“Oh.” That catches my attention immediately. I lean in. “Annoying how?”
“It’s like when I used to be a chef,” he begins. “It was my dream when I was a kid. I loved food, and I loved feeding people.” He leans toward me conspiratorially, though his eyes stay on the road. “Between you and me, I was a chunky kid growing up. Always eating. Right up until ninth grade, when I discovered girls and got myself a gym membership. Even after that, I still loved food. Cooking felt… profound. A way of bringing people together. Making it for myself, having it made for me, making it for others—I loved all of it, so I went all in. Trained at the Culinary Institute of America. Got my diploma. Became the real deal.”
I stay quiet, letting him talk.
“But once it became my job, it changed.” He exhales. “It became obligation instead of joy. A daily grind. Everything so formal, so process-oriented. It became more about portion control and profit margins, and less about creativity and inspiration. The magic faded. I wasn’t the kid inventing new dishes to impress my friends anymore. I was the guy grabbing a burger on the way home because I couldn’t stand the thought of cooking anything after a full day in the kitchen.”
I understand that more than he knows.
“Anyway,” he continues, “that’s kind of what’s happening now. At first, it was fun being brainwashed, like you said. Lighthearted. Transformative, even. But now that I have todo the brainwashing… it’s a lot harder. Feels like something’s missing again.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t understand.”
He gives me a slow, wicked smirk. “That’s because I forgot to mention one key detail about who I am.” He taps the wheel lightly. “You’re talking to the Brainwasher-in-Chief.”
It takes a second for the words to land. Then my jaw drops. “Wait—wait, you’re?—”
“Yup. Luke Simmons. Founder and part-owner of the New Life Retreat Center, at your service.”
CHAPTER 2
Reid
Luke hasn’t called.
I told him to call when he got to the Sheriff’s station, or at least on his way back, but he’s done neither, which is typical for Luke.
I probably shouldn’t have sent him, but I was tied up, and Talon… well, he’d probably have an aneurysm if he had to talk to anyone who wasn’t Luke or me. He also doesn’t like cops, for reasons he refuses to discuss.
Talon’s a part-owner, born and raised in these mountains, but he still keeps to himself, living in a cabin in the woods and avoiding guests and most staff. That leaves Luke as our spokesperson, which means every simple errand turns into a detour. He loves a side quest.
Which is probably where he is now—and why he’s not answering his phone.
Annoyance tightens my shoulders.
Some days it feels like I’m running this place alone.
I really didn’t need this today. I’m already on edge about a possible threat to one of our guests.
Amanda finally started opening up yesterday. She comes here to escape her partner—who also happens to be the mayor of hertown. Old money, a very long political reach, and a reputation for being a dangerous man to cross.
He wasn’t supposed to know where she was, but yesterday a message found its way to her anyway.
Our security’s solid, but I still want the local police to be aware of the situation. Paper trails matter when things escalate.
Hence Luke’s trip this morning.
Hopefully he stuck to the script.
I push back from my desk and stand, pacing. My shoulders are tight, a dull headache building at the base of my skull.
I take a breath. Then another. Letting some of the tension drain.
It helps. A little.
But the moment my thoughts loosen, they land on her.
Sierra.