Page 38 of The Activist and Her Billionaire

“No. But he would like that to be the case.”

“This is going to sort itself out for you,” she promises.

I rise, kissing her forehead before I stand up completely.

“I gotta go,” I say and point to my bike. "Please keep in touch.”

I back my bike out, and before I take off to my next appointment, I call them to ensure they still need me. They do, so off to work I go.

Although I only serviced the two clients I had scheduled for the day, I was wiped out. Between the emotional roller coaster of learning that Jordan and Clive had sold the bakery and the sugar rush from the cobbler, I want nothing more than to head home and feel the ocean. The ocean soothes and calms me. It always has from the time I was a little girl and lost my parents.

I quickly stopped at the inn to grab my suit and a towel. Rather than wasting time putting my cart away, I ride it up the wheelchair ramp to the deck. Opening the door, the aroma of the two dozen roses hits me with full force. They smell so delicious.

They perfumed the entryway and looked so beautiful. And yet, my hearthurtswhen I see them.I am tempted to toss them, but it’s not their fault that Jack is who he is. I give them a reprieve, change into a bathing suit, and head to the beach.

My emotions had come full circle by evening, and I missed Jack again. I can’t sleep in my room where memories of Jack and me from the night before are so vivid. Just my luck, I have a crazy flip-flopping heart over a man who wants to take my home away from me.

I drag my comforter off my bed and camp on the extra-long couch in the parlor. It was designed for partying guests who needed a place to sleep it off when the inn was packed, and there were no more rooms to rent. At this point in my life, I wish I had a pet.

After staring towards the dining room where the ghosts of Jack and me having blistering sex play on a loop in my head, I finally drift off to sleep with all the lights on.

I don’t even bother to prepare for the hearing on Friday. The closer I get to it, the more I like the sound of Jordan’s offer. I even texted Todd to stop by the inn later. I haven’t touched Uncle John’s inheritance and can finance Todd’s way there if he wants to go with me.

“They have surfing in Texas,” I say when he gets there and listens to my spiel as to why moving there makes sense. “Jordan and Clive are moving near Galveston. I think they said Jamaica Beach.”

“I’ve been there,” he replies. “I surfed a bucket list of surf spots in Texas. Me and Jay. We hated it. There are alligators there. Wait? What? Clive’s Bakery is biting it too?”

“Yeah,” I reply with great sadness. “I am not sure who is left in Dove Point Square. Just think about it. I am about to get hammered here in court. Talk to you later.

It’s just like Jordan told me in between my sobs. I held on for dear life for as long as possible, and now, I find myself simply letting go.

I feel lighter now that I’m not fighting the good fight. It’s as if someone has opened the curtains on reality. I accept that the inn’s days are numbered despite my best efforts to save it. I even view my moments with Jack through the reality lens. But unfortunately, I am not ready to give up my memories of him, so I’ll continue to be tortured by them.

“All rise,” the bailiff calls.

I stumbled to my feet, trying to silence my phone as ordered when I arrived at the courtroom. The bailiff shoots me a warning glare. The judge enters the courtroom, his robes flowing like a manta ray.

“Be seated,” says the bailiff, and calls the case for the judge.

I am first on the list. My matter will be short, and I will get to go home. Now that I’ve decided not to fight anymore, I am itching to hit the beach and hang out in a bathing suit and Daisy Duke cut-offs for the rest of the weekend. I’m all about relaxing before I move to Texas with Jordan and Clive.

Perversely, though, I still wore a grown-up dress and high heels, straightened my hair, and applied make-up for this hearing even though I didn’t expect to win – I figured my chances of winning would increase if I looked “mature” and put together. I am aware of social conditioning.

At one time, my calendar was so packed with work that I needed a three-day weekend to recover. Now Dove Point has been hollowed out – it’s in some state of transition from what it has been – a beloved surf spot – to what it will become – another boring, bland extension of suburbia.

If I were to remain here instead of moving to Texas, I would have to buy a car or move to Santa Monica or maybe Huntington Beach to open my business there. Both are bike-friendly,allowing me to get by without a vehicle. Neither is as ideal as Dove Point, but I can make either work.

“Brynne Casey v. Red Hawk Reality,” the judge repeats. He eyes me. “You again,” he says, like I’ve put him out.

Brody, Jack’s lawyer, enters the courtroom.

“So good of you to make an appearance, counselor,” the judge muses. “You risked being held in contempt.”

“I had a flat, your honor,” he says, glaring at me like I had something to do with it.

I silently gasp and point to myself dramatically.

Me? I challenge mutely.

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