Page 67 of The Wrong Boss

I snorted. “Hardly.”

“That little assistant of yours has a hell of a swing,” Ted said.

I slid my gaze over to him, not liking the lecherous note in his voice. “She’s full of surprises,” I answered noncommittally.

“We should have her join us tomorrow morning,” my father said. “Have a rematch.”

“She’s got work to do,” I said. “Can’t be dragging her off to play a round every time you guys want to be entertained.”

My father waved a hand. “She can spare a couple of hours a day. I want to see if she’s identified any other procedures that we can improve. The charter flights were a stroke of genius.”

I couldn’t sit here and listen to them. Not when my life had already been turned upside down.

Not when the very loyalty that I was so proud of possessing had been tossed back in my face like a bucketful of acid.

Alba didn’t want me. She’d lied to me, just like my adoptive family had lied to me. She’d pretended to be one thing while living a secret double life. She’d accused me of being unfaithful while falling in love with someone else. Just like my adoptive family had treated me like a second-class citizen while holding back the truth about my very blood.

I had worked so hard to be accepted by these people. I’d ingratiated myself with my father, with his best friend. I’d toiledfor his company, worked myself ragged because I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted to belong somewhere.

For what? Why did I continue to give my loyalty to people who didn’t deserve it? Why did I insist on making decisions for the sake of relationships that required so much giving and hardly any getting?

Alba had been using me. Was my father using me too? Was I his long-lost heir, or a convenient scapegoat that could take the blame if things went wrong with his company?

There were precious few people in my life who had been honest with me, always. There was Rome, who wasn’t afraid to have tough conversations. I’d hurt him when I left his company seven years ago, but we’d mended our relationship. He was like a brother to me, and he was willing to look me in the eye and tell me he thought I was making a mistake.

And there was Carrie. She’d squared her shoulders and assured me we could work together. She’d made good on her promise, improving company processes that I’d previously thought were completely optimized. She treated me like an equal instead of bowing and scraping like a subservient peon.

I was sick of fighting it. Sick of resisting the pull that drew me toward her. Sick of pretending that Alba was wrong.

Because the truth was, I wanted Carrie. I’d wanted her from the moment she walked into my office. I’d never stopped wanting her for seven years, from the moment the door to her hotel room closed behind me as I walked away.

Maybe she was the only woman I’d ever truly craved. Maybe I was a fool to hide behind my vows; I was just afraid of taking the risk to reach out and ask if Carrie wanted me back.

But my vows were ash now. My engagement was done.

I stood up and excused myself from the dinner table. It was time to stop lying to myself.

Heart hammering, I let my feet carry me through the resort. Her door loomed like a portal to another world, and I hesitated for only a brief moment before lifting my fist to knock.

TWENTY-SEVEN

CARRIE

He stoodoutside my door looking like a man who’d survived a shipwreck. His broad hands clung to the doorframe, powerful shoulders straining against the fabric of his shirt.

“Can I come in?” he asked, a note of yearning and desperation in his tone.

I paused. Time stood still between us, and I sensed the shifting sands beneath my feet. This was not Cole Christianson, my exacting boss and sometimes golf buddy.

This was the man I’d met in a hotel parking lot. The man who’d sipped liquor from a crystal glass while trailing his fingers on the inside of my knee.

I knew what letting him in meant. My heart began to thump. “I don’t know if you should,” I admitted, voice slightly hoarse.

His huff was self-deprecating. He pushed himself offthe doorframe and ran his fingers through his hair, sparkles of gray winking as they moved against his mostly dark strands.

I knew—Iknew—that I should make some excuse and close the door. I knew it like I knew the sun would come up in the morning, like I knew I would love Evie to the depth of my heart for the rest of my life. An undeniable truth.

I should’ve closed the door.

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