Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
And suddenly, the loss hit me like a punch to the gut. Not just the loss of whatever potential I had with James, but of everything. My chest squeezed, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Through a haze I heard the squeaking wheels of the cleaning cart in the distance, and I glanced up to see Ana Lucia pushing it toward James’s room.
“Wait!” I called, jogging toward her.
She pursed her lips as I drew near. “You’re looking worse for wear,” she said after giving me a once-over.
I ignored the comment. “What are you doing?”
She lifted her eyebrows and gestured elaborately toward the cleaning cart. “Cleaning the room? We had a guest check out. That’s sort of what you’re supposed to do when that happens?”
“Yeah, but normally Karlie handles that.”
“If you think I’m calling a seven-months-pregnant woman down here to scrub toilets, you have another think coming,” she scoffed at me.
I shoved a hand through my sweat-damp hair. “Right, yeah. Of course.” I glanced past her toward the room. I didn’t even want to know what Ana Lucia would think when she saw the state of the bed with the sheets all twisted and towels strewn across the floor from when we’d hastily dried ourselves off after the shower.
My cheeks began to blush from the memory. “Why don’t you leave that here and go back to the front desk. I’ll take care of cleaning up.”
She narrowed her eyes skeptically and almost looked like she was going to press the issue, but then she threw her hands up. “Suits me,” she said, spinning on her heel and heading back to the lobby. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”
Once she was gone, I took the ring of extra keys from the cart and let myself into James’s old room. The lights were off, the curtains drawn. Only a strip of sunlight from the doorway illuminated the inside. He’d tidied up before he’d left. The bed was made, the towels hung in the bathroom. Of course he had—thoughtful as ever.
Before I could stop myself, I was crawling across the bed, tossing the covers aside and burying my face in the pillow. It still smelled like James. Everything in the room smelled like him. And us, together. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight, letting my disappointment and sorrow and pain from the day rise to the surface.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried—maybe at my grandparents’ funeral—but now I let the tears come. I pulled the sheets tight around me, pressing my face into the pillow, enveloping myself in his scent and trying to tell myself that it was James’s arms holding me close, trying to imagine his voice whispering in my ear that it would all be okay. That he believed in me.
I almost, almost believed it.
19
James
I’d worked with Dick Sr. for years, and I still felt a slight queasiness in my stomach every time I was summoned to his office. As I rode the elevator to the top floor of the skyscraper bearing his name, I checked my reflection in the mirrored surface of the doors, straightening my tie and running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tamp down the damp ends. I’d been back in the city less than an hour, and already my life was sliding back into its familiar routine. There should have been something comforting in that, but instead something about it made my lungs feel tight. I tugged at my tie, loosening the knot so I could breathe a little easier.
I should have been happy. I should have felt lighter than air, buoyed by the morning’s success. I’d done what I’d set out to do: acquire the Cape Cod property for Dick Sr.’s company. It was the kind of deal I’d brokered dozens of times; it was the kind of work I was good at, that I excelled at.
So why did I feel like such shit?
I tried not to think about the expression on Sawyer’s face that morning when he realized what had happened, that he’d lost the Sea Sprite. Instead I reminded myself of the windfall that Sawyer was about to receive. He was about to become a millionaire! How many people would kill to be in his shoes?
Just think about all the doors this opened for him—he could move anywhere, do anything he wanted. The sky was the limit.
Somehow, however, that didn’t do much to alleviate the guilt simmering in my stomach.
I pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time to wallow in thoughts of Sawyer. I had a job to do, and right now that job involved meeting with Dick Sr. to give him an update on the project and formulate plans for moving forward.
The elevator reached the penthouse with a muted ding, and I stepped out into an ornate marble lobby. Dick Sr.’s secretary greeted me from behind a carved mahogany desk and motioned toward a pair of tufted leather chairs. “He’s with someone right now, but I’ll let him know you’re here. Shouldn’t be but a moment.”