Page 41 of Not That Into You

Monica

I roll over and nestle deeper into my pillow. It’s so downy, so soft, so... not mine. I freeze before I finally remember I’m in a luxurious bed in a mansion in the Hamptons.

I slowly turn my head and crack open an eye. Even in the muted, early morning light, I can see there’s no one in bed next to me. My shoulders relax into the mattress. In all the days leading up to this weekend, I’d purposefully avoided thinking about what the sleeping arrangements would be, and Cameron hadn’t soothed my nerves with his insistence on sharing a bed.

After dinner last night, he’d escorted me up to our room, dropped a kiss on my forehead, and told me not to wait up for him. I’d stood in the middle of the room, both relieved and irritated at his easy dismissal as he disappeared back down the stairs.

I’m not even sure he came to bed last night. Surely, I would have woken up if someone had crawled in next to me.

Where did he go?

Turning over, I open my eyes fully and glance at the clock before tapping my hand along the bedside table, looking for my glasses. After locating them, I put them on and turn to look at Cameron’s side of the bed again. The sheets are rumpled, and the pillow’s askew, so he clearly slept here last night.

I guess I was more tired than I realized.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling. How long has Cameron been up? Is he normally an early riser?

I bet he’s one of those godforsaken morning people. It’s not a mark in his favor.

I pull the sheets up over my shoulders, tucking them under my chin. I could easily lie in bed for another hour. Or maybe all day.

Or I could get up, get dressed, and hunt down some coffee.

I purse my lips. The thought of staying in bed is enticing, but it also smacks of hiding, which I refuse to do. I might swallow my pride and keep my mouth closed among the Stanhopes—because I have a role to play—but I’m not going to hide from them.

And coffee sounds really good right now.

Groaning, I roll out of bed, visit the bathroom, and throw on the T-shirt and pair of jeans I insisted on bringing, fashionable or not. I shuffle downstairs and wander into the kitchen before coming up short when I see Grace sitting at the kitchen table. She looks as polished and put together as if she were about to head into the office.

“Good morning.”

She looks up from her laptop. “Oh, hi. Good morning.”

I pour a glass of water and hope she doesn’t think it’s too forward of me to help myself.

“There’s coffee if you want it.”

I definitely want it. “Thanks.”

Locating the carafe, I pour myself a mug.

“Cameron brewed it.”

I’m not really sure how to respond, but her comment seems like a test, so I settle for a noncommittal, “Ah.”

Her gaze intensifies. “You know, Cameron. Always the early bird.”

Good to know my instincts were on target, even without coffee. I’m guessing she knows I know she knows I don’t know Cameron. I rub my forehead. Or whatever. It’s really too early to be using my brain.

“I rarely get up this early,” I dodge. “But I ended up going to bed early last night, so...” I take a sip of coffee, trying not to flinch when it burns my tongue.

“Hm.” She closes her laptop, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. “I usually work out in the mornings, but my trainer’s not here.” She shrugs. “So I got some work done instead.”

“Makes sense.” No, it doesn’t. It’s Saturday morning. Saturday mornings are for turning off the alarm and lazing in bed. Which is what I should’ve done. I did not make good choices this morning.

“Do you work much?”

I lift a brow. Is she asking if I’m mooching off her brother? “I have a full workload.”

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