5
ELIZA
Grayson Gold is officiallyat the top of my shitlist.
An incredible feat, given the stiff competition.
For a long time, my manager held the number-one spot. It’d been a long time coming, but he’d cemented his place there thefirsttime he took credit for a strategy I developed that landed a client millions in sales.
My ex, Kyle, only recently usurped him. Cheating was that powerful. In fact, I thought cheating was such an egregious offense that it couldn’t possibly be outdone by anything else—except for, like, murder.
But Grayson Gold has proven me wrong.
He’d scared the ever-living shit out of me when he’d stormed into the pickup room, barking the way he did. When he’d caught me, I thought that maybe there was a chance he wasn’t a total dick. But he set me on my feet only to make false accusations, and left without a hint of apology.
I’ve gotten used to facing men who don’t like me in corporate Boston, but those challenges were always more subtle. Political games, fake pleasantries, complimentsthreaded with condescension. Even Kyle, when he hooked up with his coworker, had done so quietly, behind my back, out of sight.
But Grayson is like a bull, loud and unashamed in his assholery that’s seemingly based on nothing other than my existence.
I understand I’m an outcast on the farm. Respect is something earned, and to do that, you have to prove yourself worthy.
The thing is, I’m not being given the chance to prove it.
Then again, there is nothing I need to prove to Grayson. Anson Gold is my boss. Grayson is just an obstacle I have to figure out how to deal with—withoutphysically assaulting him and getting myself arrested.
Fortunately for us both, we don’t cross paths for the remainder of the day.
Fire still lances under my skin as I make the short drive back to the boat. I’m not looking forward to my destination, but I try to let the journey soothe me.
Lush trees frame this stretch of the road, driveways disappearing to houses buried within them. A few home farmstands pop up along the side of the street before it opens up into a waterside route. The air breezing through the windows turns salty and familiar, and there are more cars here—though it really isn’t as busy as it should be.
It might have something to do with the lack of commercialization. Garnet Shores is mostly residential. There are no state beaches; just a single stretch of sand that’s part-private and part-public, and the giant salt pond’s grassy waterfront. The two towns sandwiching this one are more popular spots, with restaurants, hotels, shopping, groceries, and that idyllic-summer-vacation vibe that pull in tourists like a magnet. But Garnet Shores seems determined to staysmall and discreet, except for the private vacation homes scattered around.
As I take in the serene wetlands on my left and the stretch of salt pond to my right, I don’t blame them. With all its quiet, this might be one of the best commutes within two hours of Boston.
In the city, it’s all car horns, over-aggressive drivers, and people buzzing around like swarming flies. Some people love that energy. I used to be one of them. But lately, it’s just compounded my stress after a day of headaches in the office.
This, here? It’s like a demand to breathe and relax. Like if your mind is racing toward your next destination, you’re disrupting the peaceful vibe. The thought has my hands relaxing on the wheel just as my phone rings.
When I see Kitty’s name plastered across the screen, my entire day flips around. I pull over, parking against the barrier that separates the road from a little swamp.
Kitty calls demand full attention.
I answer and exclaim, “You’re alive!”
Through a crackle of white noise, Kitty’s voice comes through, all smiling sarcasm. “Yes, Mom. I told you not to worry about me.”
“You’re backpacking solo through the wilderness with limited phone service. If I didn’t worry a little, I’d be a shitty friend.”
“I’m safer out here than I am in society. No potential car accidents. No bar creeps hanging around. No flu germs to—” her voice cuts out for a second and returns with— “rather die by grizzly bear.”
My nose wrinkles. “Death by grizzly bear is easily one of the worst ways to go.”
“Disagree. It’s natural. The circle of life.”
“Please tell me you have bear spray on you. Like, you aren’t inviting a grizzly to come hug you, right?”
“Still have to go bungee jumping and skydiving. So no bear hug invitations at the moment. Except from you. I miss my best friend.”
