Page 62 of Gorgeous Misery

And I felt it.

I knew it.

Even before I called Adam. Even before I heard about Donovan. Even before I knew he wasn’t dead.

I knew we’d end up here.

I rip the piece of paper off the pad and try for a third time.

Dear Wendy,

Can you blame him for snatching you up and taking you prisoner? If this summer didn’t work out, trust me, babe—I was gonna kidnap your ass myself.

Because you’re just that kind of girl, Wen. You are the kind of girl I want to tie up. You are the kind of girl I want to collar, and leash, and handcuff.

I want to own you. Because I want to hold on to you. Because life without you isn’t worth the fucking hassle.

See ya on the other side,

Nick

I fold the note up into fours, then again until it’s a stubby square between my fingers. Then I unfold it, straighten it out on the table, then fold it again, this time in half. I don’t like pristine paper. A note like this deserves a proper history.

Then I leave the room, go to the lobby, hit Wendell up for an envelope, stuff the note inside, seal it up, and then place it in Wendell’s open palm. “You know what to do,” I tell him.

And he winks. Because he does.

I go back to my room and prepare for Merc.

Because now this shit is real.

We are all part of Central Casting.

And if I want the happily ever after, I need to play my part.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - MERC

TODAY

I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand, taking a moment to appreciate what just happened. Nick Tate is alive. I just talked to him and in a couple of hours, I’m going to be face to face with this guy.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

But there’s no time to work it out. I push through the door, cross the yard, and watch Harrison tuck his phone away into a pocket on the thigh of his cargo pants.

He’s an old guy now but for some reason, he still looks the same to me. Same neatly trimmed white beard, same athletic build, same tanned and weathered face. He’s been living in the Keys running a private jet service for rich assholes almost this whole time. And he’s come a long way from that little plane he used to cart us around in. He’s got a whole fleet of them now. And some are big enough to fly all the way to Australia.

But this little jet sitting in the middle of the lonely dirt road today was chosen for speed. I can’t be away long. Only a few hours. Mount Pleasant is about a thirty-minute flight from where we’re at right now. Then I imagine it’ll take about an hour to work things out with Nick, and I can be back here in three hours, tops.

It’ll be OK.

My phone buzzes an incoming text. Room 17.

Perfect timing. “You ready?” Harrison asks as I approach.

I nod. “Let’s go.”

“You’re gonna fill me in on the way? Because this whole thing is starting to look a little too much like the old days for my comfort level, Merc.”