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“Yeah, but Janice retired eight months ago, after we’d already been working here for years,” she says, and she’s right. According to my dad, she was the best financial advisor and accountant he’s ever worked with. It’s probably why the new accounting team has struggled to fill her shoes. Maybe that’s why these numbers are funky.

“Again, why are you worried about the event budgets?” she asks.

“Because as the director, I need to know at all times what the budget is for every event. And I feel like the numbers are falling short.”

“Really?” Dylan asks, swiveling her green fuzzy chair to face me. “In what way?”

“Okay so for instance, the library party…”

“The one with the lanterns,” she nods. “Loved that, by the way.”

“That party had a budget of fifteen thousand. Which I am pretty sure we maxed. Yet if you look at the profit, it’s down.”

Dylan’s brow furrows. “Did they pay less?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Maybe you should talk to the boss about that,” she says with a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle.

I sigh. She’s right. I should, and I will. I just wanted to see if I could figure it out myself first. I am not intimidated to talk to him. I haven’t been since the day I told that bass player to use the hotel’s PA system and get the show rolling right in front of him. He doesn’t intimidate me, at least not in a professional capacity.

However, in our personal world, there may be some…tension. Awkwardness is a better word for it. He literally ran off after we found Jamie that night at that festival, and he didn’t give any explanation. I thought we had a nice day, and he was enjoying it. I just can’t figure out why he took off like that. It was like he’d just found out I was a flesh-eating zombie with a taste for Ashford blood…so weird.

Something spooked him, that’s for sure.

I pack up my things and head to the corporate office of Ashford Hospitality. The building is one of the tallest in the Miami skyline, coming in third after the Cipriani Residences and Okan Tower. It’s a very noticeable building, and until today, I’ve only driven past it when I’m downtown. I’ve never had a reason to go inside before today, but there’s a first time for everything.

As I step out of the revolving door into the vast lobby, the building smells clean and fresh, like wood and soap and prestige. It smells like him. The building also feels like him. The floors are black marble, which contrasts with the perfectly white walls, and the water feature in the middle is neither too quiet nor too loud. It feels like Goldilocks herself came in and picked everything; every detail is just right.

I don’t expect any different from Marcus, aka Ash.

I let him know I was coming. Dropping in would hardly be acceptable from a man like him. I sent him a text earlier.

I need to discuss a few things with you. It’s urgent.

He responded within moments.

Come to Ashford.

I was a little surprised that he wasn’t coming to me. But it probably meant that he was making time for my request despite being very busy. I didn’t mind though; I would now get a peek inside the elaborate life of Marcus Ash Ashford. I’ve been curious for a while, though I don’t want anyone to know that.

I am surprised when my badge from Mission Events allows me access through different corridors of the building. It also grants me access to elevator floors I bet most people who work here have probably never been.

His office is at the end of a hallway on the second to last floor. The door is closed, so I figure I should knock.

“Mr. Ashford,” I say modestly after two raps against the solid wood door. A moment later, the door opens automatically.

“Fancy,” I say as I walk inside and watch the door close behind me.

“It’s not fancy,” he says from his desk. “It keeps me from having to raise my voice, which I am not a fan of doing, or getting up to answer the door.”

“Which I’m guessing you’re also not a fan of doing,” I state. Marcus answers by not answering. He just waves a hand in the direction of the chair in front of him at his desk.

I hurry over and sit down, pulling out my tablet and a notebook. At the end of the day, no matter how fancy the gadgets are, when I have a conundrum that requires extra brainpower, I prefer to do it old-school. I need to be able to scribble down details in a notebook.

“So, I’ve been looking over the budget,” I say, and immediately, as expected, he cuts me off.

“Why?”