Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I laid the suitcase open on top of the built-in dresser inside the closet. With no discernable organizational system, I threw my clothes inside, many landing on the floor. Fuck it. I wasn’t taking any of the shit Dash had purchased for me. I grabbed my uniforms and kicked at the clothes on the floor as I made my way out.
My packed duffle bag, already downstairs, contained everything I needed anyway. With my hands full, I double-timed it down the stairs. As I reached for my bag, the sparkle of my commitment ring caught my eye. Everything in my hands dropped onto the chair. With an emotional pain that seared through my system like a lightning bolt, I yanked the ring off my fat fucking finger. Dammit, my knuckle was bleeding now. Dash’s fault too.
I chose not to dwell on the meaning that piece of jewelry held to me. With a deep breath, I grabbed the notepad and pen from the entry table. As the simple words poured from me, I saw red.
“I got it. Sorry it took so long to make this move. I’ve been in the same headspace as you for a long time. Probably longer than you,” I scribbled, feeling petty. I hoped Dash read this as I intended. “Chandler? Of course. Do the right thing and leave me the fuck alone.”
I felt adding my name was unnecessary. I left the note by my ring and grabbed my shit from the chair. The finality of my decision liberated my soul as I tried to carry my clothes, fishing pole, and duffle bag to my truck. I shoved it all into my truck’s backseat and was driving out of the garage within minutes. I’d get my boat and haul it with me wherever I went. I didn’t want Chandler to step a single foot on my beloved fishing boat. “Damn straight.” I slammed my fist into the steering wheel to punctuate my words. This was my first step to getting my life back on some sort of track.
If everything worked out for me, I wouldn’t ever have to suffer through this city’s traffic again.
Dash
Sunday
“Whoa,” Penny exclaimed.
Why was Penny at my house? Had I missed a meeting? My head throbbed like a son of a bitch, making it hard to focus on anything other than the drumbeat pulsating against my brain. The light streaming in through the window beat against my closed lids with the effectiveness of the harshest interrogation tactic, designed to torture the toughest criminals. I pressed a hand over my eyes to ward off the worst of it.
“What’re you doing here and why does it smell so bad?” she asked.
I lifted my hand and cracked my eyelids open. Huh. I was in my office, which made more sense than Penny being inside my home. When I attempted to speak, I found I had a frog living in my throat with the way I croaked. There wasn’t any saliva in my mouth. Fuck, I had to slow down my drinking. Beau needed to get his ass back here and help me tackle my problem before I turned into an alcoholic. I needed to get my shit together and get home to carry out my plans to surprise Beau upon his arrival this evening. We had to find a better way to repair our partnership, and I had to assure my guy that Chandler was never going to be an issue for us again.
I did my utmost to suppress my pain and started to rise to a sitting position.
“Wow, Dash, that’s awful.” I heard the distinct sound of a dry heave following her words. “I’ll contact the janitorial service.”
If she had such a reaction, I was certain my stomach couldn’t handle whatever she saw. Yet, I cautiously ventured a look in her direction. At least I attempted to use the trash can. That had to count for something.
“Penny,” I called.
“Already on it,” she said, reading my mind as usual. My bare feet were firmly planted on the ground, with my elbows resting on my knees. “Chandler brought you in before midnight. You were somewhat upright but by the time he settled you on the sofa, you were out cold. He then rifled around in your desk, opening and closing several drawers. Apparently, he didn’t know we record everything in this office.” That revelation that Chandler had finally shown himself had me pushing through the pain to stand. “The audio in your office picked up Chandler saying you had always been too naïve.”
Hmm. Was my current state only due to an alcohol hangover, or did Chandler slip me something more? I never felt this bad before in my life.
“Did he carry anything out?” I asked as I headed for the minibar for a Gatorade, then took several long swigs.
“He shoved something under his overcoat and left you asleep on the sofa. Well, he nudged the trash can closer to you, then left.”