Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 185(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 123(@300wpm)
I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom, taking care of an errand that while necessary doesn’t help calm the nerves swirling in my stomach. Once I’m finished, I walk through my room in the three-story hotel, my own private quarters away from the guests on the top floor, perks of being the manager of the Inn. So, what if I have to traipse up and down the stairs several times a day? It’s great exercise, plus it means even less time of having to deal with my father, who without a doubt is trying to badger Mom into giving up the Inn through the divorce proceedings she finally asked for. I’m not sure what tipped her over the edge, nor am I going to ask. I’m only glad it’s finally happening. As for the Inn, well, fortunately, my great-grandparents had a stipulation in their will and how the Inn gets left behind. It went to my grandparents, and then my mother. Should something happen to her, it would go to me. Although judging by the way dear old dad is going about things and the way he attempts to manipulate the situation, it could backfire on us. I’ll be rooting for my mother. No way will I allow her to go down without swinging a few punches if it means she can keep what’s rightfully hers.
I take a deep breath. The piece of plastic digs in the palm of my hand, but I refuse to look down at the response as I continue my path from the bathroom. The Inn is historic in all the preservation we could afford after a long history of hurricanes, tornadoes, and everything else along the way. Hours upon hours, Mom, I, and a few other employees helped breathe life back into what my family loved as much as my mother and I have. The wood floors creak when you walk across them, sanded and refinished to a gleaming dark stain matching the trim around the whole room. The walls are painted in a muted white beige tone, there are wood tray ceilings, and plantation shutters on the door that leads to the small balcony, the windows sporting the same treatment. A plus when you’re working the front desk well into the early hours of the morning, checking in out-of-towners, taking care of rooms should the guests need towels, soap, or helping them out when they’re locked out after a long night out partying. I pull open the doors, ready to watch the sun rise over the water. The partial view still steadies my racing heart. No matter the complication in my life, I only hope it will do the same today. I’m still in my night clothes—an oversized shirt and sweatpants that have seen better days, hair in a bun on top of my head secured with a jaw clip. There’s no coffee in my hand like usual, and my phone is charging on top of the nightstand. There’s no way I could answer if my mom or best friend called. The sleep I hoped would come last night never did. Nope, instead, I tossed and turned, got up a million times praying to the period gods that mine would magically arrive. It didn’t, like I was ninety-nine percent sure it wouldn’t, causing me to do the one thing I wasn’t prepared for even if I am well over the age of thirty. It’s not like I’m married, in a committed relationship, or, you know, actually knew more about Boston than the fact he was from New York, was here on business, and the days were hot, the nights hotter, and the orgasms were fucking phenomenal. Okay, fine, I know more than that, but it’s beside the point. There were no promises made. One night a month ago, he left to head back to New York. I was fast asleep, and when I woke up, there was no sign of him except a discarded handkerchief. We’ll come back to that. I’m still scared to admit that I keep it in my nightstand drawer and look at it every night before I go to bed. We exchanged numbers. He didn’t use mine first, so being the stubborn woman I am, I didn’t use his either.
The only problem I have is how good it was between us, too good, and apparently, condoms be damned, the plastic test in my hand is cutting into my palm. I reluctantly look down. It's been well past the time the instructions said to wait. The positive line is all I need to know. I’m pregnant.
TWO
Boston
“I should have kept my driver until Boudreaux meets up with me,” I tell the quiet street. Taking the company jet early this morning is wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore the call. I’d rather walk around the perimeter of the building one last time instead of answering my phone. Beyond the wrought-iron gate there seems to be enough space for two cars, meaning the rest of the employees will have to fight with street parking or deal with a parking garage. I’ll have to figure out if a monthly allotment will be necessary for each employee or not. This new venture is my baby, a new extension of Four Brothers, which means I’ll keep being on the front line, assume what needs to be done, take it back to Parker, Ezra, and Theo, and we’ll agree or not then go from there.