Free Crazy in Love by Lani Diane Rich Page B

bartender sacking out on her couch count as getting personal? Had she violated the “need to know” rule when she told him about being haunted by Aunt Esther? And how exactly does one “walk around like you own the place”? Flynn was pretty sure she walked the same way whether she owned a place or not.
    Although, technically, she ’d never owned anything before. And she didn’t really own this place, either; her father did. Still, she wasn’t comfortable with her task here, so secluding herself in the cottage—while perhaps not the mature choice—had been the preferable one.
    She checked her watch. Five minutes to noon. She could always stand up Gordon Chase and hide out here for the rest of the day, except that she was going to have to face the music eventually, anyway, and she was intrigued by Chase. She wondered if he was really as bad as Tucker had made him out to be, or if they were just rivals who ’d fought over something stupid, like a woman. Or a pizza. She wouldn’t put it past either of them, and it sure would explain a lot.
    Either way, it didn ’t matter. She couldn’t hide out here forever. Sooner or later she’d have to deal with things, and it might as well be sooner.
    She grabbed her purse off the half-moon table and headed out the door, locking it behind her. Once outside, she took a deep breath and tried to walk like she owned the place. Holding her head high, she attempted to view her surroundings as though they were hers. The trees that filtered the gorgeous fall sun into dappled patches that grazed her feet; the cobblestone walkway that led her past the east wing; the birds that chirped as she walked by, including one that almost pooped on her shoulder. All hers. It worked, kind of, until she found her way to the huge French doors at the front, pushed through them, and…
    … wow.
    The rich red carpeting was the first thing to grab her notice. It had obviously been there for a while, but it still looked great. The walls were wainscoted in deep cherrywood panels, then luscious mauve wallpaper freckled with a subtle Victorian design stretched up to the corniced ceiling, which was easily twenty feet high. Above her head, a tremendous chandelier released light in glimmering droplets. The lobby stretched out to her left with a series of seating clusters—some with chairs, some with love seats, all intimate—that revolved around a fireplace so large you could easily fit a horse in it. To her right, the interior entrance to the restaurant—she’d seen the exterior entrance the night before, when trying all the outside doors until she found the bar, which was tucked away on the other side of the restaurant.
    I own this place. I belong here, she affirmed internally, although the queasiness in her stomach argued the other way.
    “ Can I help you?”
    Startled, Flynn glanced up and saw a perky young blonde smiling at her from behind the huge front desk.
    Flynn swallowed, held her back straight, and tried to walk like she owned the place. She caught her toe on the carpet and flailed a bit, but managed to regain her footing and continued the rest of the way to the front desk without incident.
    “ Yes. Hi. I’m Flynn Daly.”
    The blonde grinned and held out her hand. Flynn took it.
    “Oh, hi! I’m Annabelle DeCross. I’m your concierge-slash-bookkeeper-slash-Girl Friday. Anything you need, really. I’m so glad to meet you. How was your trip? I heard you took the train. Are you afraid of flying, because I’m terrified. It’s totally unnatural to be thirty thousand feet in the air, don’t you think, Flynn? Oh, is it okay that I call you Flynn? Or would you prefer Ms. Daly? Esther always had us call her Esther, because she was Esther, you know?”
    Annabelle finally released Flynn ’s hand and Flynn forced a smile as she pulled it back, hoping Annabelle wouldn’t be able to tell that she was kinda weirded out. Flynn had always been naturally suspicious of perky people, and Annabelle was