Page 7 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

His mind swam with ideas about what he could say to make the CEO change his mind.

“I know how to fix this.”

The words were out before he even realized what he was saying.Fix it? How, you moron? The damage is done. Now it’s just suturing the wound. There’s no repairing anything.

Henry leaned forward, watching Ethan intently. The juxtaposition of his serious expression with his exposed feet was downright comical, even as Ethan refused to allow himself one iota of amusement. “Do you?”

As always, the inflection in his tone was so subtle, Ethan didn’t know quite how to parse it. Despite his idiosyncrasies, the man was not a fool. That was why Ethan respected him, disdain for footwear and all; why he tried to impress him—to gain his respect. He was cunning, wise, and somewhere deep down, even caring. Or at least enough to keep Ethan invested in his job, in the company. In making him proud.

“Yes.” Ethan punctuated his response with an adamant nod. “We need to turn this around in our favor somehow. No, better yet, we need to ignore it completely.”

Oh shit, oh fuck, he was spiraling into contradictions. This wasn’t good.

Henry looked confused. “Well, which is it?” he asked after a beat.

Great fucking question.

“Both, sir.”What thefuck,Ethan? Think, damn it.“We need an escape.”

What?

Obviously, Ethan’s abject desire to leave the room, possibly even the country, translated into the words that left his mouth. Resisting the urge to groan, he rolled his lips together as he tried to plot out his next steps. To his amazement, Henry spoke up instead.

“Yes,” Henry said, appearing to mull over the words and shocking Ethan completely. “An escape. Some idyllic place. Calm, beautiful.” He eyed Ethan sharply. “Very little tabloid or media presence—in fact, the fewer people there altogether, the better.”

Ethan was already nodding. “Absolutely.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “And then?”

Shit, that’s right. I was supposed to be the one doing the thinking.He couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that Henry was guiding him toward some sort of inevitable conclusion in his mind. Ethan just prayed he and the old man were on the same thought train—and that it led to Employment Station.

“We’ll mentor a new couple.” The old man’s face grew stormy, and Ethan hastened to add: “A secure one this time. A sure thing. We’ll have them sign NDAs. Make sure they need us just as much—morethan—we need them.”

The CEO relaxed slightly, nodding.

“Someone who needs to make sure their movie does well.” An idea came to him. “Or that their sequel doesn’t flop.”

A glint appeared in Henry’s eyes. Perhaps they were on the same train after all.

“Go on.”

* * *

Half an hourlater, Ethan stepped out of Fordham’s office with two things he hadn’t been sure he’d have before he’d entered: a job and a plan.

Looking down at his phone, still black and silent, he turned the old man’s words over in his head—about the escape, the setting, the perfect solution.

Europe,Ethan had suggested.A villa. Or a crumbling castle.

He thought of traveling, of the setting of some of the places that came to mind, the composition of the image playing out in his head in a series of mental photographs. It would be perfect.

No,Fordham had insisted.Closer to home.New York, outside the city. A cottage or a bed-and-breakfast.

The wordcottagehad triggered something in Ethan. A deeply buried memory. A connection.

Are you thinking of something?Fordham had asked, likely seeing the gleam in his eye.

But Ethan hadn’t been ready to commit yet, hadn’t wanted to admit his thoughts at all.