Page 86 of Pretty Please Me
I follow Simon to the front desk, where he hands over Sam’s credit card and checks me into the room.
“Welcome, Ms. Anderson,” the receptionist says. You’ll be staying upstairs in the penthouse suite. It’s located on the twentieth floor. You’ll need your key card to use the elevator. We have room service available with an award-winning restaurant from eight o’clock to midnight every day. I see you’ll be staying with us for a full week. Please let me know if you need anything.” She passes me the key card, and I look to Simon for clarification.
He leans in and whispers, “He had a work trip come up and didn’t want you to be out of a place to stay. Your studio and apartment will be ready in a week. I’ll send you the confirmation for your flight next Sunday.”
I roll my eyes as I take the key card and thank the front desk attendant. “A work trip just came up? How incredibly convenient.”
Simon shrugs. “Hey, his credit card is on the room. I say you take out your annoyance and live it up this week. Rack up that room service bill and enjoy your free vacation on his dime.”
“Oh, believe me, I plan on doing just that.” As I push the button to the elevator, Simon hands me my suitcase.
“It was very nice to meet you, Maggie. On behalf of the entire Jordan family, please don’t judge us because of our dimwitted brother.”
I hug Simon. “Thank you for driving me. Sam’s lucky to have a brother who’ll tell him like it is. Don’t be too hard on him, okay? And tell Wren and Charlotte goodbye for me. Your family is lovely.”
I step onto the glass elevator and stare down as the lobby below disappears, and before I know it, I’m kicking off my shoes in the fanciest suite I’ve ever laid eyes on. Downtown Bramville may not be much, but it’s got its charm.
A huge glass window spans from the ceiling to the floor, taking up an entire wall. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice with two glass flutes and a note sitting on a small table in the quaint seating area.
I pick up the note and read:
I’m sorry, Magnolia. You deserve so much better.
–Sam
It may be three in the morning, but I open the champagne anyway and pour myself a glass as I take in the extravagant room I get to call home for the next week.
Maybe I’ll bring Trent up here tomorrow night and sleep with him in the bed Sam’s paying for? Order some chocolate-covered strawberries? The friend in me is appalled at the thought, but my broken heart wants to make him hurt like he hurt me.
I’m at war with my emotions, but as the bubbly liquid coats my tongue, I realize I’m tired of always putting others' feelings before mine. For the very first time in my life, I want to be selfish with my emotions and let my inner fire run ablaze rather than putting it out at the first sign of smoke.
I drain my glass and pour myself another as I make my way to the bathroom and fill the large bathtub for a bubble bath.
I know one thing for sure, Sam taught me how to recognize my desires, and now that I know what I like, it’s easy to see the things that I don’t. As hurt as I am, I’m also angry as hell that I didn’t see it coming. I’m now comfortable enough with myself to know my worth, and maybe that was the biggest lesson I got out of it. I’ll never let a man make me feel like I’m anything less ever again.
I strip off my clothes and step into the hot bubbly water. Sinking slowly as the hot suds cling to my skin and the ache in my muscles relax, I stare up at the intricate copper tiles on the ceiling as my glass of champagne glass dangles from my fingers over the side of the tub.
I may be heartbroken and hurting, but it’s lit a spark inside me that wasn’t there before. It feels a lot like selfishness. And it feels pretty damn amazing.
I drain the last of my champagne and sink down lower as I use my newfound skill set to bring myself to orgasm. I don’t think about anyone but myself the whole time.
This new Maggie is going to have so much fun…
THIRTY-THREE
Sam
Some moments in life hit a little harder than others, the kind of moments that stick around and cling in your memory whether you want them to or not. They alter your sense of self and remind you that everything happens in contrast–the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between. If you’re lucky, the memories will feel like a warm blanket and a hot drink on a cold day, but if you’re like me, it’s more like the sting of a paper cut you didn’t realize you had.
That’s how my heart feels right now. Like it’s covered in paper cuts, some of them so tiny you don’t even notice they are there until someone comes along and submerges it in lime juice, and it burns everywhere, and you don’t know how to make it stop.
My head hits the back of the seat with a thud as my dad’s truck turns onto the road leading to the small regional airport.
“I hate that your visit is ending on such a sour note, son. I really do.” My dad’s concerned eyes shift to me, and I do my best to look casual.
“I know, Dad, but this opportunity came up, and I’ve been on a waitlist for over a year. I want to do this, and they’re counting on me.” It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know any details.
I’m heading to Africa for three months to help dig wells for a nonprofit. There normally is a waitlist since the organization can only staff ten people at a time, but since I’m one of the investors, I can pretty much decide when I want to go. I’ve been meaning to sign up for a shift, but disappearing for three months with no cell service hasn’t been feasible for me in the past. Now, it sounds like exactly what I need to do to give Maggie some space to fall in love with her new beau and for me to lick my wounds and attempt to get over her.
