Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Dammit.” I lick my finger and carefully wipe away the offending mark.
“You okay?” Josiah asks, eyes not leaving his Apple watch.
“Yeah. Just a bump in the road.”
I go back to my smoky eye. With eyeshadow done, I apply a little Trophy Wife highlighter to my cheeks and chin. If Rihanna never records another song, I’m fine as long as Fenty keeps on giving. It’s a fair trade.
Our phones ding simultaneously with an incoming text message. I’m midstroke filling in my brows, so I leave it for Josiah to check.
“Harvey,” he says, reading the message from his watch. “Asking if his assistant sent us the hotel itinerary.”
“I got it.” I spare him a sideways glance. “The Hardway, right? That boutique hotel not too far from the restaurant?”
“Yeah, it looked really nice online.”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he types out a response.
By the time we pull up to Hartsfield-Jackson departures, my makeup is done and I’ve removed the scarf from my braids so they hang down my back. Josiah grabs both our bags and rolls them toward the airport entrance.
Over the next few hours, I wish a dozen times that Harvey were traveling with us so he could act as a buffer. When it’s just the two of us, we seem to err on the side of saying too much, or not enough. The wrong thing instead of the right. I can’t wait to get to Charlotte, check into my room, and interact with Josiah only when absolutely necessary. Seeming to have the same idea, he puts in his earbuds as soon as we take our seats. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep the entire flight.
Once we land, Harvey has arranged another car for pickup, which takes us to the Hardway. Lack of sleep and the early morning are catching up to me, and all I can think about is the possibility of resting in my room for an hour before we meet the couple who’s selling the restaurant. The parking lot and lobby are a hive of activity. We wait for a few minutes in the line of guests checking in. By the time we reach the front desk, my feet ache and I’m longing for my more comfortable shoes. I’m so fixated on the pain in my pinky toe, the front desk manager’s words barely penetrate my haze.
“What the hell do you mean, there isn’t another room?” Josiah snaps, a line forming between his brows. “I have the reservation right here.”
He shows her the confirmation number from the email Harvey’s assistant sent.
“Yes, sir,” Amanda, according to her name tag, says with exaggerated patience. “I’ve given you the key for room 428.”
“Yes, but you also just gave me a key for her,” he says, tilting his head toward me. “For room 428.”
“Yes, your reservation is a king-sized bed,” she says, consulting her screen. “Two occupants. Josiah Wade and Yasmen Wade.”
“We’re supposed to have separate rooms,” I nearly screech.
“This is obviously a misunderstanding,” Josiah tells me. “They’ll give us another room.”
“I’m so sorry, but like I said, there are no other rooms.” Amanda divides her apologetic look between the two of us. “There’s a huge women’s conference in town. A church thing, and all the rooms around here are booked. Room 428 is all we have.”
“I’m calling Harvey. He’ll get this sorted out,” I say, a note of desperation in my voice as I fumble for the phone in my purse. There’s no way I’m spending the night with Josiah and a bed.
“There’s a pullout in the living room,” Amanda offers, not helping. “Maybe you can—”
“No,” I cut in, my heartbeat ticking up with every ring of Harvey’s phone.
“Yasmen,” Harvey says, finally answering. “You guys here? How’s the hotel?”
“The hotel,” I say, “has us booked in one room.”
I let that sink in so he can absorb how disastrous this situation is.
“Oh, my new assistant must have mixed that up. She’s been making a lot of mistakes lately. She has this—”
“Harvey, forgive me for not giving a damn about your new assistant, but do you have a solution?”
“They don’t have another room available?”
“No, some women’s conference is happening all over the city and the rooms are booked everywhere. You have to fix this.” My voice rises as the reality of our situation bears down on me. “We can’t—”
“Yas,” Josiah interrupts, his tone calm, even. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll take the pullout in the living room. It’s only one night.”
The world has been shaken in a matter of a day. One event can fundamentally change the course of our lives forever. I know it’s one night, but it will be our first time under the same roof overnight in more than two years.
I stare at him, and his expression is implacable, but it feels like a deliberate control he’s imposing on himself and, by extension, also on me.