Page 9 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

Morgan beamed at me. “Can we pick you up first thing in the morning? We can fly you home after that, considering you are missing your flight tonight.” She grimaced. “Timing being what it is and all that.”

“Yes, that will work.” I was already reaching for both my handbag and the door handle at the same time.

“Excellent. Michael, my driver here, will pick you up at seven a.m. sharp. Thank you so much, Sabrina.”

I felt slightly bad not being fully transparent with this woman. But all I had to do was recall the harshness of Cal’s words and the anger in his face, and I was able to stuff any second-guessing or misgivings into a deep hole.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. This could all go horribly wrong in a heartbeat.” I would have loved to place a high-stakes wager that they were not going to prepare Cal for my visit, and his reaction to me would be all it would take for this plan to crumble. That was going to be the main obstacle to me keeping this job and getting this money.

But, truthfully, I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. The anticipation might just kill me.

ChapterThree

SABRINA

Bright and early the next morning, on yet another rainy Seattle day, I walked out through my hotel lobby and got into a waiting Bentley. I decided to stop overthinking my choice. I’d spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, playing out a billion scenarios.

I would soon find out if seeing Calvin again ten years later was a good idea. But to prepare myself, I’d written out three scenarios on the hotel’s mirror.

1. Highly unlikely, but he could drop to his knees, ask for forgiveness, and tell me how much he missed me.

2. He could be stunned to see me. We have a cordial conversation, and he either accepts me for the job or tells me he can’t work with me. I’d leave with nothing resolved, feeling more like a stranger than a former girlfriend. And without 25K.

3. He could get ugly when he sees me.

As the private car sped toward—well, I didn’t know what, exactly, or where—I did some more internet searching. With the previous night’s investigations, I’d learned the headquarters for Optium was near Pike Place Market, but there was no address or picture. It could be any of the tall buildings or even under the market, for all I knew, which made the experience unnerving and unfamiliar. I always liked to know way more about the person who hired me than I did with this Cal, who felt like a total stranger. I never would have guessed private security could be a career option for him. Jumping in front of bullets had never been something he’d shown an interest in. But realizing this just affirmed that I hadn’t known all of Cal—just the part he’d wanted to show me. And the fact that he’d never introduced me to his family, stating they’d had a falling-out, had been a red flag I’d ignored.

Smartly, Optium Security barely had an online profile other than a few podcasts and cable TV shows that Cal had appeared on. And, of course, the first wave of the smear campaign. The article was ugly, the core of it being that while Cal and a few other employees of Optium were protecting a high-profile client, something had gone sideways, and people had been hurt. The article used its one fact, that this had just happened within the last twenty-four hours, to not include any other actual facts but instead use the “situation is evolving and will be updated as more information becomes available” line to let people create their own narratives. A rush to throw shade, in my experience.

Then the article went into Optium’s new division of personal safety and how ill-equipped the company was to enter this arena. Nothing I read sounded like the guy I’d once known. I was going to approach this as if he was a stranger, because it seemed he was. And based on the way we’d broken up, he kind of always had been.

Would it even faze him to have his old college girlfriend try to help him in the love department? I was honest enough with myself to admit that if he wasn’t, even the slightest bit, I would be hurt. Emotions were tricky, illogical bastards.

Morgan hadn’t been kidding when she said Cal was single and had not been in a relationship for some time. In fact, there were no hints of any relationship at all. I tried not to create a story to explain why. That would be super unhealthy even if I did find a bit of satisfaction in knowing he’d been single.

I wasn’t one to talk, but I’d dated more than Cal, it would seem.

After opening up my notes app, I clicked on the folder at the top labeled List and other good tidbits. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. This was the place where I purged my thoughts. Well, here and on the mirrors and windows in my house. A good dry-erase marker and glass provided the best platform for notes. Or words of encouragement. Or reminders of to not be stupid.

What I’d added to the note last night:

Don’t forget why you’re doing this.

1.The money gets you closer to the goal.

2. Your goal is your future. Cal is your past.

3.Closure is a bonus. Purge your demons.

4. You are not the same hopeless romantic he once knew. That girl is G.O.N.E. Gone.

When the majority of your job was to arrange marriage matches built on partnership, love just didn’t look like the be-all and end-all. A long time ago, my pain had given way to anger, and though a decade had passed, seeing his image on that phone the previous day had produced a feeling equivalent to getting a large area of hair waxed—a quick and unexpected, yet barely tolerable pain, followed by irritation and tenderness the rest of the day.

Did that mean I was speeding toward a nightmare?

That’s cool. No problem. Whatever.

I hoped after today, my old wound would now be a smooth and beautiful, barely noticeable scar. I chewed at a thumbnail. I should just go back to my hotel, grab my bags, go hide at the airport, and catch the first flight home. I should leave well enough alone—find another way to make some extra money.

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