It’s proof that I’m weak when I come to him.
Carter picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head. Watching him redress in my room is more torturous than watching him remove his clothes. He walks to the door and opens it without turning around.
His footsteps hit the stairs, and I fall back against the mattress.
What the actual fuck just happened?
chapter eleven
Carter
Sleep barely happened. I got two hours max last night.
The look on Wendy’s face and her words replayed on a loop. She laid out rules like a contract, and I told her I’d think about it, which bought me exactly one night to figure out why every part of me wants to say yes and every rational thought in my head screams no.
The yes is simple because she’s the first person in years who makes me want to take a chance. The no is more complicated.
My name isn’t Carter Banks. It’s Dyson Carter Banks, and I run a company my great-grandfather built. My net worth would change the way she looks at me permanently. She clocked my watch on day one, which is why I stopped wearing it. She called me out of touch to my face when I handed her five hundred dollars for tequila and chocolate. She told me the corporation targeting this property preys on the vulnerable and thought I worked for them. Just from things she’s said and how she’s acted, I’m guessing she views wealth in a not-so-flattering way. I wish I knew why.
If I say yes to this fling, I’m afraid of building this relationship on a lie. If I say no, I lose an opportunity to know her. Then again, it’s only until August 3.
By six, I give up on rest and go for a run. I run four miles on the shoreline in the dark.
My brain scans the scenario from every angle, the same way it does for billion-dollar acquisitions. Risk, exposure, exit strategy are a must. Then again, no deal I’ve ever considered closing has made my heart pound at two in the morning.
After I push myself nearly to the limit, I shower, dress, and take the stairs down to the dining room. Gale sits at the head of the table with her two friends, Birdie and Lucille. Mimosas are already poured, and notebooks are open.
Rose hums in the kitchen over something that smells like sausage and sugar. The candle burns by the staircase, and the bright sun casts through the windows, making the room warm.
Wendy stands behind the front desk in a light-purple Seaside polo with her hair in that high ponytail that I like so much. She types on the computer without glancing up. When my feet hit the bottom floor, she continues about her business. Her face stays neutral, and she gives me absolutely nothing. It’s almost like I dreamed last night.
Wendy’s too good at this. A real ballbuster.
When I find the courage to speak to her, Gale waves me over.
“Good morning, Carter!” Gale says. “Come have breakfast with us. Rose really outdid herself today.”
I pour myself a cup of coffee and take a seat in Wendy’s line of sight. She looks up for a second as I sit, and my body buzzes.
“How’s your stay in Coconut Beach been so far?” Birdie asks.
I need to befriend the Bees, get on their good side, so then they’re Team Carter or Dyson whenever shit gets out of control—because it always does.
“I’ve enjoyed every second. It almost feels like home.”
“Really? Almost?” Lucille tilts her head. “The Captain’s Room has the best mattress in the house. I should know. I’ve tested every single one.”
“She’s not kidding,” Gale tells me, wearing a cheeky grin. Today, her gray hair is braided. “She’s rated them all by firmness. The Captain’s Room has the best score so far.”
“Wow,” I say. “So, you’re the Goldilocks of Seaside?”
Lucille snickers. “You could say that.” She picks up her mimosa with a pinkie out. “You should be sleeping like a baby up there. The entire room has perfect feng shui.”
Across the room, Wendy’s mouth twitches, and she almost cracks a grin.
Rose brings a plate of cheesy scrambled eggs with sausage patties, toast, and fruit. Gale talks about hurricane season and how she has a feeling it’s going to be intense this year. Birdie argues the Weather Channel says it should be a mild season. Lucille takes notes but also makes logical points.
Wendy moves from the desk to the kitchen and passes behind my chair. The smell of her sweet perfume reaches me before she does. She doesn’t slow down or even acknowledge me.
