Page 108 of The Holiday Clause
Sleep eluded Wren.
She flipped the pillow again, and kicked off the blanket like a frustrated child. Pulling back the sheet, she rolled left, rolled right, then tried lying face down like a corpse preparing for burial.
“Fuuuuuccccckkkkk…” she groaned into the mattress, her voice muffled by cotton and desperation.
Nothing worked. Her thoughts roared. Clanging-pot-in-a-small-kitchen loud, banging against her skull with the relentless persistence of a sledgehammer swinging from a metronome.
She growled and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling where twinkle lights reflected like fallen stars. Cozy, soft, warm. Useless.
The tangled sheets wrapped around her legs like restraints, and she kicked them away with growing frustration. Even the pillow she’d hurled across the room in a moment of desperation mocked her from its place on the floor.
“What was his excuse?” she whispered into the dark like someone who had lived alone so long they now had full-blown conversations with themselves.
Curiosity caffeinated her brain as she sifted through endless possibilities, wondering what excuse Greyson could possibly have for standing her up.
Alien abduction—no.
Boat trouble—too cold and too ten years ago.
Lost in the woods—unlikely.
Cold feet—bingo.
He was a man-shaped cliché.
But… why then, would he say he wanted to be there? He even said he wasn’t scared when she called him out on his bullshit.
She frowned, thinking about how devastated he looked when she refused to hear him out. Not stubborn, not mad, not even like he knew what was best for them. He just looked…terrified, like a wounded animal hiding in the shadows.
That look in his eyes haunted her—raw, desperate, as if her rejection had physically wounded him. Recalling how his shoulders sagged in defeat, she replayed his words.
He said he had a good excuse. Swore she’d understand if she’d just listened.
And that was the problem.
When Greyson talked to her, he could get her to believe anything. She was powerless to resist him when he tried to get his way.
It was time to break the cycle.
Time for sleep.
Checking her phone—12:31—she huffed and concentrated on thinking about anything else.
She would get the staff customized bags for Christmas and fill them each with personal items. A vintage T-shirt for River, thread and sewing supplies for Lilly, a nice kitchen accessoryfor Freya, and new socks for Bodhi. Her dad would also get a personal gift from her, but that covered the company presents. Greyson was, technically, part of the team, but she wasn’t thinking about him right now.
Hell no. Not thinking.
No Greyson.
Greyson who?
Never heard of him.
She was definitely losing her mind.
Did sleep deprivation do this to a person? How long could a human being survive without sleep? There had to be a Russian study on that.
She turned again, flopping around for the next hour or so, only growing more restless, until she couldn’t take it anymore. With a growl, she reached for her phone.
