To be clear, even though Grey is a beast of a man, he doesn’t scare me. While there’s nothing gentle about him, he’s not like Todd, who has vampire-like qualities, and I don’t mean the Edward Cullen kind. Then again, I was more of a Team Jacob gal myself.
My stomach remains in knots at the steady stream of Todd’s harassing texts, demanding we get married. Complaining about how we let everyone down. Questions about what to do with the gifts.
I’m tempted to reply that he should’ve thought about that when he shacked up with the sidepiece, but I restrain myself. Contacting him would be like inviting said vampire into my life and I recently used up the last of my stash of garlic and wooden stakes.
Journaling about my unusual day and reunion with my husband, now a client, doesn’t do anything to quiet the repetitive thought that these circumstances are beyond bizarre.
Despite my background in life coaching, which I studied to increase myself as an asset at my old job, I can’t reconcile today’s encounter. It doesn’t make sense. The tools for how to handle it don’t exist because I can’t think of any case studies where a man and woman secretly get married for reasons of convenience, don’t ever expect to see each other again, and then are forced to work together, she as a coach and he as the client.
The resources don’t exist. I’m flying solo on this one, just when I thought I finally landed—a new life, a new job, and I could use some new clothes because my suitcase still isn’t here.
I could also go for some cookie dough comfort right about now.
The manor is vast with labyrinthine halls lined with oil paintings in heavy frames, sconces glowing on the walls, andplush carpet upstairs that gives way to marble on the lower level. I got lost a few times today, which is fitting, considering my situation.
There’s a kitchen where an in-house chef prepares meals, as well as an employee lounge with sofas, tables, and a kitchenette. I consider borrowing ingredients so I can make myself some happiness in a bowl.
Through the window, the moon rises over the mountain view in the distance. It’s just after nine pm. The shops in the village close early, but it’s probably not too late for me to see what I can scrounge up downstairs.
This place is way too fancy for my dress with the daisies, but it’s all I have for now. I slip on the silly magenta ballet flats and pad down the hall. During the day, the manor is inviting in its opulent way, but after sunset, I’m not going to lie, I get goosebumps.
The faux candles in the sconces flicker on the walls. The building’s creaks and groans make my skin pebble with goosebumps. I could use a Ghostbuster or Grey as a backup. But cookies call and after a few wrong turns, I find my way to the massive kitchen and flick on a light.
Phew! Nothing but a vast space with stainless steel work tables and state-of-the-art appliances that contrast with the otherwise antique and classic style of the manor.
I don’t know what Cateline will say if she finds me down here, but I’ll replace whatever ingredients I use and ply her with a bowl of cookie dough. No one has ever been able to resist my recipe. Then again, she seems more of a chocolate kind of gal, the darker the better.
“Come to me, cookie dough ingredients,” I say, wiggling my fingers.
It takes me about ten minutes to find what I’m looking for, which isn’t exactly the typical roster of flour, baking soda, and sugar. There’s a secret ingredient. Wink. Wink.
After mixing up the batch, I decide to head to the teacher’s lounge, hoping maybe some of the other coaches are there and we can swap stories and strategize, because if the rest of the guys are anything like Grey, they too have their hands full.
It’s spooky in here at night, so with the bowl in hand, I hurry through the halls like the floor is lava and I don’t want to catch Slimer’s attention.
The teacher’s lounge is dark and empty, reminding me that this isn’t the college dorm where I’ll find people hanging out at all hours. Technically, it’s not even late. My grandmother, in her elder years, lived in a community residence and they’d play canasta until midnight. I bet Goodie is up. I could text her, but I have been avoiding my phone because Todd won’t leave me alone.
The house we bought together is still for sale, and in case he finds a heart beating in his chest and wants to slip me a twenty, I refrain from blocking him. But don’t be fooled, my finger hovers over those aggressive red letters B-L-O-C-K every time his name scrolls across my screen.
And yes, a twenty-dollar bill would be great, and I wouldn’t say no to twenty thousand or my portion of the down payment either.
Once upon a time, I was a successful business consultant. Respected in my field. I also had in my possession a beautiful wardrobe, a five-step skin care system routine, and discretionary spending money for things like coffee and cookie dough supplies. Then along came the Spider. That’s what he’s called in the business world. My father is the Ice King. Yeah, I sure know how to pick them. Although I guess I didn’t pick Draven Lefevre,a former top hockey player in the NHL turned metal magnate, to be my father.
In a word, the man is cold. Yeah, as ice. I said it.
He was the king of distant and dismissive. Meanwhile, I did everything I could to get his attention.
Colored on the walls with crayons? Check
Pretended I was a puppy at the princess party? Check
Ran away with the circus? Check
Dressed up as Darth Vader and serenaded the lunch room? Check
Backflips on ice skates? Check
Rainbow Bright hair? Check
