Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“No.” The single word comes out too harsh. I also don’t need that woman coming in here while I have a raging hard-on. I temper my tone. “Tell her I’ll find her in ten minutes. I need to make an important call.”
“Got it.” The sound of his hurried footfalls fade.
I briefly consider dealing with my issue the old-fashioned way, but there aren’t any blinds on the windows, so I do the only thing I can think of to kill all lewd thoughts.
I call my mother.
The Sea Witch parking lot is busy when I pull in, on my way to the hotel. I’m already annoyed that I’m working on a Saturday, especially when I was in my office until ten last night, playing a game of “read all these reports and pretend we know what the fuck they mean.” Then I came home to a house full of strangers and music blaring. Connor is already living his best life.
I briefly consider skipping this stop, but leaving things with Sloane the way we did has pricked my conscience all night. I embarrassed her, maybe even hurt her. I need to make it right so I can stop dwelling on it.
“Fuck me.” I take in the customer line that snakes around the shelves of merchandise and bags of coffee. At six to seven bucks a pour, Sloane’s got quite the racket going on here. I’m impressed. I’m also going to be late for the morning managers’ meeting if I wait.
The same girl with short, black hair from yesterday is behind the till, her black Sea Witch T-shirt stretched across her chest. She smiles wide as she chats up the customers, as if she landed her dream job and this is it.
In complete contrast, a brunette scrambles behind her to make orders, spilling milk and dropping a spoon with a clatter. Her deer-caught-in-headlights eyes say she’s new here and struggling to keep up.
There’s no sign of Sloane, but the door between the two halves of the building is open, so I slip through it and into the rentals side.
Rustling sounds in the back office.
“Hello?” I call out and cross my fingers that King Kong doesn’t appear. I’m in no mood to deal with his crusty ass this early.
“We’re not open yet,” a woman with a southern twang answers. “If you come back”—a blond rounds the corner and stops dead when she sees me—“at eleven, we can help you then.” Her lips part in a wide grin as she smooths her hand through a lion’s mane of golden hair.
I recognize her. She was at the job fair with Sloane. “Is your boss around?”
“Sloane? No. She’s visiting Gigi.” She says this as if I personally know this Gigi woman.
“Do you know when she’ll be in?”
“Not sure. Can I help you with something?” she asks, adjusting her stance so her Sea Witch T-shirt stretches tight across tits that are almost too big for her little body. This one is a wet-dream sorority girl, through and through. Connor would be salivating. “No, I really needed to talk to Sloane.” To say what, exactly, I’m not sure yet.
I’m sorry I didn’t fuck you on my desk yesterday.
I’m not allowed to touch you, boss’s orders.
I can’t get hung up on another woman right now.
I’m still sort of in love with Henry Wolf’s wife.
The truth is, I doubt I’d have the guts to say any of those things, just like I never had the guts to say half the things swimming through my head where Abbi was concerned. I always kept it cool and superficial. It was an act, but it protected me where she was concerned.
“How long do you think that coffee line will take?”
“With Amanda making the orders? At least thirty minutes.”
“Damn.” I mutter more to myself, “All right. Shit coffee from the pit it is.” For all the money Wolf spent on construction, you’d think they could invest in decent coffee machines for the staff.
“Hold, please.” Blondie holds up a manicured finger. “I’ll be right back.” She ducks through the doorway before I can say a word, leaving me alone. I wander over to the far wall to the pictures I didn’t notice the first day, too enthralled by the beauty behind the counter. It’s a timeline of Sea Witch’s long history in Mermaid Beach, reminiscent of a family portrait wall—dozens of group photos of staff huddled around the same woman pictured in the original Sea Witch plaque, her long, blond braids adorned with a tropical flower.
In the earliest ones, a teenage girl stands in front of her, Gigi’s hands resting possessively on her shoulders. Gigi’s daughter, I presume. With each year, the girl grows older, until suddenly she’s cradling a baby. She can’t be more than twenty.
And I’ll bet that’s Sloane.
From that point, Gigi and her daughter take turns holding Sloane, then standing with her, the little ash-blond girl wearing a bathing suit and a goofy expression.