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one. “This is a guide to the day-to-day running of the Lighthouse Hotel.”
    April took it and leafed through. It seemed to be designed to scare her with charts, tables and spreadsheets. Sewerage problems, bottles of mustard ordered, roof repairs, employee pension plans.
    He passed her a second report. “A summary of the assets you relinquished in exchange.”
    She took the second report and opened to the first page. A photo of her at the piano, singing. And photos of a modern steel-and-glass house, and a state-of-the-art studio—obviously her home. It didn’t look familiar. The next pages had a list of the artists signed to her label, Fairchild Creative, along with the songs they’d released and pictures of their CD covers—though she noted her own songs weren’t listed. She must have kept the rights to those.
    Whoever had put these reports together had done a good job of making one look more attractive than the other—following what were surely Seth’s orders.
    A knock at the door and the call of “room service” brought Seth to his feet. While he was unaware of her scrutiny, April watched him guide the young man in. He moved with masculine elegance, but also with stark efficiency—not wasting a single movement as he signed the bill and showed the man out.
    He may be charming, but he was playing hardball. Playing for keeps.
    She couldn’t forget that.
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    Seth watched April finish her toast. She looked better today—more color in her peaches-and-cream complexion. He’d dreamed last night of touching that skin, finding out whether it was as soft as it looked.
    She wiped her hands on a napkin. “If you’ve finished, I’d like to have a look around.”
    Interesting, that she didn’t have the same enthusiasm for her own house. Once again he wondered about the reality of her amnesia. Surely someone without a memory wouldn’t want an unfamiliar setting to be their first port of call?
    â€œSuch enthusiasm for a hotel,” he said mildly.
    â€œI know what you’re thinking,” she said, and the look in her eye said she had taken in his full meaning. “But reading through that dossier you gave me in the car, nothing seemed familiar besides grief for my father. Nothing else called to me. Even my own mother may as well be a stranger. But the Lighthouse Hotel—” she looked out the window to the windswept coastline “—there’s just something. ”
    â€œPerhaps Jesse showed you photos of it when you signed the contract. Then it would have been one of the last things you saw before the accident. That could explain the impact.”
    â€œCareful, Mr. Kentrell. Any more suggestions like that and I’d be inclined to think you actually believe I’ve lost my memory.”
    â€œIt’s called ‘the benefit of the doubt,’ Ms. Fairchild.”
    She considered him for a moment in silence. “It is. But it’s not a courtesy I expected you to extend to me.”
    â€œI’ll admit I have my reservations,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Your amnesia is very convenient.”
    â€œConvenient in what way?” She frowned. “If I’ve just bought a hotel, as you say, why wouldn’t I want to just take possession?”
    He leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps you’re being cautious.”
    â€œCautious? I have a signed contract.”
    â€œYour legal team may require time to build their defense,” he said, and watched her closely for a sign that he’d hit his mark. He was fairly sure this was her plan, but some part of him hoped it wasn’t. That she was as honest as she appeared.
    â€œAh. My defense.” Her smile was heavily laced with irony. “In the same way your legal team is at this moment mounting a challenge to the contract.”
    He shrugged one shoulder. Of course he had his people on that.
    â€œThen, if I have