Zach nods and leads us to an elevator. We travel down two floors. The doors open, revealing a hallway with only a few doors leading from it.
“We have the floor. We put you down at this end near Jonas and me. Dec,” he says, nodding over his shoulder, “is rooming with Nick down that way.” He hands me a key, and Declan brings my bag to the door, blocking the guy’s view of me with his body.
“Can we connect later?” he whispers urgently.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper back. His eyes flare. “I don’t want to pretend we hate each other. It was a stupid idea. Can we just...not do that?”
He sags. “Yes. God, yes, we can drop that whole thing.” He wets his lips. “Does that mean we can...can I touch you?”
I’m hyper-aware of Zach and Jonas’ eyes on us and step back involuntarily. I don’t want to pretend we hate each other, but I’m also not ready to broadcast our relationship to everyone. I see the hurt in Declan’s eyes before he shakes it off, winking at me. “Text me when you’re ready to meet up. I’m going to have to adjust my plans for our next date, but I think I can come up with something great now that we’re here.”
“I’d like that,” I tell him with a smile. Unable to look at him any longer or risk throwing myself at him in front of his brothers, I scan my card and let myself into the room. It’s pure luxury, of course. Which I’ve come to expect when I travel with the guys. They’ve completely ruined me for budget travel.
As I fill the massive tub, I check my texts with Bree, a little miffed that she seems completely unconcerned that I dropped off the face of the planet for a day. Tossing my phone onto the bath mat, I pour in some lemony bath oils, letting the fragrance loosen the tension in my shoulders.
Despite my love for luxury, I’d still rather be back in that motel room with Declan than here by myself. But now, away from the confines of that room, I’m stuck with my whirling thoughts.
Sinking into the water with a moan, I rest my head back and ponder the massive twist my life has taken. Not just this weekend but that night. With Tyler. I prided myself on having my shit together, but ever since that night, I just feel...wrong. Like I don’t fit into my own life the way I used to.
I guess it’s understandable. Something horrible happened. I did something horrible. But it feels like more than that. Like I was moving through the world with blinders on, and now, they’ve been stripped away, showing me what the world is really like.
The new world, my world, is a far more complex place than I ever imagined. I feel stupid for even saying it, but despite all the shit I’ve been through, things have always worked out for me. Sure, I struggled, but I felt in control. That control has been stripped away, leaving me unbalanced.
Wrapped up in a plush robe, I stand in front of my suitcase, filled with old me outfits. I haven’t been wearing them the same way I used to. With skin out, boobs on display, everything tight. At first, it just felt better being covered up. Now, I can’t figure out why I don’t want to wear them. Why I can’t just go back to being me.
The knock at the door startles me. Pulling my robe tighter, I check the peephole, then rest my head on the door with a groan.
“Why are you here?” I grumble, annoyed I didn’t get a little longer to get my head straight.
“We need to talk, Cara. Please, open the door,” Ransom asks quietly. The impatience in his voice is clear through the door.
“I need a minute.” There’s no point in putting this off. He’ll stand there, like a fucking wall, until I open the door. He’s so damn stubborn.
I throw on my dirty leggings and another of my sexy shirts, then throw Declan’s hoodie over that. Then, after a few deep breaths, trying to remind myself to stay Zen, I open the door.
“You’re a fucking asshole. You betrayed my trust, and I’m really pissed at you.”
Ok, so I’m not that Zen.
I turn and stalk to the other side of the suite’s living room, then turn to face him, hands on hips. He closes the door carefully, eyeing me, then drifts to the couch.
You’d never know, looking at him, that he’s a billionaire. That he’s ruthless. That he always gets what he wants. He’s in full weekend mode, complete with dark track pants and a henley. He’s still wearing a watch that costs more than I earn in a year, though, and I get paid really well.
The lines on his forehead and between his eyes seem more pronounced. “You look like shit,” I tell him. He nods but doesn’t say anything, just sits and stares at me, waiting. Finally, begrudgingly, I flop into the chair near him, leaning back and crossing my arms. You know, just in case he didn’t get the idea I’m pissed at him.
“Are you ok?” he asks, elbows on his knees. He’s about as close to my bubble as he can be without being in kicking distance. The man knows me too well.
“You mean, despite being stranded and nearly killed in a snowstorm and then forced to share a motel room with—” I clamp my mouth shut, not sure how to finish that. Share a room with the man I love? The guy I was crushing on? The guy who’s broken my heart more than once over the last few years and doesn’t even know it?
“Yeah. Despite all that.”
“Peachy,” I say flatly.
“I owe you an apology,” he says, brows lowered.
I tap my fingers on my arm, already done with this conversation. He just stares at me. I raise my eyebrow. This motherfu— “In order to apologize, you have to actually say sorry fucknut. And mean it.”
He chokes out a laugh, which is infuriating and reassuring at the same time. The man has never once called me on my attitude, despite being my boss. Yeah, he’s done it in fun, but he’s never tried to curb who I am.
