Page 6 of The Renegade Billionaire
His laughter rings loudly in the stuffy room.
I can still hear it as I shut the door and walk away.
For better or worse, Happiness, here I come.
2
MADISON
The birds are too loud.
It’s not even light outside yet, and I’ve had this dang pillow over my head for close to an hour. I swear little miss robin chooses the same spot year after year just to mess with me. Is her internal clock broken? At least pretend to be a rooster, miss robin. This before-daylight crap is making me grumpy before I even get out of bed.
Eventually I toss my pillow aside, push myself to standing, and turn on the light. It instantly blinds me, and I scowl at the offending light fixture.
It’s not natural to be up this early, but I couldn’t say no to the football team—they need options for their study sessions, and that means less sleep for me. It’s for the greater good though. If I keep reminding myself, it will become my truth.
Tiptoeing to the bathroom across the hall, I avoid the creaky floorboards with years of practice so I don’t wake up Pops.
Done in the bathroom, I creep down the stairs, skipping the fourth and eighth ones because they could wake the entire town when the slightest weight is applied to them, then I stumble to the kitchen to start the coffee.
I won’t make it through the day without a constant stream of caffeine.
What is today? Monday? No, it just feels that way. Today is Wednesday—I think. That means I have all day at the Chugaloo, and my mood instantly improves.
Every night this week, I’ve been there editing and producing podcasts in my sound booth until the early morning hours because while the Chug is profitable every month, this place is not.
As much as it pains me to admit, seeing the number of renovations the inn needs upsets my stomach. Someday I’ll get to them. I will.
My chest tightens, a not-so-subtle reminder of what I’ve lost. Maisie’s Hideaway Inn was named after my grandmother, and I’m doing everything I can to save it, but I’m terrified it won’t be enough—that I won’t be enough.
Ever since Pops turned the Chug over to me, I’ve raised the coworking membership twice, but even that’s not enough to cover repairs at the inn.
Shaking my head, I cross the cool wood floors, refusing to mope around in my despair any longer. I’ll make it work. I always do. And to do that, I can’t be a Debbie Downer. “Suck it up, buttercup.”
I grab the carafe from the new coffee machine Clover gifted me last Christmas and shimmy in place—this thing is better than sex…mostly. I seriously have the best friends.
They’re more my family than my parents ever were, but I suppose it’s hard to feel connected to your parents when they ship you off to live anywhere that’s not with them because parenting was an inconvenience—not that they ever tried very hard.
The old grandfather clock in the entry way chimes five times, hurling me into motion. Crap. I’m going to be late, and I reallyneed to finish the audio I was proofing before I open the doors for everyone. I hustle over to the sink to fill the pot with water and nearly drown myself as water hits me in the face with the power of a firehose, spraying in every direction.
What the heck?
“Argh, what’s happening?” I splutter into the empty room while attempting to turn off the faucet, but the dang thing breaks off in my hands.
No, no, no. Not today. Please, not today.
When I drop the broken piece into the sink, the clatter of metal on metal rings loudly in the room, but I’m too focused on containing the water with both hands to worry about it, and when that doesn’t work, I add my right foot to the tap. Yup, I have two hands and a foot in the kitchen sink and water is still spraying every available surface.
This isn’t happening. I can’t afford this.
The creaky swinging door behind me squeals on its hinges, and I drop my foot back to the floor. Oh, thank God.
“Pops! I need help. Shut off the valve under the sink,” I shriek while water sprays into my mouth and nose. I’m attempting to point all the water on me or in the sink, and failing miserably, but every time I remove my hands, water douses the whole room.
Control the damage, Madison. Dang, my inner voice has all the advice but fails miserably on implementation. But it’s okay. I’ll dry, water stains on the walls will just be one more giant bill to add to my mile-high list.
“Pops, let’s move it. The wrench is already under there from yesterday.”
