The town car rolled to a stop in front of The Retreat, giving me a view of the restored plaster façade. Gutting and rebuilding this crumbling building had been one of the best parts of my job the last year.

While I got out, Fritz, my driver, walked to the other side, opening the door for Mia and Shantel, Griffen Industries’ Chief of Staff. I waited on the sidewalk for them, and then we walked together to the front entrance, where a security guard stood by the door. This project was far too important to leave unattended.

I walked to the guard and extended my hand. “Gage Griffen, CEO.”

He studied my hand for a moment, seeming surprised by my introduction. “Cliff Wallace. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise.” I stepped into the building, past him, still getting over the fact that so many people worked for me that I didn’t know. A little under fifteen years ago, I was making my first hire, stressing about providing someone’s livelihood. I still stressed about that—only now it was thousands of people depending on me instead of just one.

We walked to the front conference room and went inside. There was a long white desk and a few folding chairs there for now, but I imagined Ms. Elkins would scrap it for the final design.

Shantel opened her briefcase and began sorting paperwork on the table while Mia passed out coffees and set up a small display of baked goods on the table.

We were a few minutes early, so I reached into my pocket for the scrap of paper left under my windshield wiper the day before. I’d worked into the night and hadn’t wanted to call the person at such a late hour. Since it was nearly nine now, we should be fine.

Smirking slightly at the cartoon drawing on the back of the sheet, I dialed the number and ringing came through the phone. At the same time, I heard a phone chiming out in the hallway.

My eyebrows rose, and the chiming stopped.

“Hi, this is Farrah,” came through the door and then echoed in my phone speaker.

A chuckle nearly escaped my throat, and I could feel Mia and Shantel trying not to stare. “Farrah, this is Gage Griffen.”

“I’m on my way right now. I should be a few minutes early…” The door to the conference room opened, and Farrah lowered her phone to her purse. “I’m sorry. Is my watch off?” She tucked a loose strand of dark curly hair behind her ear, her cheeks pink from the February chill.

“You’re right on time,” I said, taking the paper from the table. “I believe you left this on my car.”

I held up the paper, and her eyes glanced from the paper to my face, all the color draining from her cheeks.

“So, I, um,” she stammered. “I’ll be going then. Sorry to have taken up your time.”

She turned toward the door, and my eyebrows furrowed together. “Where are you going?”

“I’m assuming I’m fired, right?” she said, completely dejected. Her face displayed her every emotion so clearly. “Your car must cost more than my yearly salary.”

“Irrelevant,” I replied.

Her full lips parted, sending a strange feeling straight to my gut.

“What?” she breathed.

“I was just calling to say no worries about the door ding… It’s not really fair to have someone worry about it when…” I’m a billionaire, I didn’t say.

Why was I talking so much? Her nerves must have worn off on me, and I didn’t like it one bit. I cleared my throat, nodding toward the table so we could get back to business.

While Shantel led Farrah through the onboarding paperwork, I sipped my coffee and responded to emails on my phone. When they reached the part explaining her compensation, I glanced up to see her reaction.

As she read the number, she covered her mouth with her hand, but quickly removed it, a slight shake to her fingers.

Good.

She was impressed.

I always paid my people well. It made them work harder, be more loyal to the company, and ultimately… I could.

And if they ever chose to leave, they’d know they would never be able to do better anywhere else.

A call came through my cell from my brother, Tyler, and I stepped out of the room to answer it. “Everything okay?” I asked. He and his new wife recently opened a boutique apartment building for seniors, and residents had just begun moving in.

“We’re great,” Tyler said, excitement making him talk quickly. “Every room is rented as of this morning!”

“That’s great!” I said. “Can I take you and Henrietta out for drinks to celebrate?”

“You have time in that busy billionaire schedule for weekday drinks?”

“I never said when. I can have Mia pencil you in my schedule in… eighteen months?”

“Ha ha,” Tyler replied. “We have a community get-to-know-you party tonight, but we can do Thursday. Want me to invite Rhett and Liv?”

“As long as Rhett doesn’t bring his woman of the week,” I muttered. Our youngest brother always had a different girl on his arm, and they weren’t all fun to talk to for an hour, possibly more.

“Siblings only, got it.”

“I’ll have Mia set it up,” I said. “Talk to you then.”

We hung up, and I went back into the conference room in time to see Shantel packing up her bag and laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, going back to my coffee.

Shantel smiled, seeming happier than usual. “Farrah has a good sense of humor. I like her.”

I nodded, not cracking a smile myself. The success of Griffen Industries had changed a lot of things. Once you have money, you never know who’s being real with you and who’s looking to get ahead. Now that I had so much to lose, I needed to be more careful with my words because anything I said could be twisted and put on the news the very next day. But if my employees got along, all the better.

Shantel snapped the clasps on her briefcase and then picked up a croissant from the small pile Mia provided.

Mia gave Farrah a smile. “Want a pastry before Shantel and I get back to the office?”

Reaching for one, Farrah said, “It’s better than the crusts of a Nutella strawberry sandwich.”

Shantel laughed again. “How old are your kids?”

Love shined in Farrah’s eyes as she said, “Fourteen, eight, and five. Two boys and a girl.”

“I have one of each,” Shantel said. “Twins.”

Farrah kissed three fingers and held them up.

I had no idea what strange ritual they were doing, but Shantel did it back, laughing. Farrah already had Mia and Shantel wrapped around her finger. Much better than the last interior designer who had permanent stink eye. I had to let him go because everyone hated working with him, including the suppliers who were constantly pushing back delivery dates. He barely managed to complete the pool area in six months.

Mia confirmed my appointments for me and then said goodbye, shooting Farrah a thumbs-up she thought I didn’t notice.

I noticed everything. Including the corner of a tag peeking from Farrah’s sleeve.

With Shantel and Mia out of the room, it was just Farrah and me and the crisp sound of her pastry as she chewed it.

“This hotel is fabulous, Mr. Griffen,” she said, wiping a crumb from the corner of her full pink lips. “I can’t wait to get started.”

“Great.” I took a sip of my coffee and set it back on the table. “This will be our office for the next three months. Prepare a list of items you’ll need to get started—laptop, printer, et cetera, and send it to Mia. She’ll handle the arrangements.”

“Wait, three months?” she stammered. “What’s our timeline?”

“We need to have the rooms designed and set up for the opening in a year, and I’ve been burned by enough designers to realize I need to take a more hands-on role. At least until you prove your competency.”

She coughed like she was choking on pastry and then gulped down her coffee. “Wait, the hotel’s opening in a year?”

I glanced at my watch. “Eleven months and fourteen days, actually.”

Her eyes bugged out. “With all due respect, that’s highly improbable. Most retailers of the caliber this hotel requires request preorders of up to a year or more of lead time. And then there’s moving all the items in, staging, working with contractors for paint, wallpaper, window treatments…”

I arched an eyebrow. “I hired you because I thought you could get this done. And with three children at home to provide for on your own, I assumed you would do whatever it took. Was I mistaken?”

Her eyes searched me, shocked, nervous.

We hadn’t talked about her children in the interview with me, but I knew.

I knew everything my private investigators could find before hiring anyone to the team.

Farrah Elkins.

Thirty-four years old.

Graduated from Upton University four years after having her first child. Levi Elkins.

Left her husband after multiple counts of infidelity. The divorce was processed by the county a month ago.

The courts awarded her full custody with guaranteed visits for the father every other weekend.

Currently resides with her parents in a three-bedroom, two-bathroom home near Arlington and has for the last month and a half.

She was hungry for a change, and I could feel it in everything about her, from her carefully done curly hair to her returnable black-on-black outfit and sensible heels.

“No, sir,” she said, a determined look in her eyes. “You won’t regret this.”

“I know.” I stood from the table and said, “Let’s get started.”