Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Carson. It seems we have some things to discuss,” he says gruffly, as though he’d rather discuss his last colonoscopy or get right to the no-parachute skydiving on my part.
“Before you get to threatening me or telling me why I’m not good enough for your daughter, I want you to know that I love her. I was about to tell her when you—”
“Oh, no!” Leah gasps in horror, her hands balled in front of her open mouth. “I’m so sorry!”
Jameson sighs, his shoulders dropping from their intimidating, widespread position. “Well, that changes things, now, doesn’t it?”
I risk a tiny smile. “It does?”
“Have a seat. We’re about to take off.” He waves at the flight attendant, and she closes the steps to the plane. A moment later, the engines begin to roar and my belly lifts along with the plane.
I’m coming, Jayme. You might’ve fixed my situation before, but I’m going to fix this deal between you and me. Once and for all.
CHAPTER 29
JAYME
“Fix your face. You’re sitting over here looking all squishy.” Taya smushes up her face with her fingers, pressing her cheeks up and temples down, while adding in a dramatic frown.
“Why? Let me brood in peace,” I whine. “You already made me put on clothes just to come sit out here when I could’ve just as easily sat on the back patio.”
Okay, clothes is probably pushing it. I changed from a robe into Taya-branded leggings and a fresh sweatshirt. Not exactly high fashion, but I’m only sitting on a blanket on the beach behind Taya’s house. The important thing is that I’m here when I could be curled up on the couch watching The Princess Bride for the seventy-third time. Or sitting on a pool lounger watching the same thing on the outdoor television.
Sure, sunsets are pretty. But there’s no big rush to see this particular one. There’ll be another one tomorrow, and maybe I’ll be in a better mental space to appreciate it then. Because right now, I wish the sky, which is beginning to fill with oranges and pinks as the sun starts to dip lower, would actually catch fire. That would bring me a little joy because it would reflect what I feel inside.
The wine last night seems to have washed away my sadness, and once the hangover wore off this morning, the only thing remaining is anger.
I gave Carson everything I could and was on the verge of giving him so much more. My truth. Now, however undeservedly, he knows it. I want to think he’s trustworthy with it, but I have doubts. And fears.
Fear that he’s broken my heart into irreparable shatters.
Fear that he’s mad at me for not telling him.
Fear that he’ll tell the media about my parents, and this life I’ve so carefully crafted will fall apart in his wake.
Fear that even now, I wish he’d tell me it was all a stupid dream fueled by anxiety and too many PassionFlix movies.
All that pisses me off. I am not a person who lives by fear or allows it to control me. I follow chosen paths with pre-plotted goals and strategized outcomes in every area of my life, both professional and personal. The one time I go astray, everything goes to hell in one of my mom’s Chanel purses without my predicting it.
That’s not true. You knew it would go like this.
I sigh, knowing that I’m right, at least on that. I warned myself before I ever gave in to this thing with Carson. I cautioned my own heart about getting too attached because I’ve had work relationships go full-stop once the job was over. People are finicky and don’t like being reminded of their shortcomings or their past bad acts. I’m a walking, talking reminder. I wanted it to be different this time, but . . . it wasn’t. And then, adding on the whole family surprise reveal didn’t help a bit.
I’m off my game, and I can’t have that. I need one of my own classic pep-talks, or maybe one of Taya’s no-bullshit ones, so I can get back on the right track. Not whatever wrong way roadway I’ve been on.
Okay, do what you do best, girl. Let’s examine the facts so I can figure out how to best back out of this mangled car wreck I’m calling my life . . .
Carson Steen. A client. A risk-taker who encouraged me to live dangerously. A tortured heart that I helped heal but that couldn’t handle my own family drama. A man who made love to me on this beach, just a few hundred feet away.
I look over to that spot . . . the one where he sat back on the sand and I straddled him until we were spent with exhaustion and sore with sand burns. Wistfully, I can almost see us there.