Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I have a thousand questions churning in my mind. I want to ditch this tour, run after Byron, and demand answers.
But I have no right to answers.
At least I didn’t kiss him. Or he didn’t kiss me. Something inside nudges at me. Maybe that’s why he hesitated last night.
Hazel has moved on and we’re led into a conference room. It’s time to role-play some customer service scenarios.
I need some air. I need some time and space to think.
I almost kissed the boss last night. Of all the things on my to-do list at the moment—and it’s a long list—almost kissing my boss is definitely not on there. In fact, it’s on my list of things not to do.
Frank was the boss. I kissed him, and then he kinda became the boss of my personal life as well as my professional life. Kissing him—or rather, when Mom found out I kissed him—was the beginning of the end of me being in charge of my life. He was my boss at work, and if I had married him, probably my boss at home too. He was the one with money and power and status. I became an adjunct to him, someone who didn’t warrant her own opinions about anything that came with a bill. Where we ate, what movies we saw, what hand soap we bought for the kitchen sink—none of it was up to me.
And it all started with a kiss.
I don’t want to get involved with another man who has all the power. Frank owned a car dealership. How much worse will the dynamic be if the person I’m kissing owns a resort for billionaires? My lack of control would just be amplified being with a man like Byron.
The excitement I felt this morning about seeing Byron tonight and maybe actually kissing the man I almost kissed last night fades into a pool at my feet. I can’t let things between Byron and me go any further. I can’t go on repeating my mistakes. I have to create a life for myself, rather than living in the shadow of someone else’s.
ELEVEN
Byron
When the bus pulls up outside the cabins, I’m already on the front porch waiting for Rosey. The look of shock and confusion on her face today when I saw her at the elevators has been scorched onto my mind all day.
There’s no doubt that she will know by now that I’m the owner of the Colorado Club. Maybe I should have told her before. It’s just nice being the guy next door sometimes. Wherever I go in this town, I feel like I’m wearing a sandwich board.
The son of Mack Miller.
The kid from Star Falls who ran off to New York and never came back.
I guess I just wanted to be myself with Rosey.
She walks up to our cabins, avoiding my gaze.
“Hey,” I say when she gets near enough to hear me.
She looks up and the disappointment in her eyes is like a sharp punch to the chest. Did I cause that?
“Hey,” she says back. “I’m super tired. It’s been a long day. I’m gonna head inside.” She pulls her mouth into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. All the promise has seeped away.
“Rosey,” I say, standing, but I don’t know what I’m going to follow it up with.
She shakes her head. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired is all.”
I can’t force her to stay and talk to me. I watch as she takes the steps up to her front door and lets herself inside. The lights in her cabin glow from the windows until, one by one, she shuts the drapes, snuffing out the orange glow.
“Fuck!” I kick the post at the end of the porch railing in frustration.
The post seems to respond with a yowl and a hiss. I turn and see the white cat that appeared yesterday has reappeared.
“Don’t spit at me,” I say. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The cat arches her back and shows me her teeth—like a snake about to bite. Last night with Rosey, the cat had been all cuddles and purring. Now it looks like she just found its prey—me.
“Go find Rosey if you want her.”
The cat turns back, almost with a shrug, and marches along the railing, hopping off at the end and heading to Rosey’s cabin like it understood just what I was telling it to do. It jumps up, leaning on its hind legs, scratching at her front door. In a few minutes, Rosey appears. She doesn’t look over to me, she just bends down to greet the cat and lets her inside.
Lucky fucking cat.
Maybe I need to try the same tactic.
I go back inside and heat up some milk on the stove. If Rosey won’t come to me, maybe I need to go to her. With a peace offering. Not that I did anything wrong. Okay, so maybe I failed to tell her I owned the place where she worked. But she can’t be mad with me forever about that. Can she?