Grumpy Romance: Chapter 3

KENYA

I blow my nose loudly and toss it into the Mount Everest-sized tissue mound. I’m hunkered in my best friend’s couch, throwing germs all over her sofa and sobbing into her pillows.

Sunny flops into the couch beside me and drops a new box of tissues on the coffee table. She eyes the growing Mount Everest and sucks in a deep breath. I can practically hear her rationalizing her germphobic urges away.

“My head is killing me,” I whine, looping my arm around hers and burrowing my head into her shoulder.

She pats my hair that has gone full Simba from The Lion King. “Keep crying all you want.”

I hug her arm tighter. “I don’t think I have a drop of water left.”

“Finally. If you cried any more, the couch would start floating.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be. I was genuinely wondering if you were hooked up to a water hose. This is the fifth box of tissues you’ve run through.”

“I’ll pay you back.” It hits me that I’m broke and I start sobbing again. “Oh, wait. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I got fired today.”

Her eyes widen. “You got axed the same day you found Drake…”

I sob pathetically.

She raises a fist and yells at the ceiling. “Whoever’s in charge of what’s going on down here, can you give my friend some slack? You don’t have to be so cruel!”

I bawl hard.

She rubs my back. “What are you going to do?”

“I have to get my stuff out of his place, first of all. And then… I don’t know.”

“You can stay here as long as you need.”

“Thanks.” I sniff. “I don’t even want to think about job hunting right now.”

“That’s fine. Plenty more to think about.”

“Like what?”

She taps her chin. “What you’re going to do about your relationship.”

I reach for another tissue and blow my nose.

“Has Drake tried to reach out at all?”

“No, he hasn’t. But Sasha’s been calling.” My phone is full of messages from her.

I’m sorry.

We need to talk.

Why are you being like this?

Let me explain.

Answer your phone!

It’s tough seeing her name on my screen. Tough seeing her picture pop up, all smiley and cute, when she calls.

Tears spill from my eyes and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “I can’t believe Sasha would betray me like this. I’m hurt about Drake, but it’s not the same. He can go jump off a cliff for all I care. I don’t want to be dating a cheater anyway. But Sasha is my sister. She’s my family. How could she do this to me? How could she tear my heart out like this?”

“Because she’s spoiled and entitled.” Sunny growls.

I’m not surprised she’d jump on the ‘Bash My Little Sister’ train. Sunny has never been a fan of Sasha.

“Please don’t start,” I beg.

“Start what? I’m only speaking the truth.”

I curl into a ball on the other end of the couch and push my throbbing head deep into a pillow. “This isn’t my life. Tell me this is just a nightmare.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that.”

I tilt my head back and open my mouth to wail when Sunny sticks a Twinkie into my face. The sweetness gushes through my mouth and temporarily makes the dark shadows glitter with light.

“I’m not trying to knock on sick people, alright?” Sunny says, her thick eyebrows pulling together. “But Sasha is a little brat.”

I frown at my best friend. Sunny has strong Mayan genes and it’s super apparent when she’s angry. The red undertones beneath her brown skin get stronger, and her eyes glitter like ancient

Her folks migrated from Belize and I thought it was cool that she was a real Mayan descendent. Sunny embraced it too, dressing up in cultural clothes at every special event. She’d always get a ton of attention. Heck, even when she’s out of her traditional Mayan dress she makes heads turn. Her features are striking and exotic. She’s got thin lips and a regal grace in every movement of her body.

Sunny flings her long, black hair over her shoulder. It’s shiny and glitters like a waterfall. “Sasha’s been getting everything she wants since the moment she got diagnosed.”

“Whoa, whoa. Sasha’s entire world exploded when she found out she was sick.”

“See? You’re taking up for her.”

“These are two separate matters,” I yell back.

“No, it’s all connected. This crappy behavior went unchecked for years. That’s the reason she thought it’d be cool to screw your boyfriend.”

I wince. “She went through a lot back then.”

“What about everything you went through when she was sick?”

“I didn’t have a hundred rounds of chemo.”

“No, you just had to give up all your extra classes—”

“That wasn’t her fault,” I say.

“Yes it was.”

“It wasn’t like she could control being sick.”

Sunny glares at me.

I scowl right back. “My parents’ lives stopped too. They had to take out a bunch of loans to afford the medical bills. There was no money to spend on me.”

“That’s bull. They could have been more supportive. They could have remembered you were just a kid yourself. But what did they do? They guilt tripped you into giving up the things you liked and forced you to get a part-time job instead.”

“It was my idea.”

“What happened when you wanted to stop?” Sunny arches an eyebrow.

I glance away.

“Your parents didn’t let you,” she reminds me. “And it caused a big fight. You told them you weren’t able to focus on school, but did they care that you couldn’t juggle everything? No. They expected you to be the strong one. On top of that, you had to give them all your money and take care of Sasha on your downtime too. It didn’t matter if you had something you wanted for yourself. You couldn’t have it because Sasha needed it more.”

I close my eyes. “You’re focusing on the bad parts.”

“There were good parts?” She throws her hands up.

“I remember sitting with Sasha in her hospital room, learning how to crochet. We knitted hats for the kids going through chemotherapy. I remember sleeping next to her when she was scared. I remember talking to her for hours before surgery.”

“And now your boyfriend is the one sleeping next to her and talking to her for hours,” Sunny points out.

I frown. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“It’s hard enough to process on my own.”

“I’m trying to get you to open your eyes before you talk to her. She’s going to guilt trip you like she always does.”

“Sunny…”

“I kept quiet because it’s your private business, but I’m angry on your behalf. You’re my best friend. And if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t try so hard to make them into a good person.”

“But it’s not just anyone else. Sasha’s my sister.”

Sunny pops out of the sofa. “Which is exactly why she should never have done this! The very thought should have made her want to puke. I’m your friend and the suggestion that I could ever get with your boyfriend behind your back gives me the hives.”

“Maybe there’s a reason.”

“Damn!”

I glance up in fright.

“You always do this. You always take up for her when she does shady things.”

“Because…”

“Because you remember her when she was sick. Well, she’s not sick anymore. She hasn’t been for almost seven years. You gotta start letting her take responsibility for her actions.”

I groan loudly. “I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

“Fine.” Sunny huffs. “Come to bed.”

“I’ll stay up a little longer.”

“Suit yourself.” Sunny stalks out of the living room. I hear her slap the water faucet in the bathroom. The water gushes out loudly. She starts brushing her teeth and I wonder if she’ll have any enamel left after this. I can hear those bristles rubbing like sandpaper.

Curling my arms around my legs, I bring my knees to my chest.

My phone sits next to my foot.

It’s turned off.

The device has been exploding with messages. Most of the calls were from Sasha, but there were a few from Walt.

It feels like this day has been going on for hours. I just want to close my eyes and erase the past twenty-four hours from existence.

Are there any fairytale godmothers out there for me? Now would be a really good time to show up.

Rather than a glowing, ethereal creature, my best friend pokes her head out of her bedroom door and mumbles, “Come to bed, Kenya.”

“I thought you were mad.” I turn slightly to face her.

“I’m not mad. I just want the best for you and I hate seeing people treat you poorly.” She tilts her head toward the room. “But we can argue about it tomorrow. For tonight, let’s just forget everything.”

My smile wobbles, but I offer it to her with as much gratitude as I can and follow her into the room.

Sunny sleeps on her side of the bed while I sleep on mine. She tosses and turns more than a toddler with a stomachache, so I end up on the floor with a blanket under me, huddling into a fetal position for warmth until morning.

When sunlight tiptoes into the room, I open my eyes and find that my vision is blurry. My head pounds like the seven dwarves found a new cave to explore.

“Morning.” Sunny looks down from her perch on the bed.

“Morning.”

“Ugh.” She points to my face. “Girl, what is… did you slam into a wall last night?”

“It’s that bad?”

She makes a yes it is face and rolls to her other side. Grabbing the handheld mirror she keeps on her nightstand, she offers it to me.

I stare at my reflection in horror. My hair expands all around me like someone filled it with helium and it’s trying to run away. The thought of detangling those curls crushes my soul.

My eyes are puffy and the left one is red-rimmed. My face is swollen too. It looks like I went on a serious bender last night and I came back with the kind of tale you can never tell anyone.

I shove the mirror back into Sunny’s hands and burrow under the comforter. “That’s it. I’m never going out into polite society again. I’m going to stay right here under this comforter and become a professional snail.”

“I don’t think you can change species, Kenya.”

“There are professional mermaids,” I snap. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Sunny grabs the top of my soft, protective shell. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t stay under there forever.”

I resist her, fighting to keep a grip on the blanket.

“Come on. Get dressed and put on makeup. We’re going out to eat.”

“Don’t you have work?” I squeak.

“I can grab breakfast.”

The blanket explodes off me as I sit up and grab Sunny for a hug. She owns a freelance interior design business and rarely takes time off. Since she’s a one-man band, every gig helps build her portfolio. She’s always hustling to find work, so I know it’s a sacrifice to take the morning off.

“You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Now hurry up and make yourself presentable. I’m starving.”

I inch back and give her a puppy dog face. “Until I get back on my feet, I can’t go anywhere expensive. Where exactly are we going?”

“The usual place. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

I give her another hug.

She pushes me off. “Your breath stinks.”

I blow a breathy kiss in her direction because I’m annoying like that and scamper out of the bed with a smile…

Until I remember everything that happened yesterday.

I cry in the shower and try to brush away the evidence when I emerge.

If Sunny knows I was bawling my eyes out while wasting her hot water, she doesn’t give any indication.

We set out for a Caribbean brunch place next to her apartment.

It’s a gorgeous day for a walk and the sunshine falling on my face energizes me. The world doesn’t seem so bleak anymore.

I mean, it’s still pretty dark.

But at least I don’t have to think too hard about it.

There are barely any clouds in the sky, allowing a pure, unbroken blue. Trees arch their faces toward the sun, trying to soak in as much warmth as they can before winter. The weather is balmy today, so both Sunny and I are in light jackets.

We settle into our spot at Jamaican Patties, a tiny building with zero curb appeal and the best fry jacks I’ve ever tasted. Apart from the ones Sunny’s mom makes, of course.

Sunny pulls her mojito close and takes a sip. “Has Sasha called you since morning?”

“I don’t know.” I flash my cell phone at her. “ I haven’t turned on my phone.”

“Bold.”

“It’s not like I have to worry about my boss calling me,” I say glumly, wrapping my fingers around my orange juice. I have a feeling I’ll start bawling if I consume an ounce of alcohol, so I’ve chosen to play it safe.

Sunny slips one of the golden-brown fry jacks into my plate. “I’m sorry you lost your job.”

“Compared to all the horrible things that happened yesterday, it’s not the worst.”

“You’re right. Way to look on the sunny side.” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins. “Huh?”

“That was horrible.”

“Made you smile though.”

We share a laugh.

I shift my attention to the delicious spread. Apart from the basket of fluffy fried jacks, there are side dishes like steaming-hot beans, shredded cheese and grilled chicken.

I wonder if I have any spare doggy bags in my purse. I have to start thinking about how I’m going to pay for groceries because skipping meals isn’t my style. This breakfast can serve as lunch too. The chicken topping can go on salads and sandwiches. And maybe I can hide some fry jacks away for tomorrow’s breakfast.

“Why are you staring?” Sunny asks.

I shake my head. “Just trying to get used to the new normal.”

“It must be weird. Yesterday, you had a boyfriend and a job. And now…” She sighs so hard her straw turns in a circle.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

She winces. “Sorry.”

I munch on a fry jack. “Oh, I didn’t tell you everything that happened yesterday.”

“There’s more?” Her eyes bug. “Sheesh, I should have bought a lottery ticket. What was yesterday’s date?”

I lean my elbow on the table. “Right after I saw… you know.” A picture of my sister and Drake flashes in my head. My heart pains me like someone plucked the strings, but I forge on. “I got a call from Walt to go into work. When I got there, this jerk was, like, lurking in the hallway…”

“Like a pervert?”

“He’s too hot to be a pervert.”

Her eyes snap to mine and she grins. “Oh? He was hot?”

“Not the point.” I glance away because I cannot deny that Holland Alistair was fire-alarm levels of smoking. “This guy, he acted all mystified by me. He kept saying ‘you’re the one who tripled sales?’ Like he couldn’t believe I was capable of such a thing.”

“The prick.”

“Right?”

“You think it was a race-thing?”

I scrunch my nose.

“Or maybe it’s just women in general.” She scowls. “You should blast him online. Get him cancelled.”

“I bet there’s a forum that already exists online. He strikes me as someone who’s awful to everyone. Not just black people. Or women.”

She relaxes into her chair. “A jerk who believes in equality. That’s fair.”

I choke out a laugh. “Anyway, he acted all rude and condescending with me, so I said some things I probably wouldn’t have if I wasn’t so upset about…”

“Yeah.”

“And the next thing I know, this guy tells me to pack my things and report to HR.”

Sunny slams her hand on the table and gasps. “No.”

“Turns out, he’s some guy named Holland Alistair and he owns Belle’s Beauty.”

“Wait. That Holland Alistair?”

“How many people in this world go by ‘Holland’?”

She shakes her head, her shiny hair tumbling around her cheeks. “Girl, give me a second. Let me look this up.” Sunny pulls out her phone like a spy genius on a mission. Thumbs clamoring away, she mumbles, “I’ve heard that name on the news before.”

“On the news? Is he like… a criminal?”

Mr. Alistair didn’t strike me as a crook. But what if he is? What if he comes after me because of what I said to him? And what I did to his fern?

“Not a criminal. A billionaire.” She turns the phone over to me and there’s a stuffy picture of Holland Alistair scowling into a camera.

He looks just as gorgeous in this still photo as he did in person, and it is so unfair the way my heart skips a beat.

“He’s a data analyst genius or something. There was a whole write up about how he was revolutionizing the real estate game.”

“So he has a reason to act as arrogant as he does?”

“Hey,” she holds out a dark hand, “that’s no reason to be a prick to people. He should know better.”

I nod.

“What exactly did you tell him?”

“I don’t even remember. I just said he was disrespectful. Something like that.”

“Wow.” She flops back into her chair and barks out a laugh. “You told off a billionaire to his face? Way to go, girl.”

“I also knocked over his fern.” My voice wobbles. “I kicked it a few times.”

Sunny stops for a moment. Then she throws her head back and guffaws. “That’s amazing! Was it a real fern?”

“I thought it was fake until glass shattered and dirt went flying everywhere.” I cringe inside. I haven’t done anything that childish in years.

“That’s… I’m speechless.”

I rub the back of my neck. “You don’t think that fern was expensive, do you?”

“Don’t worry. A man that rich won’t track you down because you kicked over his fern. He has too many important things to do.” She leans forward. “Did it make you feel any better?”

“Kind of,” I admit. “At the time, all I could think about was how unfair he was. I did amazing at that weekend workshop, but I ended up losing my job. All because I didn’t know he was the boss.”

“Would you have cared if you’d known?”

“Probably not.” I slap the table. “He was so rude, Sunny. He talked about me as if I wasn’t even there. And he acted so entitled.”

“He kind of is entitled. He’s a gazillionaire.”

“He’s human, isn’t he? And so am I. Who cares that he has a lot of money and I’m broke?”

“Don’t get defensive. I’m on your side.”

I pull her phone closer and stare at the articles about Mr. Alistair. One in particular catches my eye.

Tech Mogul Loses Wife In Tragic Accident

Stunned, I click on the article.

Sunny finishes off her mojito and waves at a waiter to refill it. She notices my expression and frowns. “What’s with that face?”

“It says here that Holland Alistair lost his wife four years ago.” My eyes scan the page in rapid fire. I’ve been devouring books since I was four, so I tend to read at a faster pace. “It says Belle’s Beauty is his late wife’s company.”

“That’s so sad.”

The nerves in my stomach tighten. “I mean… it still doesn’t excuse him for being a major jerk, but it does humanize him a little.”

“It’s horrible, but you can’t forget what he did yesterday.” She wags a finger. “See, that’s your weakness. You keep letting tragic backstories fool you into thinking evil people are good.”

I rub my temples. “Can you not start?”

“Fine. Fine.” She raises both arms. “But your sister is—”

“Here.” I breathe in shock.

“What? No, it’s a five-letter word and it starts with b.”

“No, I mean she’s here.” My eyes lock on Sasha. She’s wearing a sharp white blouse and a little pleated skirt that swishes around her long legs. Ankle boots, similar to the kind I wore yesterday, adorn her feet.

Heads swivel in her direction as she passes by. She doesn’t pay the men any attention as she searches the tables. When her gaze collides with mine, I get a sick feeling in my stomach.

Sunny charges to her feet. “Oh hell nah. What is she doing in my territory?”

“I don’t want to talk to her right now,” I croak, unable to keep my food down. “Sunny, can you—”

“I’m on it, sweetie. You get out of here.”

It’s pathetic that I have to run from my own sister, but all the ugly, churning feelings in my gut tell me I’m not ready to have this conversation. The wound is too fresh and the pain is too thick.

Charging through the restaurant, I head to the back door and crash into the alley. From there, I take off in a random direction, eager to put space between me and the woman who stabbed me in the back.

When my feet start hurting, I look for the nearest seat I can find. A bus stop isn’t that far away, and I take refuge under the shade. Two teenagers are nearby, school bags, a trombone and a guitar at their feet. They’re holding hands and whispering sweetly to each other.

I remember when I had a love like that. I was a little older than them, in college, but I was feeling all those gushy, heart-pounding thrills for the first time.

I want to tap the girl on the shoulder and warn her that this romance won’t feel like a fairytale for long. Just wait until she catches her boyfriend tromboning into her sister.

But I keep my mouth shut and reach for my phone. Sunny will want to know where I am, and I’ll need an update on whether it’s safe to return to her apartment. If Sasha knew to find me at the restaurant, that means she knows I’m with Sunny.

My phone powers on with a loud chirp. I wait for it to go through the loading process and then tap my message icon.

I’m stunned when I see the latest message.

It’s from an unknown number.

Good morning, Ms. Jones. You’ve been chosen for a position at Fine Industries. Kindly come in for an interview at your earliest convenience.

I scrunch my nose. Everything about that job offer screams ‘scam’, but an opportunity is an opportunity.

Settling into my park bench while the teenagers whisper about how much they love each other, I google ‘Fine Industries’ and nearly fall out of my bench when I spot the name of the CEO.

“Holland Alistair?” My eyes whip up to the busy highway. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Holland Alistair offer me a job?

Unless this is a trap.

Does he want to lure me to his office so the cops can get me? I imagine a group of cops—who, strangely, all have handlebar mustaches—crouched beneath Alistair’s desk.

At that moment, my phone rings.

It’s Sunny.

Feeling paranoid, I glance left and right before whispering, “Sunny, Holland Alistair just gave me a job offer.”

“What?”

“Holland Alistair…”

“What? I can’t hear you?”

“The hot prick from yesterday wants me to work for him!”

The teenagers both go silent.

Heat burns my cheeks and I lower my voice, “This is a trap, right?”

“I don’t think so.” Sasha sounds breathless. “He’s outrageously rich, right? And all the articles talk about how strict he is with his time. Someone like that wouldn’t waste his precious hours trying to trick you into seeing him.”

“So you think it’s a legitimate offer?”

“You did say they were stunned by how you’d tripled sales. And you did a smashing job at the weekend workshop. It makes sense that Alistair would be interested in meeting the person everyone was raving about.”

I wince. “And I snapped at him.”

“You didn’t ruin your chances. They still reached out.”

“Don’t you think that would be shameless of me, though? I did knock over his fern.”

“It’s not like you’re going to work for him. Do you know how often regular employees see the owner of a company that size? Like never. The probability of you running into him is zero.”

“I don’t think that’s how probabilities work,” I mumble.

“It’s not like you have any other job offers.”

“True.”

“And we can’t keep sharing a bedroom forever.”

I pout. “Why not?”

“Because you’re sleeping on the floor, for one thing! And also, one day, I am going to get myself a boyfriend.”

“When? You barely leave the house.”

“Not the point. I’ve been trying my luck on those dating apps. One day, I’m going to swipe right on a guy who doesn’t think a great pick up line is ‘do you want to see my Wiener?’”

I burst out laughing. “They do not.”

“It’s never the dog, Kenya. They never have a dog.”

My smile grows. “You really think it’s a good idea to work for his real estate company? Isn’t that kind of… brazen?”

“You might as well be brazen for once, girl. Everyone else in your life has no problem doing that.”

My cell phone vibrates and, as if summoned, I get an incoming call from Sasha. I reject the call before putting the cell back to my ear. “This is either going to be the best thing I’ve ever done or—”

“No ‘or’. It’s time for you to catch a break and this just might be Fate balancing the scales.”

“Maybe.”

“Thank God you did your makeup before you left. Head straight to that interview and don’t think about anything else.”

I pause. “Did you… say anything to Sasha?”

“Girl, didn’t you hear me? Secure the bag first and then worry about your back-stabbing sister later.”

“Sunny.”

“I’m not going to apologize. A spade is a spade.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Good luck on your interview.”

Suddenly nervous, I spy on Holland Alistair’s biography again. Hitting the back arrow, I return to the images tab. My phone screen fills with pictures of Alistair’s arrogant, rigid, impossibly beautiful face. Those firm eyebrows look like thunderstorms waiting to send lightning bolts in my direction.

What does the angry god of Mount Olympus want with me?

It still feels a little too dangerous to stomp into his territory, but a job at Fine Industries would be a serious notch on my resume. And Sunny’s right. I was getting attention from the higher ups before I was brutally kicked out of my place.

The only problem is… this offer didn’t come from Belle’s Beauty. It came from Fine Industries. I know nothing about data or real estate. Where would I even fit in a company like that?

Does it matter? A job offer dropped into your lap. Are you going to take it or not?

I get on the bus and head to Fine Industries. Going for an interview beats unemployment, running from my sister and hiding under Sunny’s comforter all day.

Hopefully, I don’t run into Alistair. He might have his own tragic backstory, but I still find him to be arrogant and insufferable. If going through a tragedy gave everyone a free pass, we would live in a totally uncivilized society.

And if this is some twisted way of getting revenge on me, then I won’t hold anything back. I’ve been slammed to the ground more than once. If Alistair dangles hope in front of me only to pull it back, I’m going to aim for something a lot more painful than his fern.

Everyone at Fine Industries wears business casual like it’s a magazine shoot. Three-piece suits. Pencil skirts. Shiny shoes. Sensible heels. I shouldn’t have listened to Sunny when she told me to come down here in my T-shirt and jeans. This is absolutely inappropriate for an interview.

I turn to leave when I hear a voice call my name.

“Miss Jones?” A security officer barrels toward me. “Miss Jones?”

Oh sweet Lord. I knew it! This is a trap!

My heart leaves my chest and runs out the door before I can catch up. Eyes widening, I make a mad dash for the exits.

As a unit, the security guards spring into action. One slides in front of the door like he’s rushing into home base. Three more sprint toward me, forming a circle to lock me in.

The commotion causes a stir in the crowd. Curious eyes swerve my way. Look at that hooligan with the big curly hair and plain T-shirt. Look at her all unprofessional. The fern killer. Plant murderer!

I suck in air like it’s going out of style. “I can explain,” I babble, wondering if we get internet reception in jail. I’m on the last level of Candy Crush and I can’t afford to let all that effort go to waste. “I didn’t know the fern was real.”

The security guard approaches me like I’m a rabid dog and he’s afraid I’ll bite. “We’ve been instructed to take you upstairs.”

I make one last attempt at escape, but the security guards easily block my way. Damn. They make sexy getaways look so much easier in Charlie’s Angels.

The burly guard grabs my arm. “Upstairs, ma’am.”

I swipe at him. “Let me go.”

“Ma’am!”

So asking nicely isn’t going to work?

Fine.

“I’m not afraid of the popo!” I channel my inner Madea, picturing myself as a six-foot cross-dressing man in a granny dress and sand sacks for breasts. Hauling my body around, I shriek, “I ain’t afraid! So let me go!”

The men gawk at me like I’m an alien beamed down from the mothership. I notice cell phone cameras zooming in my direction and stop abruptly, hiding my face behind my current warden’s back.

If yesterday was the worst day of my life, then today is gunning for that trophy. I wonder what I did to deserve this madness. Should I just step into on-coming traffic and take my chances with the afterlife?

“This way ma’am,” the burly guard says, indicating the elevators. He sounds genuinely concerned for me.

Like a troubled inmate assigned extra security, I’m briskly escorted to the lift. The guards stay hot on my tail, but I’m not going to run. I’m too humiliated to bother.

This is that jerk’s fault.

Holland Alistair.

He knew I’d come. He prepped his security team to welcome me.

I wrench my hand free and turn on the guard inside the elevator. “This is a violation of my rights.”

He arches an eyebrow and grunts as if he doesn’t talk English.

Silence fills the tiny space.

Seconds later, the elevator chirps.

We’ve arrived at the top floor.

The doors open to a wall of giant windows and a view of the city that makes my eyes water. A man unfolds himself from a chair at the front desk and stares me down. He’s built like a Gucci model, so tall and muscular he could probably punch his way through the walls if he ever goes full Hulk.

My heart slams against my ribs, wanting a second try at escape. I whirl around, intending to act on it, but the burly security guard looks at me with a frown.

I force myself to turn around and face the dominating Holland Alistair.