Page 116 of Crazy for this Girl

Or that restraining order she mentioned earlier.

And, even then…

“What did you do?” She hesitates for a moment. “Did you get in trouble?” I shake my head. “Did you get abducted by aliens or something?”

My face twists because she would ask and I wish. “No.”

Her blues search my face for that teenage boy with a hardcore crush on his blonde neighbor turned pen pal. The one who religiously wrote down songs for her to listen to. That impatiently waited for her letters to come in the mail until we got cell phones. But her handwriting and knowing that she touched the letter made it that much more special.

I still have every single one.

“You were gone for months before I heard from you. Did you hit your head, wake up from a coma, and remember how to text?”

“No.”

She begins tapping her heel impatiently against the floor, getting a piece of her own medicine. “You wanted to talk, so tell me.”

“When you’re ready to give me more than thirty seconds, call me.”

“I’ve been standing here for at least over a hundred,” she retorts.

“With an attitude problem.” I begin to round her body to leave but not before saying to her side, “Come find me when you lose it.”

She’s struggling to listen with an open mind, that much is for certain, but I need some leverage.

Her curiosity.

Laynee could never go with a cliffhanger. She loved and hated them. She only bitched about the Harry Potter series for years up until we stopped talking.

I might not be the Cal Harper she remembers, but maybe she can bring him back to life. Laynee was always supposed to stand by my side.

As my equal, my girl, and my future.

And I aim to win and conquer as of late.

Laynee just became my new target whether she ends up underneath me or just within my life again.

I’ll take either one.

D-Day.

AKA meet the new CEO of Grand Regent Hotels and the reason why my boss Elliott has been beside himself for about two weeks.

It’s a Friday, and some of the staff have called off for various reasons of illness, which is code for Happy Hour hangovers from the night before. I don’t even have to be out of the elevator to know that.

I confidently stride into work today with a new white blouse that dips professionally down my chest and a straight black skirt that hits right above my knees. My cute and lucky black pumps from Shein give me a pep in my step as I greet Marie at the receptionist desk and make my way to my office.

Placing down Elliott’s Cuban coffee, my medium roast with half of it containing cream, and the rest of the crap in my hands, I start for Elliott’s office with his beverage. When all I need to do is pivot because he already stands in my doorway.

“Good morning, Laynee,” he greets flatly, then points. “Is that mine?”

I extend my arm to hand off his morning pick-me-up and notice that the top button to his dress shirt is undone. Usually, he becomes more low-key toward the evenings, so he’s either choking to death on the pressure with this new CEO or he’s possibly hungover too.

“When was Mr. Muncy coming in this morning?” I ask. “Did you need me to pull the reports up for him?”

Elliott gives me a confused look over the rim of his cup. “Why would Mr. Muncy need those?”

“You said he was coming in to overlook the property and come up with solutions to help occupancy.” He only blinks at me. Dark eyes looking genuinely baffled by what I’m saying but perfectly clear as if he is sober. “Mr. Muncy…the new CEO of the company.”

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