lynn tucked the last of the cow creamers into the shoe box she’d found in the back of the closet, and then picked at the ragged edge on the roll of duct tape she’d found under the sink. Even though she knew, in her heart, that she had dreamed putting them away the day before, she saw no reason to take chances now.

This time, those damn cows were staying put.

After she’d attached enough duct tape to them to secure them for the rest of their unnatural lives, she tucked the shoe box into the very back of the front closet, stood up, and shut the door.

There, she thought, and stuck the duct tape on the shelf as a reminder to anyone who might need reminding of just who was embodied here.

She checked her watch. It was getting close to noon. She had planned to go to the front desk and retrieve the box of stuff Freya’d ordered for her, but the fact was, she didn’t really want it. Not enough to deal with two dozen Jake Tuckers, all there haranguing her about selling the inn. She knew she’d have to go down eventually, be a “presence” or whatever, but she wanted to get it clear in her head exactly what she would say.

It doesn’t matter what you say, Freya’s voice played in her head. What matters is that they see you as an authority figure. Don’t get friendly, don’t get personal. Just walk around like you own the place and tell them only what they need to know. They’ll all fall in line.

At the time, it had seemed like sound advice.

Now, it seemed not specific enough. Did her bartender sacking out on her couch count as getting personal? Had she violated the “need to know” rule when she told him about being haunted by Aunt Esther? And how exactly does one “walk around like you own the place”? Flynn was pretty sure she walked the same way whether she owned a place or not.

Although, technically, she’d never owned anything before. And she didn’t really own this place, either; her father did. Still, she wasn’t comfortable with her task here, so secluding herself in the cottage—while perhaps not the mature choice—had been the preferable one.

She checked her watch. Five minutes to noon. She could always stand up to Gordon Chase and hide out here for the rest of the day, except that she was going to have to face the music eventually, anyway, and she was intrigued by Chase. She wondered if he was really as bad as Tucker had made him out to be, or if they were just rivals who’d fought over something stupid, like a woman. Or a pizza. She wouldn’t put it past either of them, and it sure would explain a lot.

Either way, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t hide out here forever. Sooner or later she’d have to deal with things, and it might as well be sooner.

She grabbed her purse off the half-moon table and headed out the door, locking it behind her. Once outside, she took a deep breath and tried to walk like she owned the place. Holding her head high, she attempted to view her surroundings as though they were hers. The trees that filtered the gorgeous fall sun into dappled patches that grazed her feet; the cobblestone walkway that led her past the east wing; the birds that chirped as she walked by, including one that almost pooped on her shoulder. All hers. It worked, kind of, until she found her way to the huge French doors at the front, pushed through them, and...... wow.

The rich red carpeting was the first thing to grab her notice. It had obviously been there for a while, but it still looked great. The walls were covered in deep cherrywood panels up to the wainscoting, then luscious mauve wallpaper freckled with a subtle Victorian design stretched up to the corniced ceiling, which was easily twenty feet high. Above her head, a tremendous chandelier released light in glimmering droplets. The lobby stretched out to her left with a series of seating clusters—some with chairs, some with love seats, all intimate—that revolved around a fireplace so large you could easily fit a horse in it. To her right, the interior entrance to the restaurant—she’d seen the exterior entrance the night before, when trying all the outside doors until she found the bar, which was tucked away on the other side of the restaurant.

I own this place. I belong here, she affirmed internally, although the queasiness in her stomach argued the other way.

“Can I help you?”

Startled, Flynn glanced up and saw a perky young blonde smiling at her from behind the huge front desk.

Flynn swallowed, held her back straight, and tried to walk like she owned the place. She caught her toe on the carpet and flailed a bit, but managed to regain her footing and continued the rest of the way to the front desk without incident.

“Yes. Hi. I’m Flynn Daly.”

The blonde grinned and held out her hand. Flynn took it.

“Oh, hi! I’m Annabelle DeCross. I’m your concierge-slash-bookkeeper-slash–Girl Friday. Anything you need, really. I’m so glad to meet you. How was your trip? I heard you took the train. Are you afraid of flying, because I’m terrified. It’s totally unnatural to be thirty thousand feet in the air, don’t you think, Flynn? Oh, is it okay that I call you Flynn? Or would you prefer Ms. Daly? Esther always had us call her Esther, because she was Esther, you know?”

Annabelle finally released Flynn’s hand and Flynn forced a smile as she pulled it back, hoping Annabelle wouldn’t be able to tell that she was kinda weirded out. Flynn had always been naturally suspicious of perky people, and Annabelle was beyond perky.

Give her a chance, Flynn thought. People are just like this out here. Get used to it.

“Nice to meet you, Annabelle,” she said. “You can call me Flynn, that’s fine. Um, did anything arrive for me today?”

Annabelle’s eyes widened and she giggled. “Oh, you mean all the boxes?”

“All the boxes?” Exactly how much had Freya ordered, anyway? She’d known it had been expensive, but she hadn’t expected more than one or two packages. “How many boxes?”

“Six. I had Herman put them in the back of the Rose Banquet Room because I didn’t want to bother you if you were still sleeping, and also, he almost threw his back out working on the roof last month, so I thought maybe Clyde—he’s Mercy’s sous chef, have you met Mercy yet? Anyway, I thought maybe Clyde or Jake could help you, maybe after the big meeting?”

Flynn blinked, feeling like she’d just walked into the middle of an Oscar Wilde play without a script. “Uh... big meeting?”

“Yes.” Annabelle nodded enthusiastically and Flynn was entranced by the bounciness of her hair. What shampoo did this girl use, anyway? “Jake told me all about it, so I got you the Rose Banquet Room for one o’clock and I’ve called everyone, even the people who don’t work today, and most everybody’s going to be here because we’re all really excited about meeting you.”

A big meeting.

Jake told her.

And everyone was coming. Plenty of witnesses to keep her from killing the bartender. Smart move. Flynn forced a tight smile. “That’s great. Thank you.”

“So, with all those boxes...” Annabelle stood up, moved closer, and lowered her voice. “I mean, with all that stuff, you must be planning on staying awhile, right? So, you’re not going to sell, are you?”

“Well... we, uh... We haven’t made any decisions.”

Annabelle patted her hand. “It’s okay. I understand, if you want to save the announcement for the big meeting. I promise I’ll keep my trap shut.” Annabelle somehow managed to contain her grin long enough to mimic locking her lips and throwing away the key. Flynn stared until she realized she was staring, then forced herself to speak.

“Thank you,” she finally managed, but as she spoke, Annabelle’s focus went to a spot behind Flynn’s shoulder and her eyes darkened considerably. Flynn was just about to turn around when she heard Gordon Chase’s voice booming behind her.

“Flynn,” he said, marching up to her and planting a kiss on her cheek. Flynn had to work not to recoil from him. “So good to see you again.” He looked at Annabelle and didn’t seem to notice the daggers she was shooting at him. “Good to see you again, Annabelle.”

Annabelle stood up straight and her lips thinned to form a tight, disapproving line. “Your table is ready for you in the restaurant.”

Flynn glanced at Annabelle. She couldn’t remember asking for a reservation, but then again, her mind was still processing... well... Annabelle.

“Oh?” Gordon Chase’s eyebrows lifted. “We’re eating... here?”

“Um...” Flynn glanced at Annabelle. “Yes?”

Annabelle nodded primly and motioned toward the restaurant with her left hand.

Flynn looked back at Gordon Chase, whose eyes might have been registering a tiny bit of alarm, although it was hard to tell, because nothing seemed to faze him. So, once again, there she was, lacking even the slightest clue as to what was going on.

“Is that okay?” she asked.

Whatever it was she thought she might have seen in Chase’s eyes vanished, and he smiled brightly. “It’s perfect.”

He pulled the heavy wood and glass door open, then stepped aside and gave a “ladies first” motion with his arm. Flynn smiled as she cut past him into the restaurant, the details of which—high-ceilinged, corniced, and gorgeous—fled past her. Mostly, she was noticing the looks.

The first one came from the hostess, a tall woman with a patrician nose whose name tag read Nancy and who refused to make eye contact with Gordon Chase. As a matter of fact, Flynn would swear that Nancy deliberately dropped the wine list hard enough to slosh his water.

The next look came from the waiter, Gregory, who smiled warmly at Flynn as she gave her order, then snatched the menu from Chase’s hand so fast he gave Chase a small paper cut.

Then there was the couple in the corner. Their looks weren’t actively hostile, more shamelessly intrigued. Chase had a rep about town, that was for sure.

Chase, however, seemed immune to it. As they drank their wine and waited for their salads, he seemed positively chipper. Either he hadn’t noticed the seemingly intense dislike surrounding him, which Flynn thought doubtful, or he genuinely didn’t care, which she found fascinating. Even Freya, for all her toughness, cared at least a little what people thought. But Chase just glanced over the menu like there was nothing interesting happening at all.

Fascinating.

“So,” he said, leaning slightly forward, “how do you like the place? It’s nice, isn’t it? Have you seen the rose garden?”

“Just from my window,” Flynn said, taking a sip of the wine Gregory had recommended. It was good stuff. “I haven’t really had much time to get acclimated yet.”

“Well, it’s a terrific property.” Chase took a sip of his wine and gave her that strange, tinking smile again. “You should see the whole area while you’ve got the chance.”

Flynn put her wineglass down. “While I’ve got the chance?”

“Well, I assume it’s temporary. Isn’t it?” Chase raised one eyebrow casually. “I mean, a number of established companies have been interested in this property for years. I tried to encourage Esther to sell, but she never listened to a word I had to say. I could understand, I guess. She’d grown up here; it was home. But honestly, Flynn, a large company with resources like that? It would make a world of difference for these people. Updated systems, bigger paychecks.” He waved around generically, indicating the staff. “Not to mention what a boon that kind of business would bring to the town.”

Wow. Agendas, agendas everywhere. And for some reason, Chase’s bugged her even more than Tucker’s had.

“So, what?” Flynn said carefully. “You don’t think I should try to run this place myself?”

Something like surprise flashed over Chase’s face, but he hid it under a smile. “Are you thinking of doing that?”

Not on a bet. But she wasn’t going to tell Chase that. She had a feeling it would be a good idea to play her cards close to her chest, at least until she knew what he wanted from her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m still thinking about it. Is that so crazy?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Chase said, keeping his eyes on hers lazily. Almost seductively, Flynn thought. “I don’t doubt for a moment that you could succeed at anything you put your mind to. If you wanted to run this place, I bet you’d do great. But it’s not really what you do, is it? Hospitality, I mean?”

“My family runs a number of hospitality properties,” she said, pretty sure that was true. Her dad mostly bought properties, developed them, and then sold them to the highest bidder. Some of the properties had been hotels, so he must have run them during the process. Not that the truth mattered; at this point, she’d claim to be Paris Hilton herself if it wiped that smirk off Chase’s face.

As he watched her, his eyes dancing, the smirk stayed firmly in place. “But it’s not what you do, though, is it? And your father chose to send you. I find that very... telling.”

He stabbed a leaf of his salad with an expression of smug satisfaction, as though he were an ancient hunter taking down a wildebeest for the tribe. Igh, Flynn thought, every part of her body bristling with intense dislike. While Tucker’s researching her and her family had been annoying, Chase’s was outright pissing her off. She sat up straighter, and decided to switch defense for offense.

With this guy, she had a feeling she was going to enjoy taking offense.

“So,” she said, leaning an elbow on the table and her chin into her curled hand, “how do you do it?”

Chase gave her a confused half smile. “Do what?”

Flynn gestured toward the wait staff and the diners. “Not care. I mean, everyone here just hates the shit out of you. I can tell. I’m sensitive to those things. But it doesn’t seem to bother you, not even a teensy little bit. Is it because you don’t know that they despise you, or that you don’t care?”

Chase took another sip of his wine. “People liking or disliking me is of no consequence. I’m a businessman, and some people are not going to like what I do sometimes. If I let it bother me, I lose my advantage.” He leaned forward a bit. “And, just to let you know, I’m more popular in other places.”

“So, you’re saying the people here have particular reason not to like you?”

Chase eyed her for a long moment, and she sensed that he was evaluating her while forming his answer. “There’s a man here who thinks I’m responsible for everything that’s gone wrong in this town and in his life, and he’s a very convincing guy. These people like him, so they don’t like me.”

Ah. Tucker. “Or maybe their disliking you has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you.” She shrugged playfully. “Just a theory.”

Chase paused for a moment, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You know, some men don’t go for ballbusters, but I don’t happen to be one of them. I like you.”

Flynn grinned. “I’ve got spunk.”

Chase chuckled, then picked up his wineglass and took another sip. He opened his mouth to speak again, but coughed lightly into his hand before he could get the words out. His expression went from smarmy and amused to concerned, and his skin seemed to be getting... blotchy.

Igh.

“Are you okay?” Flynn asked. She picked up her untouched water and handed it to him.

“I’m fine,” he choked. His face was turning beet red. Flynn stood up and waved to Nancy.

“Nancy! Call 911!”

“No.” Chase held up his hand and stood. “I think I’m okay. I have a little berry allergy.” A dribble of sweat ran down his face. “Must have been in the wine.”

“Are there berries in cabernet?”

“All I need are some antihistamines,” he said, his voice strained.

“Well, let me see if Annabelle—”

Chase held up his hand. “No. No, thank you. I think I’d prefer to take care of it myself.” Even with the wheezing and the sweat and the beet red face, he managed to give her one last tink. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Please excuse me.”

Flynn nodded mutely as Chase took off. A moment later, she heard some scuffling behind her and turned to see a short, round, redheaded woman in a white chef’s hat running toward her.

“Oh, no,” the woman said, her face full of false alarm. “I’m too late.” She snapped her fingers and slumped dramatically. “Darn it.”

Flynn raised her eyebrows. “What happened?”

“I have a wineglass that I keep raspberries in,” she said, her eyes overwide with blatantly faked innocence. “You know, to snack on during the day. Well, I’d finished them off but I got busy, you know, as chefs do, and I just left it sitting out.” She bit her bottom lip. “I think Gregory must have somehow accidentally gotten a hold of that glass and used it for Mr. Chase’s wine.” She leaned in a bit. “He has that terrible berry allergy, you know.” She leaned back, and Flynn swore she saw the edge of a smile in her eyes. “I’m so mortified. Was he okay?”

Flynn stared at her. “Gosh, you know, that was really good, but I think you overplayed the accidental angle a little bit.” She put one hand on Mercy’s shoulder and leaned in. “Here’s a tip: don’t overexplain. Innocent people don’t need to explain themselves.”

Mercy eyed her for a moment, then smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Flynn released her shoulder and stood up straight.

Mercy nodded toward the door Gordon Chase had fled out of. “If it’s any comfort, I knew it wouldn’t kill him.”

“Actually, that’s quite a comfort, thank you.” Flynn held out her hand. “I’m Flynn Daly.”

The chef wiped her hands on the towel hanging from her apron and shook. “Hi, Ms. Daly.”

“Flynn. Please.”

Mercy smiled. “Flynn. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mercy Glavin.”

“Mercy.” Well, now things are beginning to make sense. “Yes. Jake Tucker told me to talk to you.”

“He did? What about?”

“Oh, nothing. He just wanted me to confirm something with you, but I think that’s been taken care of.”

“Okay.” Mercy grinned. “So, you’ve met Jake, huh? I know I’m biased because he’s my brother, but don’t you think he’s just the cutest thing?”

“You two are related?” Flynn crossed her arms over her stomach and stared at the chef. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Mercy glanced at her watch. “It’s only five after twelve. Why don’t you come back with me? I’ll show you the kitchen, get you a little something to eat before the big meeting. I make a pumpkin risotto’ll pop your head right off.”

Flynn smiled. Did she want to go have some pumpkin risotto made by the woman who’d poisoned her date?

Eh. Life was short, anyway. She grabbed her wineglass. “Lead the way.”

Flynn tucked herself in the corner next to the stove while the kitchen staff whirled around her. She’d tried to introduce herself, but these people were busy, and they held knives, so it wasn’t long before she figured that the best thing she could do was stay out of the way.

“So, here’s the thing about my brother,” Mercy said, sprinkling a pinch of something into the orangish glop that sizzled in the pan. “He’s kind of a wise-ass.”

“You don’t say.”

“He thinks he’s funny and most of the time he is, so that just encourages him.” Mercy grinned sideways at Flynn. “He’s so like my dad. Never say a sincere word when a joke will do.” She picked up a large metal spoon and stirred the concoction. “My mother always says she only married my dad to shut him up, and my dad used to say that’s why he knocked her up with my oldest sister so fast, so that she’d be stuck.”

“Wow. Your dad sounds like a lot of fun,” Flynn said, trying to imagine her father ever making a joke.

Nope. Couldn’t do it.

“He was.” Mercy’s smile turned sad. “He was a safety inspector for OSHA, and he was killed in a piano factory. A baby grand fell on him.”

Flynn wasn’t sure if Mercy was joking or not, and kept her expression flat. “Wow. I’m really sorry.”

Mercy grinned. “It’s okay to laugh. Dad would have loved the irony of it. We started making jokes about it at the funeral and we haven’t stopped since. It’s what Dad would have wanted.” Mercy paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, my sisters and my mom and I joke about it. Jake never does.”

There was a long silence as Flynn struggled over what to say. She couldn’t make light of it, but Mercy would obviously brook no sympathy. So finally she said the only thing she could say.

“Your brother seems like a really nice guy.” She mostly meant it, and it was worth throwing a compliment Tucker’s way to get out of the awkward conversational spot.

Mercy’s eyes lit up. “He is, isn’t he? I know he’s my baby brother and everything, but I just think he’s the greatest guy.” She grabbed a spoon from a can full of them, dipped, and tasted. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled through her nose, and then smiled at Flynn.

“It’s perfect,” she announced, then grabbed a ladle and poured some into a bowl. Flynn took it, along with a clean spoon from the can. She eyed Mercy sideways.

“You were kidding when you said it would pop my head off, right?”

Mercy leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “All I’m gonna say is I take no responsibility for what happens to you.”

Flynn laughed and dipped her spoon in, taking a bite. It was warm and sweet and rich and spicy and...

“Oh, my Gooooooooooodddddd,” she said, going in for another spoonful. “This is amazing.”

“Told you,” Mercy said smugly. She cocked her head to the side and looked at Flynn. “Would it be inappropriate for me to say that you and my brother would have the most adorable babies?”

Flynn froze midchew, then swallowed. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Mercy smiled and patted Flynn lightly on the shoulder. “Just an observation.”

Jake leaned against the stack of boxes in the corner of the Rose Banquet Room and smiled to himself. The shipping labels read “Flynn Daly, c/o The Goodhouse Arms.”

Ha! He knew she had more luggage than that one bag.

It was almost one o’clock and the room was packed. He did a visual head count and estimated that, aside from a few key restaurant personnel, everyone was here, even people who weren’t on the schedule for today. Proof once again that there was absolutely no one better for spreading news than Annabelle.

“... got beet red and ran out... face all sweaty and gross,” he heard a woman’s voice saying. He glanced through the crowd and located the source of the voice; Lucy from housekeeping. She was talking closely with another girl he recognized but couldn’t name, and they were giggling happily about Chase’s berry special Goodhouse Arms lunch.

Good ol’ Mercy, he thought.

A small niggle of guilt—on Flynn’s behalf, not Chase’s—poked at him, but he ignored it. Giving her lunch date a case of the berry sweats was all in good fun, but dumping a surprise staff meeting on her was a total dick move. Unfortunately, it was necessary. How Flynn reacted to this thing was going to tell him a lot more about her intentions than he’d ever learn by bugging her over Jameson’s neats at the bar. If she told them all flat-out that she was going to sell, then he’d know his chances of getting her to string Chase along for a while were nil. If she hemmed and hawed, he had a shot. Plus, putting someone in front of a firing squad and seeing which way they duck is always a great form of entertainment.

The door opened, and Flynn walked in, with Mercy trailing close behind. They shared a grin—interesting—and Mercy dove into the crowd as Flynn made her way up to the front. Something was different about Flynn, though; she wasn’t walking like a little girl in her mother’s heels anymore.

Guess she’s not feeling too bad about poor Chase and his hives.

Jake smiled to himself.

Flynn stepped up behind the podium set up at the front of the room, and the chatter quieted down. She smoothed her hair behind her ears and smiled her crazy, wide smile and Jake wondered if everyone else was as mesmerized by that grin as he’d been. He glanced around, saw that the ratio of happy faces to suspicious ones was pretty much in a dead heat. She didn’t have everyone in her corner yet, but considering the circumstances, Flynn was doing pretty damn good.

“Good afternoon,” Flynn said, and the buzz in the room died down. She glanced at the back of the room and spoke louder. “Can everyone hear me?”

A chorus to the affirmative came up from the back of the room, but Flynn caught Jake’s eye and held it until he nodded yes.

“Good. Thank you for coming to this meeting this afternoon. I’m glad this meeting was called”— she gave Jake a sharp look—“because I... uh... really wanted to introduce myself to you all. Um, as most of you probably already know, my name is Flynn Daly. Esther Goodhouse was my great-aunt, and when she died, she left the Goodhouse Arms to my family.”

There was a long, awkward pause as Flynn stared out into the sea of faces. Jake pushed up from the boxes and stepped a little closer.

“Um, okay then,” she said, letting go with a nervous laugh. “That’s pretty much it. If you don’t have any questions—”

“Do you have any experience in running a hotel?”

Jake glanced toward the voice, which had come from Olivia, the head of housekeeping and one of the more skeptical faces.

“You mean, me personally?” Flynn cleared her throat. “Well, my family has been in real estate development for a long time, and over the years we’ve owned a number of hospitality businesses.”

“My dad was a mechanic,” someone to Jake’s left grumbled. “Doesn’t make me a car.”

“Esther gave us raises on the anniversaries of our hire dates,” Selah, one of the bar waitresses, called out. “My anniversary is in October. So am I just shit outta luck or what?”

Selah wasn’t known for her delicate nature.

“I, uh...” Flynn blinked a few times. “I haven’t had time to review Aunt Esther’s financial policies, but—”

A hand waved in the air, and relief flashed across Flynn’s face as she pointed to Annabelle. “Yes, Annabelle?”

Annabelle stood up. “I think what people want to know is, you know, if you’re going to sell to a big chain or something? Because, I mean, we know they don’t, like, disembowel people and put their heads on pikes—”

Jake dropped his face into his hand and laughed.

“—but, you know, they do sometimes come in and kinda clean house and we all really like it here and like this place the way it is.”

Flynn’s eyebrows knit and she seemed frozen while trying to unweave the delicate strands of Annabelle’s logic. “Um... was there a question in there... somewhere?”

“Yeah. She’s asking if you’re going to sell us out.” Oscar, one of the landscaping guys, took a step forward from where he was standing at the back. “Because if you are, we need to know so we can find other jobs.”

“Well...” Flynn’s eyebrows were practically meeting above her nose. “I mean... even if we did sell, you’d keep your jobs.”

Oscar folded his arms over his chest. “Can you promise that? Can you put that in writing?”

Flynn looked like she’d been slapped, and Jake felt a knot of anger rise in his gut. Despite the fact that he had no one to blame but himself, he really wanted to take Oscar outside and pummel his fat head.

“In writing?” Flynn said. “No, I can’t. But if someone takes over this place, someone who... who... who knows what they’re doing... I mean, why wouldn’t they keep you?”

“Because we get paid decent,” Selah said.

Oscar nodded. “Esther valued us, and she paid us like she valued us. You think a big chain is going to do that, sweetheart? Think again.”

Flynn blinked. “I... uh... well... I...”

Jake had expected this to happen. Watching how Flynn responded to the situation was a big part of getting to know who he was dealing with. It was his response that was throwing him for a loop. He hadn’t anticipated how impossible it would be for him to simply stand back and watch her swing.

He took a step forward.

“I was wondering,” he said, noting the completely reasonable expression of alarm in Flynn’s eyes as he walked up the aisle toward her, “what you thought of the place?”

He stopped, mid-aisle. There was a pause while Flynn seemed to be waiting for the sucker punch, but when it didn’t come, she allowed a small smile.

“I think it’s...” She paused for a moment, seeming to fight within herself until one side won. Her face relaxed a bit, and an almost smile played on her lips. “I think it’s incredible. The grounds are gorgeous, and so well kept. And the lobby is... oh, if I could move into that lobby, I would, I’m telling you.” There was a mild smattering of appreciative laughter. Flynn motioned out to the area where Mercy had taken a seat. “The pumpkin risotto is a dream come true.”

“So it’s safe to say you’re impressed, right?” Jake kept his eyes on her.

She met his gaze and nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, considering you haven’t even been here for twenty-four hours yet, I think that’s pretty much all we can ask.”

“Bullshit,” Oscar said. “We can ask about the sale.”

The room went starkly quiet. Jake turned toward Oscar, wanting to pummel him now more than ever.

“She just got here, man,” he said in a low voice. “Back off.”

“No.”

“It’s okay.”

Jake raised his head to find Flynn moving her focus over the crowd, connecting with as many people as possible. “It’s a fair question. It deserves a fair answer. The truth is, I don’t know. The decisions haven’t been made, and I honestly don’t know yet what I’m going to do. If you feel that you want to look for employment elsewhere, I certainly wouldn’t fault you. But I think this place is very special, and I hope those of you who think so too will stay.”

Flynn gave one quick, decisive nod to the crowd and left the podium. She walked gracefully down the aisle, but Jake could see her hands shaking as she passed him by. He stood where he was, watching the doorway through which she’d disappeared, until he felt a faint tug on his sleeve.

“Oh, hey, Annabelle,” he said, glancing down at her quickly before returning his stare to the doorway.

“Um, Flynn had those boxes come in for her, and Herman almost put his back out—what do you think she has in them? A dead body? Anyway, I thought maybe you could—”

“Have Clyde do it,” he said quietly, pulling his focus away from the door and turning a forced smile on Annabelle. “I’m the last person Flynn wants to see right now.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Annabelle said. “She seems really nice.”

“She is really nice,” Jake said, still staring at the doorway.

Too bad I’m a total asshole, he thought.