Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
The corners of my lips lift involuntarily. She makes it sound like I’m Lady Chatterley, not a woman who occasionally pops her head up from the business section of the news to give in to the human nature of lust.
“You deserve whatever you desire, you know,” Samantha continues. “If you want a lover, take one. If you want a relationship, create one. If you want the whole white picket fence fantasy, get it. Alone or with someone. You’re Kayla Fucking Harrington, for God’s sake, woman. Act like it.”
“Is this how you talk to your clients?” I deadpan.
“No, but I wish I could sometimes.” She sighs longingly. “Lucky for you, you get the sister special, complete with tough love, because you, of all people, can handle it.”
She’s right. I can handle anything. I always have. No matter the crisis or issue, I’m the go-to girl. And somewhere along the way, people even quit asking me to do it. They just trusted that I would. Hell, I knew to intervene before problems even materialized, predicting and intercepting them as they formed. But living my life as the one Harrington who can deal with anything is exhausting. “Thanks. I think,” I say with a wry twist of my lips.
Samantha does that magic trick all therapists have—she stays silent, waiting me out while I deliberate long and hard about what I’m about to say and its potential ramifications. Finally, I carefully divulge, “I had one of those encounters that only exists in fiction—a semi-anonymous, one night of complete and utter madness.”
She gasps, clapping her hands fast but silently so as not to draw the attention of the ladies in the kitchen. “And?” she whisper-screams.
Taking a deep breath, I admit, “It was good, like so good that it stays with you, playing on a loop in your head, over and over until it makes you crazy.” She grins like that’s a good thing, when it’s not. It’s a bad thing, a very bad thing. “Stop it,” I scold her before finally, flat-out asking what I really want to know. “Have you ever heard of a one-night stand becoming something more and actually working?”
I keep it pretty simple and straightforward, conveniently leaving out the two guys-and-one me factor even as I picture the three of us in that hotel room, and then, on opposite sides of my big desk, which thankfully covered my body’s heated reaction to their unexpected presence.
I could see Riggs and Maddox again, spend a long night or even an entire weekend in orgasmic bliss, but you don’t track someone down for a repeat fucking. Riggs might’ve said ‘one date’, but they want more from me. I just don’t know what yet. And that’s when I shut down, hiding behind my strong and fortified defensive walls. But I wonder… what if I had said yes to dinner? Or more?
“Uh, have you met me and Chance?” she quips back, her face screwed up in a ‘duh’ expression. “That’s how it started. Then we were casual, nothing serious, just getting our jollies off, but look what happened.” She waves a hand, flashing her wedding ring while indicating not only their shared home, but their joined lives.
I swallow thickly. I don’t know if I want that. I also don’t know if I don’t want that. Again, I’d never really thought too deeply about it, always focusing on the next contract, the next investment, the next opportunity at Blue Lake. I never thought about… me.
But maybe I should.
Digging deeper, she asks, “Are you thinking of revisiting a one-night stand for an encore performance? Or maybe even more?” Her tone is that of an astute therapist. The brightness in her eyes is all friendly excitement.
Instead of answering her, I just say, “I don’t know. Just feeling a bit left behind, I guess, which is not the time to be making life-changing decisions.” If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that rational, strategic plans from a position of power are how you make positive growth, whether it’s in business or in life.
She peers at me curiously, her head tilted in a way that makes me wonder if she can actually read my mind. “I’d argue that’s exactly the time to make life-changing decisions. If you want something different, make the choices that get you closer to whatever that is. You deserve it all—career, love, family, happiness… the life of your dreams. Move toward that.”
I almost laugh. She makes it sound so easy, like picking dinner options from a prix fixe menu. But her earnestness has me swallowing down my flippant response. “Thank you. I’ll think about it,” I say sincerely. “Also, can I retroactively invoke a confidentiality clause and request you don’t mention this conversation to Chance?”
“Of course.” She laughs brightly. More seriously, she vows, “You can always talk to me, Kayla. About anything. I’ll keep it between us.”