Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“What did I tell you about being delicate with my instruments? You’re like a bull in a china shop!”
Wren backed out of the studio, her fist cinched tight around the newspaper, when she bumped into something firm. She turned and immediately stepped back with a wince. “Mr. Drummond.”
“I put a request in at the front desk for more soap an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry. I can get that for you.” She led him down the hall to the supply closet where Lilly currently exited, an armful of toiletries in her grip. The moment the receptionist spotted their challenging guest, she scowled.
“Mr. Drummond needs more—”
“Soap for his room. I know,” Lilly said dryly. “I told him I’d deliver it.”
The CEO glanced at the haul of branded Haven products overflowing from her arms. “Is that conditioner? I need more of that as well.”
Lilly protectively turned away to shelter the supplies from his view.
Wren stole a bar of soap and a mini bottle of conditioner. “Here you go.”
“Is that an eye mask?”
“No,” Lilly said.
Wren plucked the mask from her arms. “Of course. There you are.”
He narrowed his eyes at Lilly, then winced when a sound bowl hit a particularly sharp frequency that howled long enough for everyone in The Haven to notice. “What is that ungodly noise?”
“That’s just our team getting ready for tonight’s sound therapy session. Have you signed up?”
“No, and I don’t plan to. Do you have any earplugs? How loud does it get?”
Lilly rolled her eyes. “You probably won’t hear it back in New York.”
“Lilly,” Wren snapped, then placed a hand on Mr. Drummond’s shoulder to walk him away from her feral receptionist. “I’m sure you won’t be disturbed by the sounds once you’re back in your cabin. And the sound baths usually only last an hour.”
“That for an hour? People pay for that?”
“It can be very centering.”
“So can a migraine.”
“Sound therapy can actually lower stress, help with sleep, and even reduce muscle tension and pain, Mr. Drummond.”
“Right,” he said, tone full of doubt.
“You might benefit from such an experience.” She gently squeezed his arm. “You’re still carrying a lot of tension in your shoulders.”
His oppositional mood softened until he glanced over her head and scowled. “Something you need?”
Wren turned and immediately let go of Mr. Drummond’s arm. “Greyson.”
“Wren, honey!” Aunt Astrid rushed out of the studio. “Your father got a splinter from your cactus plant. Do you have tweezers?” Her aunt paused and took in the crowded hall where Greyson and the CEO faced off. “Goodness, there’s enough testosterone in this hallway to fuel a small army.” Her smile curved as her gaze bounced between the two men. “Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Astrid.” Greyson nodded in greeting, never taking his eyes off Drummond.
Wren’s heart fluttered, but not in a good way. She kept her eyes on Grey’s scowling face, not daring to leave to find the tweezers. “Lilly, see if there’s a pin or something in the drawer at the front desk.”
“I need to speak to you,” Greyson growled.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Drummond interrupted. “But you both work here and I’m the guest, right? We were in the middle of something.”
Greyson turned his head, his attention slowly returning to Drummond as if he were a glob of shit on his new shoes. Before he could say anything, Wren pushed him into the stock room closet. “Pardon us. We’ll just be a minute.” She shut the door and turned on him. “Grey, you cannot growl at my guests.”
The cramped space reeked of industrial cleaning supplies and fresh linens, but underneath it all, Greyson’s familiar masculine scent of cedar and something uniquely him, made her pulse quicken. Shelves of toilet paper and towels boxed them in, creating an intimate prison where every breath seemed to echo.
“Fuck that guy.” Thankfully, his voice muffled behind the shelves stocked with paper products. But she still worried the guests might overhear.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why were you touching him?”
“I wasn’t—“
“Wren.”
“Fine. I did. But only in a professional sense. I simply pointed out that he carried some tension in his shoulders so he would get off my back about the sound therapy starting in an hour.”
“I don’t want you touching him.”
The possessive rasp in his voice sent heat spiraling through her belly. “Well…I don’t want you ignoring me to chop wood all night. Why are you even here?”
He drew back. “I told you I’d come to take you home.”
She frowned. “No, you didn’t.”
“I texted you.”
She pulled out her cell and flashed the screen. “No, you didn’t. I’m the one who texted you.” She showed him her thread of unanswered texts, and he growled.
“This is why I tell you to use a radio. These things are completely unreliable.”
In the cramped space of linens and supplies, tension seemed to ricochet off the walls as quickly as it radiated from his broad shoulders. There wasn’t enough oxygen to think straight, especially when he was sucking it out of the room with one threatening look after another.