Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
My stomach erupts with flutters.
Gigi:
So? How was your big night at Wolf Hotel?
OMG, Gi. Too much to text about. I’m at the dock now. I’ll come by after to fill you in.
I hop out of the Cherokee and into the stifling heat, my floral captain’s hat dangling from my fingertips as I stroll toward the hut ahead, memories of what happened in there still fresh in my mind.
Skye sits in the window, registering Jeremy’s group—a bunch of twenty-something-year-old couples in string bikinis and board shorts. A group of older women sits on a nearby picnic table, waiting their turn, shopping bags no doubt loaded with booze at their feet. I remember seeing that booking come in—it’s for a sixtieth birthday party, the ladies from all corners of the country. Those groups are always a good time.
Jeremy pounces on me the second I reach the dock, leaving Tiki Two to meet me halfway to mine. “So … Exciting night last night, huh?”
I hop onto Tiki One, tossing my bag onto the floor. Will has come and gone, leaving the coolers and trough well stocked with ice and everything set up. “Yeah, it was something.”
“What was that all about?” he prods.
“I have no idea,” I lie. Well, it’s not entirely a lie. I have ideas but no confirmation.
He leans over the bar on folded arms. “Did Wolf fire him?”
“Not as of a few hours ago, but it’s still early.” I fish out my sunscreen and, squeezing a dollop onto my hand, begin smoothing over my bare skin. “But if he does, I’m going to hire him to run Tiki Three.”
Jeremy blinks. “Seriously?”
I know that tone. “Yeah, why not?”
“No reason. It’s just, the last time you dated an employee, it didn’t go so well.”
“This is different. Ronan is not Cody.”
“No, I guess not.” Jeremy hesitates. “Does he know yet?”
“About?”
“Come on, Sloane.”
I look up into a knowing gaze.
Right. “He doesn’t know yet. No one does, except for you and Gigi.” And Abbi Wolf.
He traces the countertop’s woodgrain with his index finger. “Do you know what you’re gonna do?” He doesn’t have to elaborate.
“I’m not sure, but I think I might have it?” It sounds more like a question than a statement, and it’s the first time I’ve actually said it, not just out loud but even in my head. Almost like a test to see what that sounds like, if uttering the words causes panic. Would it be so crazy? I’ve been making choices—what I eat, what I drink—as if I’ve already decided, even if I haven’t yet admitted it to myself.
And even if Ronan doesn’t want this, I’m thirty-one years old. I have a home and a business. I can do this on my own, if I have to.
I don’t want to, but I can.
Raucous laughter sounds from the stairs as Jeremy’s group begins their descent.
“I guess that’s my cue.”
“Yeah, see you out there.”
He pauses before stepping onto the dock. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a terrific mom.” With that said, he hops out and greets the incoming group with a dramatic bow and flourish.
18. Ronan
“So, Ronan.” Olivia McEowan studies me through thick black frames from across the table of the Coral Cafe like a detective assessing a criminal, deciding how they can best pin a crime on them. “How many years did you say you’ve worked for Wolf Hotels?”
I didn’t. “Close to five.” Rounding up, graciously. “At four locations.”
“Four locations,” she echoes in a soft Texan accent, scanning my bruised knuckles. Her dossier says she’s forty-four. Her platinum-blond hair is freshly colored and styled in a chin-length bob that highlights her angular jaw. She’s wearing navy pants and a white silk sleeveless blouse that accentuates her thin, lean figure. She’s far from a knockout, but she’s spent plenty of money filling and smoothing her face into her ideal image. “In this capacity?”
“Various capacities.”
She hums, but her pursed lips reveal her skepticism.
I hide my smirk behind a long sip of coffee—my second this afternoon, thanks to this stupid schedule. Olivia may have stepped into the role of Black Titan’s CEO due to her father’s untimely demise, but she seems sharp and far from underqualified to hold the position.
Unlike me in my role, I sense she’s digging to prove.
Olivia is nothing like Shelby Singer, my first coffee “date.” That woman was more than thrilled to educate me on all things duck herding the second I brought it up. I even have an invitation to join her next weekend, but given how many times she stroked my arm, I’m pretty sure she’s hoping it’ll end with less herding and more fucking.
When I broached the subject of a large-scale event here, Shelby laughed.
Do you know how much that would cost?
My constituents would skin me alive if they found out!
Why I’m entertaining these silly meetings is beyond me. I’d rather be at my desk, going over budget updates. Words I never thought I’d say.