Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

“He’s been through a lot over the last few weeks.”

“I know. I mean, his dad and then his brother. And then he almost died! But still, it’s not like him. I thought I’d see if there’s anything going on that I should know about,” he asks tentatively, as if he might be overstepping.

I’d like to know the answer to that too. Maybe Henry got a call from Luca full of insinuations. How will he react to his new fiancée being painted a summertime whore, which is what I sensed from Luca’s tone and manner of questioning. Will Henry be embarrassed?

Too embarrassed to go through with the marriage?

I pace around the kitchen island, studying my ring, as a darker thought invades my mind. Is Henry regretting his hasty proposal already?

Damn, that asshole reporter. Now that he’s planted the idea in my head, it’s going to fester all day, driving me insane. By the time I see Henry tonight, I’m going to be an insecure mess.

I need to talk to Henry now. Better yet, I need to see him, to read his eyes and confirm that I have nothing to worry about. I check the time. “Does he have anything scheduled over lunch?”

“Hmm … nope. Nothing yet.”

“Okay, keep it open for me, would you?”





CHAPTER 4





“Marcello’s. Smart.” Miles’s green eyes widen with delight as he spies the paper bag in my hand. I stopped by Henry’s favorite sandwich shop on my way in and the guy behind the counter ran it out to the car. More sage advice from Raj.

I hope so. I’ve never surprised Henry at work before, and he’s not a big fan of people hijacking his calendar. I follow Miles into the elevator.

Miles waves his key card against the pad, hits the top-floor button, then flops back with an exhale. “I am so glad to see you.”

I smile despite my worries. Henry hired his lanky male assistant after our breakup midsummer when I transferred to Outdoor Crew and he left Wolf Cove. It was a smart move, given his history with female assistants. I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t have been insanely jealous had he replaced me with another. “Is he still being weird?”

Miles pushes a hand through his curly mop of brown hair. “I spilled a folder full of paperwork in his office, and he helped me pick it all up without a word.”

I burst out with laughter. “So, what you’re saying is he’s not his usual asshole self.”

“Exactly. But don’t tell him I said that.” His gaze flickers to my finger. “It fits.”

“It does.” I hold out my hand to admire the ring that apparently Henry sized on me one night while I was sleeping. Another sign that his proposal wasn’t hasty. But wait … “You knew he was going to propose?”

He grins. “Who do you think was fielding all the calls between the jeweler?”

“And you didn’t warn me?” I give him a playful shove.

“He threatened to have my balls chopped off if it got out.”

I picture Henry delivering on that threat. I’m sure it sounded convincing. “He was only kidding. He doesn’t do that sort of thing.” I pause for effect. “Dyson, however …”

Miles blinks rapidly. The lawyer and general fix-it guy may be intimidating but he hasn’t maimed anyone as far as I know.

The elevator doors open, and Miles leads me down the main hall of the executive floor, lined with assistants’ desks and private offices screened by frosted glass. It’s simple and clean and quiet, save for the tapping on keys and the odd ringing phone.

“I said don’t approve that!” a man yells from behind one of those doors.

“That’s Sunjit. He’s always yelling at someone on the phone,” Miles says.

“Fun.” Outside Sunjit’s office, his middle-aged brunette assistant sits at her desk, staring over her glasses at me. In fact, they’re all watching. Suddenly, I feel eyes crawling over me from every direction.

“Does everyone know?” I whisper.

“That the big boss is marrying his twenty-one-year-old ex-assistant who he met this summer? What do you think?”

My cheeks flush. Are they saying the same things that reporter alluded to? Is there a tally running for how long before Henry recovers from his near-death shock and dumps me?

I keep my focus ahead, lifting my chin slightly. It doesn’t matter what any of them say. Henry and I love each other. That’s all that matters. Besides, I may be twenty-one, but he just turned thirty-two, not fifty.

We pass a door with the name Scott Wolf etched into it and I stifle a shudder. The assistant’s desk outside sits empty.

“Have you been to Henry’s new office?” Miles asks.

“Not yet.” William Wolf kept it for himself right up until his death.

“That’s it there.” Miles gestures toward the heavy glazed doors ahead. “I would knock first. He doesn’t like being barged in on.”

“Yes, I remember.” Hotel staff weren’t even allowed in the penthouse cabin at Wolf Cove, but that’s because he was also living there. My knuckles clunk against the glass.

“Come in,” comes the deep voice.

I ease open the door and step through, my stomach fluttering with a mix of nerves and excitement over seeing Henry again. I hope this never goes away.

Inside is nothing short of opulence. I expected a grand office for the man behind all of Wolf, but this is outrageous. It may as well be an apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows reaching two stories high close off the far side, showcasing the city’s skyline beyond. To the left is a sunken living room area with plush caramel leather furniture and lamps. Behind it is a mahogany and chrome bar with crystal decanters. Henry’s posh scotch collection.

Opposite the seating area is a wall of bookshelves filled with spines and, in front of that, a desk large enough to accommodate four guests on one side.

My heartbeat quickens at the sight of Henry slouched in his chair, a pen perched between his lips, his attention locked on something beyond the window.

Oblivious to me, though he granted me permission to enter.

“Henry?” I call out tentatively.

He snaps out of his daze, spinning his revolving chair toward me. “Abbi, what are you doing here?” He frowns. “Is something wrong?”

I hold up the brown bag. “I brought your favorite for lunch.”

His eyes drift over the simple black tunic dress and heels I threw on after thirty minutes of questioning how Henry Wolf’s future wife should dress for a visit to his office. “Thank you,” he offers quietly.

“You’re welcome.” I have an overwhelming urge to touch Henry, to feel his body against mine. To know that whatever inner turmoil he’s facing, it has nothing to do with our future. And if these past few months have taught me anything about Henry, it’s how to get answers out of him without asking.

“Nice digs.” I close the distance, setting the lunch bag aside.

“It’s my father’s taste. I’ll have to update it at some point when I have time.”

I round the desk and perch myself on it, next to him. Toeing off my heels, I rest my feet on his chair between his splayed thighs.