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the door open and stepped through.
    “Holy mother of God,” she uttered. Cheryl hadn’t been unhappy when she left. She’d been downright pissed .

    Sam had spent the last twenty-four hours debating how he would inform Callie of the new shortened time frame for the project. Not that he was worried. He was the boss, she his employee. Her job was to complete the tasks assigned.
    But less than three months was asking a lot. He knew that. Sam had given so much focus to renovating the Anchor Inn, the larger of the two properties he’d inherited three years ago upon his uncle’s passing, that he’d ignored the Sunset Harbor Inn for too long. The smaller hotel had been his uncle’s first purchase back in the seventies, and he’d shared his love for the place with his nephew during the summers Sam spent on Anchor Island.
    Those visits were the few positive memories Sam had from his childhood, filled with adventure and affection, two things he hadn’t received at home. He’d dreamed of the day his uncle would say, “Sammy boy, I’m going to keep you here with me. You don’t have to go home ever again.”
    But that day never came, and the island wasn’t the same without Uncle Morty. Anchor had been the setting for the memories, but Morty had been the one who made them. Without him, this remote speck of dirt felt more like a weight around Sam’s neck, keeping him from chasing bigger game. Putting his mark on larger, more prestigious properties.
    But for now that weight couldn’t be dropped, so Sam shook off the bitter irritation and focused on what lay ahead.
    Like convincing Callie Henderson to turn a ramshackle seaside inn into a contemporary but cozy boutique hotel before Christmas.
    Correction— inform , not convince.
    Sam was staring out the window behind his desk, watching two seagulls fight over something on the sand, when Callie stepped into his office.
    “Good morning,” she said, stopping inside the door. “Yvonne said I should come in.”
    “Yes,” Sam said, returning to his desk but waiting for Callie to take a seat before settling into his own. “I take it your paperwork is complete?”
    Callie nodded. “Yes.”
    “Good. Fine.” Sam cleared his throat, then took a sip of his black coffee. “After our meeting yesterday, I spoke with the new wedding coordinator on the island.”
    “The island has a wedding coordinator? That’s excellent.” Callie crossed her legs and leaned forward, causing her navy blue skirt to ride high on her thigh. “I hope we have a solid relationship with her. Weddings are the perfect business for a boutique hotel.”
    “Yes,” Sam said, tugging on his suddenly too-tight tie. “I’m glad you say that. She has a potential event for the Sunset Harbor Inn, and I told her we would take the business.”
    Callie sat back. “Good. A wedding would be a great way to kick off the new opening next year.”
    Sam winced, then mentally slapped himself for the reaction. “Actually, it isn’t next year.”
    Head tilted to one side, she asked, “The year after? That’s pretty far out to book an event. Oh, I took the liberty of examining my new office yesterday. I hope you don’t mind.”
    He’d have preferred she waited for him to show her around but took her enthusiasm as a good sign. Since he hadn’t been to the inn in several months, he was anxious to hear her assessment.
    “Not a problem. I hope everything was to your expectations.”
    Callie hemmed a bit. “Well . . . not exactly. I don’t believe your former manager left on a positive note.”
    Cheryl hadn’t done anything to give Sam the impression she’d been unhappy. She’d thanked him for the opportunity, admitted she was ready to move on to something else, and bade him farewell. As she didn’t live on the island, but rather over on Hatteras, he hadn’t encountered her since.
    “What gives you that impression?”
    Ice-blue eyes narrowed. “Based on the condition in which I found her office. Plus, it’s