Page 16 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
But two days ago, when a group of paparazzi cornered me outside a diner—just to get a better shot of me chewing—I knew I had no choice. I nearly lost it. I’m talking bang-around-somebody’s-camera levels of rage. That’s when I decided.
Get out. Or get arrested.
So I did both the dramatic and the practical. Got a haircut. Left the beard. Changed up the vibe. Packed a single suitcase. When I looked in the mirror, I thought—maybe. Maybe I looked different enough.
But people don’t see haircuts. They see faces. Names. Bank accounts. Stories they think they already know. I have a feeling that if someone already knew Calvin Hale, they still would be able to tell it’s me, even with my disguise.
If anyone recognizes me, I’m leaving. I’ve already made that deal with myself.
I grip the steering wheel once more. Flex my fingers. My reflection stares back at me in the rearview mirror—then I get out.
The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I close the car door behind me. The air is cooler than I expected. Clean. Woodsmoke, wildflowers, maybe even cinnamon.
This is it.
I grab my luggage from the trunk and turn to the porch again.
One porch, one inn, one last-ditch effort to remember who I am when no one’s watching. I hope I find the peace I’m looking for.
I square my shoulders and walk toward the door.
The bell above the door jingles when I step in, but the woman behind the front desk doesn’t even glance up.
She’s pacing, phone pressed to her ear, voice sharp and no-nonsense. “No, I said Room Three’s plumbing was checked last month, and if there’s an issue now, it’s because someone did not fix it properly. And that someone isn’t us, you know? Yes. Yes. Please tell maintenance to come over immediately. I need it done before the end of the day. What do you mean I should have called in the morning? I’ve been trying to reach your office since this morning.”
Her tone is crisp, authoritative. Not angry, just done. I’ve heard that tone in boardrooms. I’ve used that tone in boardrooms.
She ends the call with a sigh and a muttered, “Lord, give me strength,” then drops her phone onto the desk and pulls upsomething on the computer, still talking to herself. Doesn’t even realize I’m here.
Then, from the side hallway, a golden blur barrels toward me like a heat-seeking missile.
“What the—” I jump back as a golden retriever skids into my legs, barking once before sniffing my shoe like he’s TSA.
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Oh. So you’re the dog everyone on the website keeps talking about.”
The retriever—Waffles, if I remember correctly—wags his entire body and stares up at me with the kind of devotion that makes me momentarily forget I hate everything today.
Behind the desk, she finally looks up.
I lock eyes with her. And for the first time in a long time, I exhale. No flash of recognition. No squinting like she’s trying to place me. Nooh my god, are you…?
She just seesme.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” I say, stepping toward the counter.
“Good afternoon.” She smiles at me. “My name is Margot, welcome to the Key & Kettle Inn.”
Oh. This is the superhero Margot. I’ve met Waffles and Margot just a few seconds in. They really do run the place.
“What’s your name, sir?” she asks efficiently. “And how may I help you?”
My heart soars.
What’s your name, sir?
“The name’s Cal. I’m here about a room.”
I’m in a better mood now. If I’m going to stay somewhere for the next three weeks, I’m glad it’s a place where no one knows who I am. No one knows how good it feels for me to introduce myself. It’s been so long since I said, “My name is Cal,” to anyone. My name is usually shouted before I walk into a room. I mean, I love it. It’s a testament to my success and hard work. But it gets to a point…
