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eyes.
    “Sorry,” he said, stepping up to the counter. “My mind was someplace else.” Somewhere he’d spent six years avoiding. “Are you going to lunch soon?” he asked.
    Yvonne checked the clock on the wall behind her. “I planned to leave in about ten minutes. Did you need me to stay and handle something?”
    “No, I need you to spend the afternoon helping Ms. Henderson organize the Sunset Harbor office.”
    Yvonne nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll have Rachel cover the desk while I’m gone. Do you know if Ms. Henderson needs any sort of office supplies? File folders and the like?”
    Sam didn’t know anything. He hadn’t even bothered to look in the office to assess the damage for himself.
    “I’m afraid not. Give her a call and see what she needs. Take her anything she asks for.”
    “Yes, sir,” Yvonne responded, though still eying him as if he might plow into a wall.
    With a quick tap on the counter, Sam nodded, then headed for his office. His suit jacket hit the coat stand in the corner and his tie was loose before his ass hit the leather seat. In less than forty-eight hours, Callie Wellman—Henderson now—had surprised, debated, cajoled, and aroused him. He shuddered to think what the hell she might do next.

    Callie had moved to her third pile of invoices, customer receipts, and unopened mail when Yvonne knocked on her office door. Resisting the urge to hug her would-be savior, she offered the woman a seat instead.
    “I brought everything you asked for except the graph paper,” Yvonne said, setting a stack of printer paper, file folders, pens, highlighters, and labels on the only corner of the desk Callie had been able to clear. “We didn’t have any in the supply room. But I called in an order and we should have it tomorrow.”
    Somewhere in her upper twenties by Callie’s guess, Yvonne was quite beautiful, with a runway-ready body and a distinct air of confidence, as if she felt completely prepared to take on the world and win.
    What Callie wouldn’t give for that trait. Or that body.
    “Is there an office supply store on the island?” Callie asked, noting again that she needed to take a day to explore her new surroundings.
    “Not on Anchor, no. But there’s a store farther up the Outer Banks willing to deliver down here if we order enough.” Yvonne shrugged. “I put all of this on the order as well, since we’ll need it again eventually.”
    “Thank you so much.” Callie indicated the stacks on the desk. “I’m not sure where to begin. The place looked as if this Cheryl person purposely threw every piece of paper into the air before she left.”
    Yvonne looked as horrified about the mess as Callie had been when she’d first entered the office. “I had no idea she was this pissed off,” she said, shaking her head.
    Yvonne’s combination of mocha-colored skin and amber eyes made her look like a one-of-a-kind work of art. Callie had never seen eyes that color before. They were mesmerizing.
    “How about I start with the piles,” Yvonne offered, “and you assess the file drawers? Did she leave anything in them at all?”
    Callie opened the desk drawer to her left. Papers were wedged in every which way, many folded or mangled completely. “She did.” Callie sighed. “Your plan sounds as good as any. Stack by year, then by expense. Was payroll handled out of this office as well?”
    Yvonne shook her head. “No. All payroll for both hotels is handled from the Anchor.”
    “Thank God.” The task ahead felt overwhelming, but at least she wasn’t in this alone. “Let’s get started. Once we get this mess organized, I can make sure everything is in the system before we archive. Keep your fingers crossed the database doesn’t look nearly as bad as this office.”
    As the two of them went to work, Callie was tempted to ask why a woman like Yvonne was on Anchor Island, instead of gracing runways in Milan. She also wondered how Sam managed to resist his office manager’s exotic