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Staying in St. Louis isn’t a long-term plan. Being close to Flynn and not going to him will be a challenge no matter where I am, but an easier one to satisfy if I put some miles between us. My bank account, however, is screaming to be fed. I can resist the temptation of him—the memories of his constant rejections making it possible—for a while before moving on to a less expensive city or rural area where I’m just Remington, a girl making it on her own rather than Carla and Charles Blair’s daughter, the train wreck who can’t keep her hands off the men hired to work for her family.
“Do you have a room service menu?” I ask the desk clerk as he hands me the key to my room, a smile on my face that doesn’t come close to reaching my eyes.
I feel like a jerk for not even being able to fake gratitude right now, but I’m exhausted, the day started by arguing with Reginald about leaving New York and the promise that he has to notify my parents. I didn’t tell him where I was going, and funnily enough, he didn’t ask. He’s a smart man, and I have no doubt he already knew the direction I was heading.
“Sure. We keep them just down the hall, right next to the elevator for guest’s convenience. Room three-seventeen Ms. Blair. I hope you enjoy your stay at Riverview Motel. Please call down if there’s anything you need.”
I nod, pleased with the service before grabbing the handle of the single backpack I loaded with care before walking away from home.
My mood changes, drifting back, questioning everything in my life when I turn the corner down the dingy hallway. I didn’t expect luxury at seventy-eight dollars a night, but I also didn’t expect the stench of cigarette smoke and worn carpet either.
My jaw is hurting from clenching my teeth when I make it further down realizing that this place not only doesn’t have an elevator, but the room service menu is actually a fucking vending machine—a half empty one at that.
I was the butt of that guy’s joke and I didn’t even know it. I’m sure he’ll have a grand old time telling his friends just how ridiculous I am for asking in the first place.
Shaking my head and taking a deep breath, I remind myself that others’ opinions no longer matter. I’m not here to please anyone. My new life is about finding myself, discovering the person I don’t mind being when I wake up in the morning, someone I can stand to see in the mirror before bed.
I don’t find that woman when I lock myself in the room, clicking the door lock and flipping the secondary latch after checking behind the shower curtain and under the beds. The fear I feel here all alone is another thing I can blame on Flynn. Several of his stupid horror movies started with single women staying at creepy places like this. But even though I stand in the shallow tub to get undressed with the curtain pulled, fearful that there’s a camera behind the small bathroom mirror or somewhere in the wall, I do it with my head held high, blaming the cheap shampoo for getting in my eyes as the tears fall down my cheeks.
Tomorrow will be a good day. Tomorrow will bring new beginnings and a true fresh start, one that doesn’t include Flynn Coleman.
I allow myself one final cry, the sobbing making the lumpy bed shake as I vow to move on from him.
Things get easier with time, that’s what I’ve always heard, anyway.Chapter 29Flynn
“Are you going to answer that?”
“Nope,” I tell Deacon after looking at the screen. I send the call straight to voicemail. If there was something important Wren needs, he’ll call Deacon. When my boss’s phone doesn’t ring, I know it’s probably just some bullshit that can wait until we’re back at the office. “Do you think this guy is leaving us waiting to assert power?”
“Who knows,” Deacon says, seemingly undisturbed that we’ve been sitting in the lobby of an office building waiting to be called back to meet a new client.
“What exactly is the job?”
“He needs added detail for an upcoming trip. The file said some people are upset with some business decisions he’s made, and he’s feeling unsafe traveling with only the two men on his payroll.”
“Translation, he’s a complete douche and doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of his actions?”
Deacon looks over at me, the easy smile he’s had all day falling from his mouth.
“Is this about Remington?”
When is it not about Remington? I look away from him. “No. Why would you ask that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, exasperation clear in his tone. “Maybe because you’ve been a growling asshole for weeks now.”
