Page 73 of Villainous Summer

On the walk from my thirty-minute parking spot to the hotel, I stopped in one of the many coffee shops lining the front street and grabbed a chicken avocado sandwich and a lemon sparkling water.

A young woman with dark hair was behind the front desk of the hotel, circling a few things on a map for the middle-aged couple before her.

Standing back with Summer’s lunch in hand, I wondered if this was the wrong move.

I could tell her I wanted to do this because that’s what a fake boyfriend would do, but I’d be lying.

The older couple left, and the young women turned to face me. “Hello. Welcome to The Ridgewood Inn. Checking in?”

“Uh, no.” I set the lunch on the high counter. “Is Summer here?”

A smirk replaced the woman’s customer-service smile. “She is. Can I tell her who’s asking?”

“Van. I brought her lunch, I’m her—”

What?

The woman smirked. “I’ll call her. She’s in with our event coordinator, Imogen, right now.”

The woman picked up the phone, her voice sing-songy. “Summer, there is someone out here who needs to see you.”

She nodded before lowering her voice. “Just someone. You better hurry.” She hung up and flashed me a winning smile. “She’ll be out in a minute. I’m Lucia, by the way. Summer’s talked about me, I’m sure.”

With an unfamiliar nervousness rising in me, I twitched a smile and nodded.

What was Summer doing to me that I would be nervous? Summer must have mentioned me for her coworkers to act so sly.

The click of heels on the marble floor sounded and then there she was. Her light hair was swept up in a tight twist at the base of her neck. A crisp white button-down was tucked into a tight black skirt. Glasses sat on top of her head.

Summer was beautiful in her little sundresses, ripped jean shorts, and oversized T-shirts. And, of course, gorgeous in nothing but the moonlight through my window. But nothing could have prepared me for professional Summer, buttoned down and prim.

She was a wet dream come true.

When she caught sight of me, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes large.

“Van, what—” She glanced from me to Lucia behind the desk, then back again.

I jostled the to-go box in my grip. “I wanted to make sure you got lunch.”

“That’s very—um . . .”

I could tell I had surprised her. What was she thinking I would do after she left me in the middle of the night? Was the night before not a sign that something had shifted between us? I told her how I felt, yet she still left me—well, maybe my words weren’t enough. I’d have to show her.

“Why don’t you show me your office while you eat? I’m sure Lucia could spare you for ten minutes.”

“Thirty,” Lucia called out behind the desk.

Summer seemed to snap out of her stupor, glaring at Lucia, then turning her attention to me. “Ten. I have to call our maintenance man. A guest is complaining about the faucet in—”

“Room 207. I’ll call him now.”

“Aren’t you efficient?” she grumbled as she keyed in the code on the doorknob and ushered me in.

Her office was a small cube, with little decoration.

She blushed. “I haven’t had the time to decorate. Been opening a hotel and then running it, you know.”

“Well, here, you can put this on your desk.” I handed her the bloom, which she took delicately, rolling the thorny stem between her fingers.

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