Page 22 of Falling for the Charmer

I’m not sure what to say to that. Apart from Everly and my therapist, Doctor Hemming—and it’s kind of in their job description—no one has openly expressed concern for my welfare, least of all a man I’ve only just met.

Not able to acknowledge his declaration, I appeal to his ego. “Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t think you can do it?”

“Nice try. We both know we’re not talking about that. I won’t argue over this when it all comes down to basic math. There are only so many hours in a day, and the distance is what it is.”

“We could make it if you’re willing to put in the work.”

He chuckles wryly. Okay, so it is low to suggest his work ethic has anything to do with shortening the more than twenty-five hundred miles it takes to get to Toronto. But I’m desperate. I need to talk to my father now. End this thing with Felix. Or else…

Or else, I fear I might buckle under the pressure of desperately seeking my father’s approval. I’ve done it before. Have a moment of false bravado, only to cave the longer it takes to get it off my chest.

Tom’s insistence cuts through my fears. “I can’t drive straight through. ACE doesn’t allow their drivers to be on the road for more than ten hours a day. That includes stops. We’re already pushing that limit with today’s drive to Vail. I’m willing to work with you and will give a little on our total daily driving, but what you’re asking isn’t safe. I need to sleep.”

“Look, Tom, I need to be in Toronto as soon as possible. I’m attending TIFF and have a million things to do before then.” My insides shrink at how shallow I appear.

If only I could tell him the truth, but he’s a stranger. It’s bad enough I have to live under my father’s thumb; I’d rather not have to live with the humiliation if Tom were to know about it.

“Then why don’t you fly?” To him, the question may seem obvious and harmless, but to me, it’s a kick in the shin or more like a fist in the stomach.

The ringing of my phone saves me from responding. Finally, it’s my father.

“Dad—”

“No. It’s Lois.” The sound of Lois’s voice makes me cringe. Dammit.

“Lo—”

“Leighton, your dad had to fly back to Los Angeles. He’s on his way to the airport.”

Forget Tom’s gut punch, this news bowls me over, and I drop my ass onto the edge of the bed. Several beats pass while she natters in my ear—none of it makes sense—and I vaguely sense Tom’s gaze on me, likely quizzical and annoyed.

All that exists for me are the words, “your dad had to fly back to Los Angeles.”

“Are you still there?” Her sharp voice slices through my haze.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Her echo only irritates me more.

“Why is he going back to LA?”

“It’s related toMake It Soand before you ask, no, he can’t drive back with you if you were to wait. He’s going to be there for several days and will fly back the day before TIFF.”

I’ve got no words. Lois is only doing her job, and if I have to talk to her any longer, I’ll say something I regret. I mutter something like “okay” or “fine” and end the call.

Incensed and nauseous, I rush to the bathroom where I vomit the little bit I had of the bitter coffee into the toilet bowl.

While I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, Tom kneels beside me and rests his warm, comforting hand on the center of my back. “Leighton, are you okay?”

Stomach still roiling, I can’t bear the tender way he’s looking at me. I’m pathetic and unworthy of his concern. I need space, and in my haste to get away, I end up pushing him aside on my way to the sink.

Eyes intent on my sudsy hands, I say, “You know what? Forget rushing to get back to Toronto. I want to take my time.” Refusing to look at him, I dry my hands and march back into the room. “We’re staying here one more night.”

“Whoa.” He barrels after me, confused. “What?”

“We’ll leave tomorrow.” I open my room door and tilt my head in the direction of the hallway. “I really want to be alone. Leave.”

“Excuse me.” His eyebrows shoot to his hairline before his eyes narrow on me. If nothing else, that alone is a huge hint that I may have taken things too far. It isn’t his fault that my father is a selfish prick.

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