not down.
At the same time, I’m not going to say that out loud to a guy who’s clearly going through some stuff of his own.
“I bet you’re better with people than you think you are,” I tell him.
The look he gives me is ripe with scorn. “No need to butter me up,” he says. “I know who I am.”
“Look,” he says. “You’ve already told me I need a haircut and a beard trim—and what was the other thing? Oh yeah. Eyebrows.”
“Please—forget what I said about the hair. I thought you were someone else.”
“Who obviously needed a haircut.”
“It’s fine. We both know I’m not pretty enough for the job,” he says.
It’s true he doesn’t look like any receptionist I’ve ever hired for a salon or spa front desk before. More like a cross between a mad scientist and the mountain man you get snowed in with in a romance novel. In the tiny one-room cabin on the mountain with the real bearskin rug, the blazing fire, the super-rich dark chocolate, and only one bed. The one whose alphahole demeanor turns out to be just what you needed during sex.
Not “pretty,” no. Something else entirely.
USA Today bestselling author Serena Bell writes contemporary romance with heat, heart, and humor. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen carefully, and you can often find her scribbling in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head.
Serena’s books have earned many honors, including an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, Apple Books Best Book of the Month, and Amazon Best Book of the Year for Romance.
When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also of how often she changes her hobbies and how passionately she embraces the new ones. These days, it’s stand-up paddle boarding, board-gaming, meditation, and long walks with good friends.