Page 106 of Better When Shared
"Because for the first time in years, you look like a person instead of a corporate executive. And you never loved the hotels like I do. You spent summers in the countryside with grandfather, while I was at grandmother’s side, learning the ins and outs of being a badass boss bitch."
I burst out laughing. “A badass boss bitch.”
“Yep. Learned that phrase on the internet. I think it suits Grandmother well, right?”
"It does. And I'll consider it," I said, surprising myself with the honesty. “You’re a lot like her, you know. Smart, savvy, and full of great ideas.”
She grinned. “And you’re a lot like him, deep down. A bit cranky, set in your ways, and slow to warm up. But beneath it all, you’re deeply loving and loyal to a fault. Look at what you did for Caleb when he was having a hard time working for the Bancroft Group. You took on more even though it nearly killed you, just so he could leave and find himself.”
“It didn’t kill me,” I muttered. “I was fine.”
Gemma stopped and turned to face me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Tristan, I know about the panic attacks. I just never knew what to do about them." She squeezed my arm briefly, a massive gesture of affection for my standoffish cousin. "It seems those two figured it out, though, and I’m so glad. I was so worried. Now go shower and change before someone else sees how you’re dressed.”
Chapter 17
Marco
By the next day, my body still carried the perfect ache of too much sex. My muscles were loose and satisfied, my skin still hypersensitive from hours of exploration that had redefined everything I thought I knew about pleasure.
And I absolutely hated this fancy hotel.
"This is much worse than the Bancroft Inn," I grumped.
Juniper laughed and patted my shoulder. "Poor baby, being forced to stay in a four-star hotel instead of a rundown inn that was running low on food."
"The food was a problem, I can admit that," I said, grinning at her. "But I miss him already."
"Tristan has to work," she said. "And you told me you were going to be answering emails."
She was working too, technically. Her sketchbook lay open across her lap, fingers moving with quick confidence as she captured ideas that had been percolating since we'd first walked through the inn's forgotten rooms.
I watched her sketch, mesmerized by the way her hand moved across the paper like she was conducting an orchestra only she could hear. Her sketches weren't technically beautiful, just a mishmash of ideas and notes and thoughts, but I saw beauty in them.
This was Juniper in her element—creative energy focused into something tangible, practical dreams taking shape through graphite and vision. Her tongue darted out to touch her lower lip in concentration, a gesture that sent heat curling through my already sensitized body.
"What about the guest room configurations?" I asked, reaching out to trace patterns on her bare thigh that made her shiver without breaking her artistic focus. "Tristan was interested in preserving the original proportions."
"Mmm." She added shading to what looked like a four-poster bed, her pencil capturing the way morning light would filter through mullioned windows. "I think we'd work on one wing at a time. Twelve rooms initially, like we discussed. Mix of standard queens and premium suites, but each one completely unique, just as they are new. But… less musty."
The way she said 'we' made something warm bloom behind my ribs. She was talking about this project like it was already decided, like Tristan's participation was a foregone conclusion rather than a possibility we were still hoping to explore. I loved her optimism, her ability to see potential and dive in headfirst, but I couldn't quite shake the worry that he might decide the affair at the inn was just that… a fleeting, temporary affair.
My laptop sat on the nightstand, closed but calling to me with the gentle insistence of responsibility. Despite our amazing staff, the Bindery Hotel Group didn't run itself, even when we were distracted by beautiful Englishmen. Our managers were fantastic, but we'd built the company on personal attention and care that couldn't always be delegated to others.
I sighed, reaching for the MacBook. "Just want to make sure nothing's burning down while we're exploring... our next project."
Juniper's grin was pure mischief. "I have to say, watching you be responsible while half-naked is incredibly sexy."
The laptop opened to reveal exactly what I'd hoped—a manageable number of messages, mostly routine updates rather than crisis management. Our profit-sharing program had transformed staff motivation in ways that still amazed me, turning employees into partners who took ownership of problems instead of just reporting them upward.
Sarah, from the Portland flagship, had sent photos of the new art installation in the lobby. Revenue was up twelve percent fromlast quarter, occupancy holding steady at ninety-two percent despite increased competition from chain hotels moving into the Pearl District.
The Seattle property reported similar success, their rooftop garden producing herbs that the kitchen was transforming into cocktail ingredients that had food bloggers posting rave reviews. Even our newest acquisition in Vancouver was exceeding projections, the former textile factory proving perfect for our blend of industrial character and boutique comfort.
"Everything good?" Juniper asked without looking up from her sketching.
"Better than good." I scrolled through quarterly reports that read like love letters to our business model. "Turns out hiring good people and paying them well was a brilliant strategy. Who could have predicted that?"
She laughed, the sound warm and familiar in ways that made my chest tight with affection. "Revolutionary thinking."
