Page 60 of When I Had You

No warning of his departure?

With every red flag flying, anger accompanies the disappointment flooding my veins. But more so, I thought we’d have a nice leisurely morning, then I’d go pack and fly back to Vancouver later. Seems I’ll be doing the walk of shame instead.

Returning to the bedroom, I debate if I should shower to wash off the humiliation or just get dressed and go back to Lark and Harbor’s where I’m staying to do the deed?

I look for a clock unsuccessfully but find my phone on the coffee table. It’s early, not even seven. If I go now, I could slip into the house unnoticed. I decide that’s the best plan I have, so I pull on my jeans and slip my bra back on under the shirt. Picking up my shirt, I go to put on my shoes and grab my bag on the way out. As soon as I call the elevator, I text Cash:

Revenge for breakfast? I didn’t take you for one with a vendetta.

He doesn’t respond, which irks me even further.

I step onto the sidewalk into the cool morning air and order a car to pick me up. I didn’t think about being photographed outside Cash Ryatt’s apartment building until I see what looks to be a tourist wearing a purple Westcott Racing shirt standing across the street. Crap. Ducking my head, I hightail it down the block.

When I see a car matching the description from the app, I wave at them. After confirming it’s my ride, I hop in the back and slink down in the seat, hoping to God that person didn’t catch me in a photo. It’s also a good reminder that Cash is not unknown. Just because he was to me doesn’t mean he isn’t famous.

I text Poppy, knowing she’s asleep on the west coast of Canada since they’re three hours behind New York City:

Guess what I’m doing?

She responds:

What?

Me:

Why are you up at this hour?

Poppy:

I was snacking. Why are you up at this hour?

I didn’t know she had a middle-of-the-night appetite, but maybe it’s a thing with chefs. I reply:

Walk of shaming it back across town.

My phone instantly rings. I laugh, needing the lightheartedness right now. “Hello?”

“Do tell.”

“Two words.” I track my gaze to the driver, who seems too occupied in his own world to be concerned with mine. Whispering, I say, “Cash. Ryatt.”

“Holy sh—”

“I know.”

“How the hell did that happen? What happened to he’s horrible, and I hate him and all that talk about rude, offensive, frustrating?” She takes a breath and adds, “Attractive.”

“Absurdly so. Yeah, I remember, and I’m eating my words now.”

“What else were you eating last night?”

A bubble of laughter escapes me. “Pizza. That’s it.”

She fake yawns, and then she laughs. “Boring. Tell me the good stuff.”

I stare out the window and begin to recognize that I’m getting close to Lark and Harbor’s place. “There was so much good, but then this morning, he ruined it.”

“What happened, Mar?” She pushes the joking aside, and her sincerity of concern comes through. “He left.”

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