If it weren’t like a monsoon out, she’d probably walk around the entire perimeter and find a way to get in, even if it meant breaking a window or something.
Great. Now I’m thinking about committing a misdemeanor.
To say her life was on a downward spiral would be putting it mildly. It was as far from a fairytale as anyone could get.
Turning, she pulled on the massive doors again hoping they would magically open, but they didn’t. Then she considered throwing a rock through them, but opted to call that plan B. So where did that leave her?
“Looks like I’m walking in the rain.” Maisie was just about to step out from under the overhang when she remembered seeing a set of stairs that led around to the back of the lodge. Maybe that would be open and she’d be able to wait until one of the owners or contractors showed up. Technically, it wouldn’t be breaking and entering or trespassing. After all, if the door was open and she did have an appointment…
I am seriously grasping at straws.
A month ago, her life was completely different.
She’d been living in a luxury condo in Manhattan, eating at some of the trendiest restaurants, and essentially living a very privileged life. Being born into the Quinnland family meant she shouldn’t have a care in the world. Growing up, she went to the best private schools, vacationed in places all over the world, and even hung out with some A-list celebrities. So how did she go from that to practically living in a thirty-year-old pickup truck and using a different last name?
By refusing to marry the man her parents chose for her.
Yeah. So that was still a thing, apparently.
Maisie thought the days of arranged marriages were pretty much gone and abolished.
Not in my family, she thought.
And it wasn’t like her parents were alone in their thinking. Her grandparents were on board with the whole arrangement as well. She was just a pawn in merging two mega-wealthy families. It didn’t matter that Maisie was against it—vehemently, by the way—or that Bryce was basically the equivalent of human trash. He was the stereotypical frat boy who engaged in multiple questionable acts against women and had his family pay off anyone who dared to speak out against him.
So…definitely not marriage material.
Except for her, apparently.
That’s what happens when you’re too curvy and your parents don’t think anyone would love you.
“I should be in therapy, not trying to break into a resort.”
Unfortunately, therapy wasn’t an option at the moment. Right now, she had to get out of the rain and possibly beg whoever was on site to forgive her for being late and hopefully still let her interview for the chance to decorate the resort.
Because that was her dream—to be an interior designer and decorator. She’d gone to college for it, had her degree, and thought that was where her life was going. But her family had other ideas, and none of them involved her doing what she wanted.
“You should be thrilled, Maisie,” her mother had told her over brunch last month. “Now you don’t have to worry about losing weight to land a man! You won’t be a trophy wife, but you will have a secure future without having to work! Most girls would love to be in your shoes!”
Would they, though? She thought. That way of thinking was as outdated as the arranged marriage. It was like being trapped in some bizarre time warp.
But no matter how much she had argued her case—always respectfully—no one was interested. In everyone else’s mind, she was being ungrateful. And when she finally put her foot down a few weeks ago, her father gave her an ultimatum of sorts. She had eight weeks to prove she could make it on her own and have a career in interior design. He gave her very little money and the old pickup that she swore he must have picked up from a junkyard. All her credit cards? Gone. She still had access to her bank account, but she was doing her best to be frugal. At the end of the two months if she didn’t succeed, she was marrying Bryce.
Just thinking about that douchey frat boy touching her made her cringe.
There was no way she was going to marry him, and that meant she had to land a major job to get her name out there. All of her connections in Manhattan had clearly been warned not to hire her. That’s how she ended up here in Harbortown and using the name Quinn instead of Quinnland. If things didn’t pan out here, she wasn’t sure where she was going next. All she knew was that failure wasn’t an option. So, one way or another, someone at this resort was going to at least hear her pitch for the design concept.
And really, it was spectacular.
The perfect combination of rustic and chic without breaking the bank.
She’d done her research, checked with suppliers, created mood boards, design boards, material sample boards, and a PowerPoint presentation that included 3D renderings of the rooms and the cabins. It was more than she would typically do for a client, but she wanted to be thorough, wanted to look like she had it all under control and all planned out so all they had to do was sign the check.
Thunder clapped loudly all around her, and the lightning was borderline terrifying. The storm was getting worse, and if she didn’t make a run for it now, she’d be camping out right there for the foreseeable future.
In the distance, she spotted what looked like headlights down in the parking lot, but the lightning was flashing so much that it might just be a mirage.
“Screw it. The faster I get to that door, the faster I can get inside, hopefully.” And with a fortifying breath and nothing to use for cover, thanks to her umbrella taking off, she made a run for it.
