Page 90 of Forever Wild

“The benefit of being the best is that you work with the best. The journalist I reached out to actually dug that portion up on his own. You know, while we’re on the subject, I do have questions about that. I’m not sure how you managed to connect with one of the top investors in the world, but, since I’m your boss now, I’m going to need you to pass that relationship over to me.”

A laugh escapes me. “Wow. You are making this so much easier for me.” I start walking again, this time changing direction toward the elevators.

Confusion pulling at his brows, he catches up to me quickly. I can tell he doesn’t want to look stupid by asking, but his curiosity finally wins out. “What did I make easier for you?” he asks.

“This,” I say, striding into the elevator as it opens. “Bye, Kyle. Good luck trying to fill my position and take on a new one of your own. I bet it takes”—I tap my chin, pretending to think—“less than three months for them to realize that you don’t actually know how to do your job and you just take credit for everyone else’s work.”

I stick my hand out, holding the elevator from closing. “I won’t be here when that happens, but I look forward to watching you fail from afar.”

As the doors slide closed in front of his shocked face, I wiggle my fingers in a wave. “Toodle-oo, Kyle.”

Chapter forty-six

Bryn

“So it didn’t matter how your presentation went?” Izzy asks.

“That’s what he-who-shall-not-be-named implied,” I reply over the Bluetooth as I drive toward Wild Bluffs. “But, I mean, he’s also a source in that highly inaccurate article, so I wouldn’t say he’s the most reliable.”

“I honestly can’t believe he was in cahoots with Alexis. What a wild pairing.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t even crack the top three most outrageous revelations of my day.”

“Your upcoming fun-employment throwing you off, huh?”

I sigh. After taking the first ten minutes of my flight home to write and send the world’s most generic resignation letter, I spent the rest of the time thinking about what comes next. Really trying to figure out what matters to me. I’ve used my job as a barometer for my success for so long, I don’t know what to do now that I don’t have it.

I’ve reconsidered my resignation about every thirty minutes at this point, but every time, I remember Kyle would be my boss, and I’m glad I pushed Send while the anger was still controlling my actions.

I’m also glad I didn’t pitch my original idea. I’m sure Kyle would’ve stolen it and somehow his team would’ve turned it into something great. He would’ve been praised, and I would’ve been unemployed. About as far from the professional trajectory I had planned for myself as possible, watching as my idea was taken and turned into something that paled in comparison to what it could be.

I realized something else while on that flight, emotionally spiraling through every decision that led me to this point: I want to be with Jameson. Does it hurt that he didn’t try harder to reach out to me when that article came out? Yes. Of course it does. It’s also understandable that, after the year he had following his break with Alexis, he forced himself to focus on his game. He’s not holding it against me that I haven’t been the chattiest the last few days. While it hurt, I am a grown-ass woman, and the further I’ve gotten from the hurt, the more I realize I get to decide if I let this one mistake ruin something that has the potential to be amazing.

I have no doubt he would’ve called me if he wouldn’t have broken his phone, though I might insist he memorize my cell number just in case. To be fair, maybe I should memorize his as well—I’ve broken a phone or two in my day, and they aren’t as easy to replace in Wild Bluffs as they are in a city.

At the end of the day, I still love him. He’s still the person I want to call to talk through what my next step should be. I feel grounded when I’m with him, like my soul recognizes it’s home when it’s near him.

A text from the man himself came through as I was deplaning, letting me know he was in Wild Bluffs and he wanted to have dinner with me tonight to celebrate my victory. I’m so overwhelmed by everything I learned today that I simply agreed, not bothering to correct him about the whole “winning” portion of the message.

While I find it a bit odd that he just went for the dinner invite after the weirdness between us the last three days, you’ve got to respect the man’s focus. I said I’d make a decision about us after the presentation, and here we are. After the presentation.

To be clear, I’m not complaining. I want to see him.

I just don’t know that I’d have that level of confidence. Definitely not today, when I not only lost the promotion I’d been going for and ended up unemployed instead, but I also learned it had nothing to do with my presentation or proposal. Kyle had already won when we walked into that room.

I pull into the parking lot at the club and jump out of my car with much more pep than I would’ve anticipated, considering the day I had. It’s like my body knows it’s about to see Jameson and has decided to say F-you to my overthinking brain and just be happy. Bold move, body, but I guess we will see where it takes us at this point.

I finish up my call with Izzy, promising to text her later with updates. The wind that hit me as I stepped out of my car is chilly, a spring wind that was likely warm earlier but lost its heat as the sun went down. Following the path of stairs made of old railroad ties at a jog, I don’t stay cold long. Instead, I’m slightly winded by the time I push open the doors to the restaurant.

I scan past a few tables of men before my brain realizes that one pair of men is standing up to welcome me. My eyes immediately go to Jameson, and I drink him in like I’ve just played thirty-six holes of golf in midsummer, in 100-degree heat.

It’s not until I’m about to throw myself into his arms, my body having crossed the large expanse of floor separating us before my mind could issue the command, that I realize Conrad Ferguson is with him.

I pull up short, but Jameson doesn’t. He wraps me in a hug right there in front of everyone, dragging me to his chest, his chin on the top of my head. I burrow into him, the weight of the day lifting off me with each second I’m in his arms. After watching for what was likely an inappropriate amount of time for a public hug, Conrad coughs lightly, breaking Jameson and me apart.

I’m not sure why Conrad is here, and it’s throwing me off my game. I was ready to make up with Jameson, maybe eat a little food, say what we need to say, and then head back to his room. I’m ready to jump into the WAG lifestyle, following Jameson wherever he goes. It’ll give me something to do. Hopefully I can be successful at that, at least.

“Hey, Conrad,” I say. “Good to see you…again?” I’m not sure how much I can say at this point. Somehow, the Conrad portion of the article never made it into the list of things that Jameson and I talked about in Arizona, and I’m definitely not going to break that NDA with the man right there.

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