Dr. Porter’s voice was so loud in her head, Fay glanced around the cramped room, just to make sure he hadn’t somehow appeared out of thin air, his ever-present notepad in hand.
Fay sighed. Control your thoughts. Control your thoughts.
Easier said than done, Dr. Porter. Much easier said than done. But she’d give it a go.
“This is wrong,” Zach said, his low voice dragging her back to the present before she could put the whole controlling-her-thoughts theory into practice.
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to the paper she’d printed out, specifically, the room rate. “This isn’t the price listed in the brochure.”
Caught. She hadn’t realized he’d checked out the prices when she’d shown him the pictures of the fitness area.
“Oh. Yes, well, that’s...that’s a special we’re running.”
“Is that so?” he murmured, his quiet voice doing odd things to her nerves. To her pulse rate.
She nodded. Swallowed. “April is slow—not much going on around here this month, what with skiing season being over—and May isn’t much better, so we decided to offer a discount.” She waved her hand in what she’d wanted to be a casual gesture but ended up being more of a frantic, flopping motion. “To draw in more guests.”
He studied her and she squirmed. Rolled up the corner of an invoice she had to pay. Unrolled it. Rolled it again. She didn’t like to be the center of attention, didn’t like to be singled out or watched with such...intensity.
And she really didn’t like how this particular man watched her. As if seeing through her was no challenge at all.
Finally, thankfully, he shifted forward, and she thought he was going to sign the agreement, only to slowly, deliberately crumple it in his hand. “I’ll pay full price.”
She opened her mouth and immediately wished she hadn’t when she made a squeaking sound, like a mouse caught in a trap. “But...the sale...”
Her words trailed off as he leaned forward to lay the crumpled paper in front of her. “Full price.”
Embarrassment swept through her, a wave of heat that flowed from her toes to the top of her head. Honestly, she might as well just stay red, as often as she blushed in front of this man.
Her own fault, she was sure. But part of her wondered if he couldn’t accept some of the blame, as well.
She fixed the room rate and printed out a new form. Handed it to him wordlessly.
He read it then took a pen from the ceramic holder on her desk, his grip on it awkward. “You’re not very good,” he said, head down as if having to concentrate on signing his own name.
Her first instinct was to apologize for...well...whatever it was she’d done wrong. To beg for another chance.
But something held her back, kept the words stuck in her throat. Something that, if she didn’t know better, she would claim was irritation.
Maybe even the slightest bit of anger.
She pushed it aside. She had no right to be angry. Hadn’t she thought the same thing herself, many, many times? That she wasn’t good enough. Not smart enough. Not strong enough. Never enough.
Which was exactly why she didn’t need him pointing it out. She did an excellent job of questioning her abilities on her own.
She tried to flatten the corner of the invoice she’d rolled. Smoothed it and smoothed it and smoothed it with her thumb. “You’ll find a guest survey in your room.” She sounded a bit...put out...so she softened her tone. Forced her hands to still. “You can fill it out and let us know if you’re unhappy with any aspect of your stay here—including my job performance.”
He lifted his head, eyebrows raised. “I’m not unhappy with your job performance.”
“You said I wasn’t very good at it,” she reminded him, working to keep the hurt, the offense, from her voice.
He put the pen back. “I wasn’t talking about your job.”
She frowned. Don’t ask, she told herself. What other people think about you is none of your business. It’s what you think of yourself that matters.
Not true. It did matter what others thought, how they felt about you. If they liked you. If they loved you. If they were going to stay with you, be by your side no matter what.
It was all that mattered.
“What were you talking about then?” she asked, telling herself the only reason she did so was to prove she was strong enough to handle the truth. Brave enough to ask for criticism. Even as she braced for both.
He hesitated, but then he lifted his right shoulder, shrugging his hesitancy off. “I was talking about you not being a very good liar.”
She frowned. And what was wrong with that? Shouldn’t she want to be known as someone honest and trustworthy?
So why did his words sting?
“I didn’t lie,” she told him, keeping her voice calm as she took the paper from him. “I just hadn’t...advertised the discounted room rates yet.”
She checked his signature. It didn’t match the one on the back of his credit card. Not even close.
What should she do?
Neil would know. He’d do whatever he needed to get to the truth. His competitive nature wouldn’t settle for anything less than getting his own way.
Maddie wouldn’t question her instincts or the proof before her. She’d be laying into Zach, pestering him until she got answers.
Fay was sure there was a simple explanation for it all—the change in address, the different signatures, the differences between him in real life and the picture on his license.
And it was her job as Bradford House’s manager to find that explanation. She had to protect her employees and the other guests. Had to protect her sons.
She couldn’t let them down. Couldn’t make a mistake.
“Your address is different,” she rushed out, her words loud in the quiet room, shocking her and, if the slight widening of his eyes was anything to go by, surprising him, as well. To hide her nerves, she stood, the height advantage giving her the ability to look down at him.
“On your license?” she continued, hating that she’d made it sound like a question. Like she was begging for his response. “The picture on it doesn’t look like you, either. I mean, not exactly like you... And your signature doesn’t match. On your credit card.” She licked her lips. “If...if it is your credit card.”
He stood, wobbling a bit and having to lay his hand on her desk to catch his balance, making her think once again that he’d hurt his leg. “The address is different,” he said, “because I recently moved and, as I’m not sure exactly where I’m going to be, I didn’t bother changing it with the DMV. The picture was taken over three years ago—” He gestured to his hair, his beard. “Long before either of these grew.”
It made sense. It all made perfect, logical sense. But there was still one thing that felt off... “And the signature?”
“I used to be right-handed,” he said simply.
Used to be...
She shut her eyes on an inner groan. Oh, God, she was such a complete ninny, scared of her own shadow. Wasn’t Dr. Porter always saying Fay had the ability to choose her thoughts? Her reactions?
She could have chosen to believe the best in the man in front of her. Instead of giving in to her fears.
He wasn’t even the only person to want to rent a room for longer than a few days. Just last summer