Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I used to think the captain had figured out some secret to life that the rest of us were missing. The way he glides through almost every crisis, knowing the right thing to say or do to make it better. This messier Eric is a revelation.
But my crush is unwavering. I just want to kiss it and make it better.
Chapter 20
Trespassing in a CEO’s Vacation Home
Eric
By now, my vision is mostly back to normal, but my head is throbbing. Two choices—I can try to find a nearby hotel with availability or go back to my parents’ house.
Neither option sounds very easy.
As soon as Darcy has her key card, she trots over to collect me. “Come on, Eric. Let’s go.”
I look up at her, but the movement makes me wince. “Where?”
“Upstairs. You’re coming with me. I have Advil.”
“Oh.” A wave of gratitude runs through me. “I’d love a couple of those. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
I rise and follow her onto the elevator, where she hits the button for the top floor.
Maybe it’s the motion of the car, but the pressure behind my eyes intensifies as the elevator doors slide open. I follow Darcy down a plush carpeted hallway, each step sending a fresh pulse of pain through my skull.
“The Destiny Suite,” she murmurs, sliding the key card into the door and keeping her voice mercifully low. “How pretentious.”
I step into the suite and blink slowly, trying to process what I’m seeing through the haze of my migraine. The space opens before me like something from a travel magazine. Directly ahead, floor-to-ceiling windows frame a panoramic view of the Atlantic, steel blue and vast under the afternoon sun. The brightness sends a sharp jab through my temples, but I can’t look away from the hypnotic roll of waves against the distant shoreline.
“Jesus,” I mutter, dropping my suitcase by a flower arrangement that’s three feet tall. “They really did upgrade you.”
The living area stretches to my right, dominated by an enormous L-shaped sofa in a soft cream fabric that faces both the ocean view and a sleek television mounted on the wall. A few tasteful nautical-themed accents—a model ship and rope-like silk loops on the curtains—tie the room to its coastal setting without being kitschy. Near the window, an elegant coffee station sits atop a sideboard, complete with what looks like a high-end espresso machine and an array of porcelain cups.
And to our left, a doorway shows me an oblique view of a big bedroom, with more of the ocean view.
“I feel like I’m trespassing in some CEO’s vacation home,” I say, then wince as my own voice reverberates painfully in my skull.
Darcy notices immediately. “Sit down before you fall down. I’ll get you that Advil.”
I sink onto the edge of the sofa as she disappears with her suitcase. The cushions are even more comfortable than they look, molding around me as I lean back and close my eyes against the relentless throb.
I can hear Darcy filling a glass with water in the bathroom. The suite is so quiet I can make out the soft patter of water against glass, the subtle click of her setting something on the counter. In the distance, barely audible, comes the rhythmic sound of waves breaking against the shore.
And somehow, despite the migraine hammering behind my eyes, there’s something soothing about being here, about Darcy moving around with quiet consideration.
“Here,” she says softly, swooping in to set the glass down. She grasps my hand and drops the pills into my palm.
“Thank you.” Darcy has been taking care of me in small ways ever since I met her. She does this for all the Legends, of course. But I’m sure nobody ever appreciated it as much as I do right this second.
Then? She walks over to those beautiful windows and draws the curtains over them until the room dims. When she does, I exhale. And then I take the tablets and chase them with a gulp of water.
“All right, E-Train.” She stands beside the sofa. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“Uh, my head.”
She rolls her eyes. “I got that. But where on your fool head?”
Oh. “Here.” I grab the base of my skull. “And other places. Why?”
She pats the empty corner cushion. “Put your head right here.”
In too much pain to argue, I kick off my shoes and swing my legs up onto the sofa, away from Darcy. Then I recline my head at the other end.
Her hands dig into my shoulder muscles a second later, and I groan.
“Too much?”
“No. You’re perfect,” I say through gritted teeth. My head feels like there’s an iron clamp around it. “Everything else is too much.”
“Preach,” she says quietly.
“Don’t you have your class?” I worry.
“Shh,” she says, and the gentle sound is accompanied by more of her skillful touch. “I’ve got a few minutes until I log in. Just relax.”