Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
This might be a bust, but every minute that he didn’t return my texts or messages was killing me.
And turning me into a drama king. Charlie would be so proud.
“Good almost afternoon. Table for—hey…you’re the big shot.” A tall, buxom, middle-aged blonde with pink lipstick and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a woman stepped from behind the reception desk to give me a thorough once-over. Top to toe and back again.
“Sebastian Rourke.” I offered my hand politely, nearly wincing when she grasped it in a vise grip.
“I know. I’m Macy.” She dropped my hand and went back to staring me down. “I’ve heard a lot about you. If you’re looking for Trenton, he no longer works here. I’m pretty sure you knew that, though.”
“Yes. Um…any chance you know where he is?”
“I do.”
Crickets.
“Any chance you’ll tell me?” I raised my hands in surrender. “Look, I’ve been trying to reach him. I knocked on his door this morning and I’ve left an obnoxious amount of texts and messages on his cell. It doesn’t make sense that he’s avoiding me or—”
“Sure, it does. He’s on a plane. I’m sure he’ll get your messages when he lands in Philly.”
My shoulders fell in defeat. “Philly.”
“He went home.”
“Oh. Did he say when he’ll be back?”
Macy shuffled out of the way when the hostess took her place behind the desk, then pulled me farther into the nearly empty restaurant. “Yeah, I do know and I’d love to share that info, but I’m not sure I can trust you. He didn’t seem very happy when he came by last night. And I got a hunch that’s because of you.”
Huh. I hadn’t been called out by a stranger in…a very long time. Normally, I wouldn’t have liked it. But I appreciated that Trent had someone looking out for him.
“Maybe, but I need to talk to him. It’s urgent and—”
“And what?”
“He matters to me, Macy. He matters,” I said softly.
She sighed heavily and flung her ponytail over her shoulder. “God, I’m a sucker. Fine. He’ll be home next week.”
“A week?”
“I’m not the one bookin’ last-minute trips. Don’t ask me.” Macy threw her hands in the air.
“Do you know where he’s staying?”
“You’re pushin’ your luck.”
“I know, but—”
“He’s with his folks. I don’t know their address, but I’m sure someone like you has people who can find out.”
“Right. Thank you.”
“Mr. Rourke? Don’t make me regret this,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes fiercely.
“I won’t.”
And that was how I found myself on a plane to Philadelphia.
One of the many perks of flying private was that I didn’t have to wait for the next available flight. I was in the air a couple of hours after meeting Macy and checked into my hotel near Logan Square by nine p.m. I spent half my time on conference calls and the other half agonizing over texting Trent, who after what felt like days of radio silence finally returned my message. Messages…plural.
Hey, I got your messages and texts. I’m visiting my folks for a few days. Take care.
That was it.
I thought about letting it go, but I was catapulting through clouds above Kansas and feeling very insecure. I couldn’t tell him I was on my way to convince him to take a chance on me. It sounded…desperate. Which was probably exactly what it was. Nonetheless, I preferred a sneak-attack option because yes…I was a little scared.
So I ignored his text until I was somewhere over Ohio.
I miss you, I typed.
I deleted that one and tried again. Can we talk?
No. That was bad too.
How are your folks?
Send.
Trent replied immediately with what was probably his version of a WTF emoji. One eyebrow raised and a quirky expression. They’re doing well. Thanks.
Glad to hear it.
I stared at the dancing dots on my cell until they disappeared. Twenty minutes later he responded.
Take care, Seb.
Those three words spoke volumes. But what they didn’t say was, I really hope you’re on your way here so we can fix this and live happily ever fucking after.
Fuck, I felt like crying.
Seriously.
In my defense, I was sleep-deprived, hungover, and emotionally strung out. It was a no-win head space that had me questioning every choice I’d ever made. That wasn’t like me. Overthinking was a waste of time.
I’d built an empire on the adage that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. I didn’t want to be told what I couldn’t do. I’d lived under a bully’s thumb for years. I knew what it was like to feel confined and trapped.
But there was a chance that in my quest to protect my freedom, I’d become…selfish. Fuck, even this well-intentioned pilgrimage to win Trent back could be construed as self-serving. And what would I say when I found him? Was I supposed to bring something romantic with me? Like what? We didn’t do romance. Other than clichéd tokens like flowers and chocolate, I really had no idea how one did “romance.”