Page 34 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

But then Mr. Jenkins appears, his hand landing heavily on my shoulder, shattering the moment. "Great job up there, Skye! You really rallied the troops."

I jerk back, feeling like I've been doused with cold water. Just like that, the spell is broken. I step back, feeling weirdly disappointed and relieved at the same time.

What the heck was I thinking?

"Thanks, Mr. J," I manage, forcing a smile. "Couldn't have done it …"

I mumble some kind of response to Mr. Jenkins, but honestly, I have no idea what comes out of my mouth. My brain's still short-circuiting from whatever just happened with Troy.

Speaking of Troy, he's gone.

Vanished into the crowd like some kind of annoyingly handsome smoke monster. Part of me is relieved, but another part – a part I'm trying hard to ignore – is disappointed.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I smile, I shake hands, I answer questions about our plans to save Seaside Cove. But it's all on autopilot. My mind keeps replaying that moment with Troy on an infuriating loop.

By the time I finally make it back to the Seaside Cove Inn, I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally – you name it, I'm drained. I should be able to fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

But first, I have to make it to my room without running into Troy.

I tiptoe down the hallway, feeling ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, for crying out loud. Why am I sneaking around like a teenager past curfew?

And then I'm there, standing in front of Troy's door. My heart's pounding so loud I swear it's echoing in the quiet hallway. I hold my breath, straining to hear any sound from inside his room.

Silence.

I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed.

For a crazy second, I consider knocking. What would happen if I did? Would he answer? Would we finish what we started earlier?

"Get a grip, Skye," I mutter to myself, shaking my head.

I force myself to move, practically lunging for my own door across the hall. Once inside, I lean against it, letting out a shaky breath. Safe.

Well, safe from Troy, at least. Not so safe from my own messed-up thoughts.

I flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. My brain won't shut up, and it's all Troy's fault.

I groan and flip onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow. "Get it together, Martinez," I mutter to myself yet again.

But it's no use.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Troy's face. That intense look in his eyes.

The way he leaned in, just a breath away from...

"Nope, nuh-uh, not going there," I tell myself firmly, flopping onto my back again.

But my traitorous mind has other ideas. It keeps pointing out inconvenient truths: how good Troy smelled, how the air practically crackled between us, how for a split second, I wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and kiss him senseless.

And then there's the other stuff. The way he listened during my speech. The spark of... something in his eyes when we were arguing. Almost like he respected me, maybe even admired me a little.

"He's the enemy," I remind myself. "He represents everything we're fighting against."

But even as I think it, I'm not sure I believe it anymore. There's more to Troy than I initially thought, and that scares me more than anything.

I roll over again, punching my pillow in frustration.

This is ridiculous. I'm Skye Martinez, for crying out loud. I’m the daughter, the granddaughter, and the great granddaughter of our town’s founders. I don't lose sleep over guys, especially not smug, irritatingly attractive corporate types who are probably here to destroy everything I love about my home.

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