Page 72 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

“We’re not dating,” I tell her, not sounding very convincing, even to myself. Yes, I make a mental note to check out Instagram, but not here. I tap Leodie’s phone. “That’s great for her.”

“She’s Fenella Carrington. She’s amazing and fun, and funny, and I think it’s great she’s working here, but she’s still a beautiful gazillionaire who has people following her all over the world, not to mention the thousands who think they’re in love with her.” Leodie gives me a look and I know what she’s not asking—am I one of the thousands who think they’re in love with her?

It’s as if Leodie is giving me a warning, or maybe a wake-up call. The only reason Fenella is here is because she’s hiding out from the world. Once everyone forgets about her outburst, we’ll never see her again. Or maybe when she’s got another scandal splashed across the papers. She doesn’t belong here, as much as I wish she did. “She’s not a gazillionaire; her father is.”

I chose not to comment on the beautiful part. Or the unspoken question of whether I’m in love with her.

Chapter twenty-seven

Fenella

Idon’t remember thelast time I didn’t have plans on a Saturday night or spent it alone without Coral or Ashton to hang out with.

I unpack my bags, hang clothes in Edie’s closet, and prepare for some alone time tonight.

It’s a surprise that the thought of it actually excites me.

I’ve always hated weekends when I didn’t have plans. When my friends were busy, when I wasn’t dating anyone, if Ashton was off doing his racing thing and I couldn’t join him. I’ve always been an extrovert. A people person.

Coral was the only one who asked me if I was going to be okay going to Laandia on my own.

Now it doesn’t seem so bad.

Once I hang things up, and am refreshed by the pumpkin spice flowing through my veins, I head back out to the hardware store to buy cleaning supplies.

The only thing I’ll say about that trip is that Jim and Bob who work there had an enjoyable time teaching me the ins and outs of the various cleaning products.

Back at Edie’s, I curl up on the couch with my laptop, Ernie the cat perched at my feet, watching me with suspicious yellow eyes as I get to work on party/opening bar planning.

I scour Pinterest and make a vision board. I work on a business plan. I’ve never actually made a spreadsheet, but thanks to a few YouTube videos, I do quite well with it.

Stella tells me about a Facebook group for small businesses in Battle Harbour, and I start calling around to get quotes on the work I think the place needs.

I really like the idea of creating a new bar for the town. I think it’s exactly what the women of Battle Harbour need, and having my party there will show everyone.

While I’m doing this, I get to know Ernie the cat. He eventually lets me pet him and curls up at my side when I go to bed.

I talk to my father; via email, but it’s still a conversation. He tells me things have begun to settle down. Only one person tagged me on Instagram last night, but it was a grainy picture and you couldn’t really tell it was me.

I’m not sure how my father knows I’m no longer viral—possibly Peter, his assistant told him—but it’s good news to me.

Plan on returning the coming weekend,he writes.

Next weekend? My birthday is Sunday night and that’s when I planned the party for.

I’ll stay an extra day, I’ve got plans for the weekend.

He counters with an email with an offer to show me around the company next Tuesday, maybe see about finding me a role that fits my skill level.

It’s what I wanted, so where’s the excitement? Why do I have this feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach?

I push it away. My life is not here. I’m not a part of this community, as much as they have welcomed me.

But part of me wants to be.

Sunday morning, I’m awake early, thanks to Ernie the cat. But it’s a good thing.

It’s cleaning day.

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