Chapter One

      The resort parking lot was quiet.

      That was hardly surprising, since it was seven o’clock on a Monday morning.

      But Cassandra Smith didn’t take chances.

      Ever.

      She backed into her reserved spot but didn’t turn the car off right away. She didn’t even put it in Park. First, she looked around—checking the mirrors, making sure she was going to stay. Pete Carter was walking from his car toward the Gallant Lake Resort. He waved as he passed her, and she waved back, then pretended to look at something on the passenger seat as she turned off the ignition. Pete worked at the front desk, and he was a nice enough guy. He’d offer to walk her inside if she got out now. And maybe that would be a good idea. Or maybe not. How well did she really know him?

      Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She was being ridiculous—Pete was thirty years her senior and happily married. But some habits were hard to shake, and really—why take the chance? By the time she finished arguing with herself, Pete was gone.

      She checked the mirrors one last time before getting out of the car, threading the keys through her fingers in a move as natural to her as breathing. As she closed the door, a warm breeze brushed a tangle of auburn hair across her face. She tucked it back behind her ear and took a moment to appreciate the morning. Beyond the sprawling 200-room fieldstone-and-timber resort where Cassie worked, Gallant Lake shimmered like polished blue steel. It was encircled by the Catskill Mountains, which were just beginning to show a blush of green in the trees. The air was brisk but smelled like spring, earthy and fresh. It reminded her of new beginnings.

      It had been six months since Aunt Cathy offered her sanctuary in this small resort town nestled in the Catskills. Gallant Lake was beginning to feel like home, and she was grateful for it. The sound of car tires crunching on the driveway behind her propelled her out of her thoughts and into the building. Other employees were starting to arrive.

      Cassie crossed the lobby, doing her best to avoid making eye contact with the few guests wandering around at this hour. As usual, she opted for the stairs instead of dealing with the close confines of the elevator. The towering spiral staircase in the center of the lobby looked like a giant tree growing up toward the ceiling three stories above, complete with stylized copper leaves draping from the ceiling. The offices of Randall Resorts International were located on the second floor, overlooking the wide lawn that stretched to the lakeshore. Cassie’s desk was centered between four small offices. Or rather, three smaller offices and one huge one, which belonged to the boss. That boss was in earlier than usual today.

      “G’morning, Cassie! Once you get settled, stop in, okay?”

      Ugh. No employee wanted to be called into the boss’s office first thing on a Monday.

      Blake Randall managed not only this resort from Gallant Lake, but half a dozen others around the world. It hadn’t taken long for Cassie to understand that Blake was one of those rare—at least in her world—men who wore their honor like a mantle. He took pride in protecting the people he cared for. Tall, with a swath of black hair that was constantly falling across his forehead, the man was ridiculously good-looking. His wife, Amanda, really hit the jackpot with this guy, and he adored her and their children.

      Blake was all business in the office, though. Focused and driven, he’d intimidated the daylights out of Cassie at first. Amanda teasingly called him Tall, Dark and Broody, and the nickname fit. But Cassie had come to appreciate his steady leadership. He had high expectations, and he frowned on drama in the workplace.

      He’d offered her a job at the resort’s front desk when she first arrived in Gallant Lake. It was a charity job—a favor to Cathy—and Cassie knew it. It took only one irate male guest venting at her during check-in for everyone to realize she wasn’t ready to be working with an unpredictable public. She’d frozen like a deer in headlights. Once she moved up here to the private offices, she’d found her footing and had impressed Blake with her problem-solving skills. Because Blake hated problems.

      She tossed her purse into the bottom drawer of her desk and checked her computer quickly to make sure there weren’t any urgent issues to deal with. Then she made herself a cup of hot tea, loaded it with sugar and poured Blake a mug of black coffee before heading into his office.

      He looked up from behind his massive desk and gave her a quick nod of thanks as she set his coffee down in front of him. Everyone knew to stay out of Blake’s way until they saw a cup of coffee in his hand. He was well-known for not being a morning person. He took a sip and sighed.

      “I was ready to book a flight to Barbados after hearing about the wedding disaster down there this weekend, but then I heard that apparently I—” he emphasized the one-letter word with air quotes “—already resolved everything by flying some photographer in to take wedding photos yesterday, along with discounting some rooms. Not at our resort, but at a competitor. I hear I’m quite the hero to the bride’s mother, but I’ll be damned if I remember doing any of it.”

      Blake’s dark brows furrowed as he studied her over the rim of his coffee cup, but she could see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The tension in her shoulders eased. Despite his tone, he wasn’t really angry.

      “The manager called Saturday looking for you,” she explained. “Monique was in a panic, so I made a few calls. The bride’s mother used the son of a ‘dear family friend’ to organize the wedding, instead of using our concierge service. The idiot didn’t book the rooms until the last minute, and we didn’t have enough available, which he neglected to mention to the bride’s mom. Then he booked the photographer for the wrong date.” She smiled at the look of horror on Blake’s face. “We’re talking wrong by a full month. It was quite a melodrama—none of which was our fault—but the bride