It’s a good offer. I should take it. God knows managing corporate schedules is a hell of a lot easier than planning a cross-country road trip. Plus, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to monetize my travel content. And forget health insurance. Who can afford it?
Más vale pájaro en la mano que cientos volando.
Papá’s words echo in my brain, encouraging me to take the sure thing.
I dart a glance at the outdated Airstream.
Miles follows my gaze. “What is there to think about? We both know you aren’t serious about this travel-influencer nonsense.” He gestures to the camper. “You’re the most risk-averse person I know.”
My temper flares red-hot, and for an instant I’m so pissed I can’t tell if it’s his assumptions or his dismissive tone that put my back up. Probably both.
I pull my hand free of his and take a step back, shoring up my defenses.
“No.”
“No?” he echoes, a look of bewilderment etched on his handsome face.
“While I appreciate your offer, I will not be returning to Triada.” Regardless of my feelings for Miles—and his lucrative offer—I have to do what’s best for me. And right now, that’s space. Open roads and adventure. A Miles Hart detox. “My plans are set. I’m leaving in the morning.”
His jaw drops, giving me a rush of satisfaction. It’s not often the smooth talker is at a loss for words, but my triumph is short-lived.
“You can’t be serious,” he says as I turn on my heel and head for the house. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I need you.”
I stop and glance over my shoulder, steeling my resolve. “You should’ve thought of that before you let me go.”
“Let you go? I never let you go.” He growls in frustration, and I know that if I look, he’ll be raking his fingers through his hair, ready to pull out every golden strand. “You left.”
Stay strong, Lucy.
Just a few more steps to the house.
“I am literally begging you to come back.”
“Because it’ll make your life easier,” I say, whirling around and planting a hand on my hip. “Not because it’s what’s best for me.”
He falters at the accusation but recovers quickly. “Triada offers job security. Health insurance. A 401(k). How is that a bad thing?”
This isn’t about benefits, and we both know it.
“You think I won’t make it as an influencer. You think I’m going to fail.”
He holds up a finger, but then seems to think better of pointing it at me. “I never said that.”
Not in so many words.
“It. Was. Implied,” I bite out.
His brows shoot up, and the look of utter shock on his face gives me intense satisfaction.
I’ve never raised my voice to Miles. Never let him see my anger or frustration. Never let him see anything but the dutiful assistant.
That Lucy would’ve bought him hydrocortisone cream for his rash.
This Lucy? Not so much.
“You’re the most capable woman I know.” Miles pauses as if searching for the right words. “Whatever I said— Whatever you think I implied, it was no reflection of you.”
Just like that, with a few sincere words, my anger subsides.
