I’m ready to start working more remotely and meeting clients on Zoom so I can spend more time with her. The problem is, I don’t have an office in Coconut Beach, and since I’ve been working out of Miami, I set up client meetings here with the ones I don’t normally see in person.
I had a moment of clarity last night when she was describing her plans for the outdoor deck on the house. I imagined sitting out there and grilling burgers while our kids ran around on the beach at sunset. I pictured her laughing with one of our babies on her hip, walking over to me to give me a kiss. I saw myself wrap my arm around her shoulders, and lateron, we’d slow dance under the string lights. I saw it as if it were really happening, like a memory from the future.
If only I can convince her that it should be us.
Financially, it definitely makes more sense to sell. The tourists who vacation in Coconut Beach are in the top three percent of the world. Celebrities and billionaires frequent the island, oftentimes purchasing homes they’ll come to three to four times a year. We could sell it for a number up in the double-digit millions, which would give me a lot of capital to invest in my company. I’d be that much closer to my goal of becoming a billionaire by thirty-five.
Truthfully, all Summer needs to do is smile and bat her eyelashes at me, and I’d fold like a napkin.
When I stride into my office, for a brief moment, I smile at her back before realizing my mistake. Noelle turns to face me, a coy smile on her lips.
“Hi, you.” She tosses her honey hair over her shoulder.
She knows I love her hair. She just doesn’t know why.
She’s wearing a tan trench coat and red lipstick. What she’s doing here starts registering in my brain a few seconds too late. The next ten seconds float by in slow motion.
The trench coat opens, revealing the red lingerie underneath at the exact same time that the door to my office opens again.
“Yes, he told me you would be joining him for lunch—oh my.” Ava is speaking behind me.
I flip around to see the wide-eyed expressions of my secretary and Summer. Summer’s cheeks drain of color. Her lips part, a gasp filling the silence.
My stomach sinks into my toes.
I step toward her. “Summer.”
She shakes her head, stepping back. “Sorry to interrupt.” She spins, darting back out into the hallway.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath, pushing past Ava, who looksready to vomit, probably thinking she may get fired for this. She’s right.
“Summer! Wait.”
She’s already at the elevator, pushing the button over and over. She’s dressed in a floral tube top and a flowy yellow skirt and sandals. She looks every bit the sunshine-loving girl I’ve been unable to stop falling for.
I reach her as soon as the doors open. She rushes inside, and I follow her.
“Hey.” I grab her chin, seeing the tears pool in her eyes. “I didn’t invite her here. She just showed up.”
My nerves are frayed. I need her to listen and understand this. I won’t be able to take it if she doesn’t.
She nods, attempting a smile. “I don’t care. I—you don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I do though. I need you to hear me.” I reach for her hand, but she slides out of my grasp. My heart feels like it’s fracturing inside my chest. I make a fist by my side. “I haven’t spoken to her in close to a year. She just showed up,” I repeat, wondering why I have such shitty luck.
The elevator reaches the street level, and Summer darts out, speed-walking toward the street. “Dayton, I don’t care. You and I are—we’re nothing. She’s gorgeous. She makes sense for you. I understand.”
I grab her arm, pulling her back. She stops, and I see her shoulders shaking from the tears she’s trying to hide from me.
“Listen to me! Please, please just listen.” I’m talking to the back of her head, my lips brushing her hair. “Noelle wants a relationship with me. I never did. I told her that. She didn’t accept it. She came here, probably thinking I’d cave if she did some cliché trench-coat midday office visit. Even if you hadn’t walked in, I would’ve sent heraway. I’ve never viewed her as relationship material—ever. I’m sorry you had to see that.” My voice is breaking.
The Miami summer sun beats down on us.
She finally turns back to face me. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. My stomach muscles clench, and I wish more than anything that I could crack open my mind and let her read my inner thoughts concerning her.
“Cupcake, you know you’re it for me. It’s only you. I?—”
“I’m not your girlfriend!” she nearly shouts, drawing the attention of the people walking by. She lowers her voice. “I’m just … I have trauma, Dayton. I get triggered by things. I thought we were on the same page, and it’s totally fine that we’re not. I’m just glad I know what the deal is now.”
