Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Cole was over by reception, dressed to the nines and put together like he’d just enjoyed a peaceful eight hours of sleep (propped upright in his coffin, of course). Never mind that I’d only managed thirty fitful minutes bookended by a lot of agitated tossing and turning. In the mirror that morning, my skin looked pale, and no amount of concealer could hide the dark circles under my eyes.
When he first saw me, I almost thought I saw worry play across his features, but as soon as I recognized it, it was gone. I doubted it had ever been there as he started to cross the room to get to me. I wondered if the truce he called for last night still held true in the light of day.
“Good morning, Ms. Young.”
I immediately bristled. Last names? Who was he kidding?
“Morning, Mr. Clark.”
He scanned the area of the lobby over my head and continued with a succinct announcement meant just for me. “To be clear, last night never happened.”
My face fell before I could prevent it. If he looked down, he’d witness the hurt that sank its claws into me, twisting my stomach, shredding me to pieces.
What had I expected Cole to do this morning, after I bolted away from him? Gift me a smile? Suggest a round two?
Oh god.
Clarity gnawed its way to the forefront of my thoughts. I felt like a fool. Worse. Up until then, I hadn’t hated Cole. Not at all. Deep down I knew I wanted his attention—his approval—more than anything. But “last night never happened” formed a thick sheath around my heart, so that anything Cole did or said from that moment forward only served to further my bad opinion of him.
He chose a blue tie today? That’s so like him, to spoil my favorite color.
Another all-staff email? Surely, he’s only doing it to annoy me.
I convinced myself my hard feelings at hearing his rejection only had to do with the fact that I hadn’t been the one to turn him down first. Yes, that’s it. I hated coming in second place.
So I played into that. I harnessed all those false feelings and shrugged indifferently as I replied with a nasty little “Oh thank god.”
It felt good to pretend I felt nothing but relief at hearing his words.
“Never happened,” I agreed quickly, eager to set things to rights with him. Well, as “right” as we could ever be. I imagine if we polled a group of board-certified psychiatrists, they would unanimously agree that Cole and I are dysfunctional at best, damaging on average, and at worst downright destructive. The product packaging for our relationship would warn that prolonged contact with Cole Clark or Paige Young may result in nausea, bleeding from the ears, and homicidal tendencies.
He reached up to adjust his tie, ensuring it lay directly flat in the center of his chest. Only then did he look down at me. My stomach did a little swoop and dip when our gazes met.
He gave me a quick audit, checking me over to make sure I was still in one piece after last night. Sure, yes, my limbs were intact. I wasn’t down a finger. But my insides? Total goop.
Could he tell how badly I slept? Did he notice the unkempt top bun I’d had to do because I’d collapsed into bed with my hair still wet from the ocean last night?
His mouth flattened into a disapproving line. Then he gave me clear instructions. An alibi. “You went straight back to your dorm. I was never on the beach reading—”
“Wallowing,” I corrected. “All alone in a sad pit of despair.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, not with anger or annoyance but with mischief. My relief was palpable. We could reset, just like last time. It wasn’t too late. These hard feelings could go away, if only I forced them to.
He looked away, back to scanning the lobby. “Right. If someone asks, you can tell them you spent the evening like you usually do, brainstorming new ways to torment me.”
“And you spent the night alphabetizing your ties by brand while imagining what it would be like to have a friend.”
His mouth tightened. His brown eyes pierced me. “Is that what you think I need? A friend?”
“You’re right. I can’t imagine you with a friend. You need a henchman. A three-headed dog to help warn people away.” I tapped my chin as I hummed in thought. “What would you name it . . .”
He tilted his head, watching me with an expression that said, By all means, continue.
“Cole Jr.”
He couldn’t keep the amusement off his face. He wasn’t laughing. No, no. That would be preposterous. But he was looking down at me like he thought I was absolutely fantastic. That, or deranged. It was hard to tell.
“You left your shoes on the beach when you ran off last night. I left them by your door. Figured you wouldn’t be able to survive without your beat-up hiking sandals . . .”