Page 32 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
I turn sharply on my heel, not giving him the chance to say another word. I can feel the tension simmering in my chest as I march out of his office, but I don’t care. If he doesn’t want to deal with me, fine.
I’ll deal with this on my own.
The door slams shut behind me with more force than I intend, and I don’t look back. Every step I take away from his office is a rejection. Maybe it’s a wake-up call, or maybe I’m just tired of being swept aside.
I don’t need Ryder. I never did.
I’ve got work to do. The hotel has work to do.
And if Ryder won’t help me, then I’ll figure it out without him.
CHAPTER TEN
Ryder
December 5th
“Sunny?”I ask Dex as I pass him at the bar.
“In the dining room,” he shoots back with a playful smirk on his lips that I do everything I can to ignore.
I’m not getting caught up in that shit today.
My mind is already spinning with everything else that needs my attention—financials, investors, Evie’s last emails—but right now I need to know what we’re doing next.
There are more Christmas plans. I can see lights everywhere.
I push through the door to the dining room and find her at the far end, sitting on a stool, untangling a mess of fairy lights.
The soft hum of Christmas carols fills the space, but the atmosphere feels off. She has a look in her eyes, as if she’s about to short-circuit along with the lights.
She doesn’t look up as I approach, her focus entirely on the strands of wire in front of her. The usual energy she exudes is gone, replaced by something mechanical, distant.
“Sunny,” I start.
“Yeah?” She responds without looking up, the word flat, not even a hint of warmth.
I watch her for a moment longer, waiting for more, anything that resembles the woman I’ve gotten to know. The one who threw herself into every little detail of this hotel, who smiled even when everything was crumbling.
But this Sunny is distant. Closed off.
I don’t like it.
“I need to know what’s next,” I say, attempting to soften my tone. “You know, for the budget and everything…”
I pause, giving her a moment to respond, to look at me. But she doesn’t.
Her hands move with robotic precision, twisting one strand of lights into another, her expression blank.
“Right, hold on,” she says politely, but it’s devoid of any real engagement. “Just, uh, give me a minute. I’m almost done with this.”
Her words slice through me, and I feel the walls she’s built between us grow thicker, the gap more pronounced.
What the hell is going on?
I take a slow breath, trying to recalibrate. I don’t want to be a pushy asshole, but I need her. We need to be on the same page if we’re going to make this hotel work.
I shift my weight, watching her fingers fumble with the lights. Her movements are sharp and pointed, as if she’s trying to keep the world at arm’s length.
