Page 50 of Tender Offer
I rub my self-inflicted headache and startle at Tammi’s grin. It reminds me of theSmilemovies. I’d question possession if she wasn’t blinking.
“Please stop looking at me like that,” I groan.
“Do you hear yourself, Ms. I Don’t Like to Share My Feelings? Don’t cut your eyes at me. Do you know what I think?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.” I pick at a cuticle, which reminds me to find a new nail place here.
“I think you’re scared. I also think you’ve self-sabotaged to protect yourself from getting hurt again. The men you date always fall short of your expectations, the same way Terrence distracted you from what youhaven’tadmitted. Preston is your standard. You’re afraid having him in your life again will lead to the same outcome.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
“Love can feel like a roll of the dice, but true love is divinely connected,” she adds. “Life has seasons, and your paths are crossing again. Hold firm to your boundaries, but don’t block yourself from what might be the love you’ve been waiting for.”
“I’m here for a job,” I say out loud, to prove to myself and Tammi that I have zero intention of rekindling anything with Preston.
Tammi’s tired sigh is heavy. “You have to stop loving him before you can fall in love again,” she deadpans. “Lie to yourself until you’re blue. You haven’t been hopping from man to man for this self-imposed time-out. I supported it because I support you, but it’s been a year, Maddie. Take a break from dating if you want, but you’re not fooling anyone. Do me a favor and enjoy your time in London. Hell, live for me! Someday, you’ll admit why you’re there. Until then, date or don’t. You know what you want, and you need to get out of your own way.”
“It’s not that easy, Tam. He’s a billionaire with—”
“Aht, aht! Those are excuses to feed your self-sabotage,” she snaps. “I’m not freezing my ass off in a parking lot to hear that. This man is showing you his intentions. It’s up to you to take it for what it is or keep things professional. Talk to him about how you feel and go from there. All this back-and-forth is about topiss me off. He flew you out and put you up in a penthouse, and you want to boohoo about it.”
“Okay, okay! Message received.”
We end the call after herhmphand my promise to see where these next three months lead. I’ll admit I’m excited, but I’m also scared. I only have a few business acquaintances here. No friends or family.
Things with Preston have been better than expected. But without our texts, what happens once the thrill wears off?
Chapter 26
Madison
Fifteen Years Ago
“This is absolutely ridiculous, you realize? How in the fuck did I die of exhaustion? I took a nap!”
Preston strokes his chin, which is covered in stubble, and stares at his computer. His jaw works as he reads the next prompt. Glimmers of light from the screen reflect in cognac eyes that are desperate to prevent another fatality. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and taps the keyboard, making his choice.
A wooden raft holding his wagon floats down the river, and he navigates it with keystrokes. It shifts right, then left, before crashing into a rock. Preston’s face drains of color as a black box appears on the screen, sealing his party’s fate in white letters.
“They killed Sarah and my oxen?!” he yells at the screen.
“Don’t forget the hundred and seventeen bullets you lost.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing in his face, but I fail when his glare burns a hole through my neck.
My hand doesn’t reach my mouth in time to stop a loud cackle. It drowns out the game’s patriotic tune that’s blaring through the desktop speakers.
Preston could pose for the cover of a magazine right now. No one would ever expect his tousled hair and hooded stare are from playingThe Oregon Trail. I meant for the game to be a way to relax. He came home in a sour mood, and it’s been my mission to lift his spirits in the best way I know how: my favorite ’90s games.
As you might’ve guessed, it backfired. I’m in tears, and he’s one river away from throwing his computer over the balcony.
He cuts his eyes at me. “You’re laughing pretty hard for someone who died of the shits.”
“At least I didn’t go out from exhaustion.”
“I took a nap!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” I mock in an awful English accent and take off in the sprint of my life when he jumps up from the chair.
I squeal at the grip on the back of my cotton robe and pull it off right as I dip out of the home office. The hallway is a blur of crown molding. It fills with the echoes of my laughter and the heavy footfall of our high-speed chase.
