Page 34 of Wrong Idea

“More like dust bunnies,” I mumbled to myself before I walked into the kitchen. My eyes dropped to two bottles of wine Olive had given me for Christmas. Bottles I had been saving for the next potluck Olive or one of her sisters hosted because I wasn’t a huge drinker, but especially not all alone.

But in that moment, after finding out Car wasn’t the man I had thought he was, there was no better time than the present. All I wanted to do was drown my sorrows in a bottle and try toforget about my time with him. Not that I actually thought that was possible

I poured drink after drink, and before I knew what I was doing, the second bottle was over three quarters of the way done. I was sleepy and slightly dizzy, but every time I got closer to my bed, my heart squeezed in my chest. I couldn’t even go to sleep on my bed because of how much it smelled like Carver.

Carver Storm.

Damn, I’d been stupid. Some easy mark for a bored billionaire to play with. I shook my head and walked around my small studio when something caught my attention. A small little square-looking thing attached to one of the fake plants I had. Working the hours I did, I didn’t have time to water real plants. I plucked it out and frowned.

“What the hell?” I wondered out loud.

It looked like… a camera. But who could have…? Only one name popped up, and in my drunken, tipsy stupor, I walked around unable to believe all the other little hidden cameras I found, dropping them onto my kitchen table before finishing off the wine.

He’d been watching me.

Carver Storm, a man who had way too much money and obviously time, had been watching me.Why?I was basically nobody. I was the girl down in the laundry room, a department he could easily get rid of. I shook my head and licked my lips. As my eyes moved through the space, every memory of us flooded my mind.

Tears prickled at my eyes, and maybe because I was alone with no one to see, I let myself cry. Burying my hands in my face, I sobbed for the man I thought I had found. The one I thought loved me for me.

But I had the wrong idea of him. He had turned out to be just like almost every other man I knew, nothing but a liar. Too badmy heart, my stupid silly heart, despite all the things I had found out, still wanted to hold out hope he was everything he had made himself seem.

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carver

“What the hell were you thinking?!”Harrison yelled, but I simply looked at the window. Not that I could actually see anything.

Fuck, I couldn’t feel anything.

Nothing but fear and dread ran through my veins. All I could see was the hurt painted on Max’s face. Hurt I was soley responsible for. I’d tried to come clean! Hell, moments before shit the fan, that was exactly what I tried to do!

But it didn’t matter. I had still fucked up.

I had the time to come clean. Why hadn’t I told her who I really was when I confessed I wasn’t a masseuse? Why?!Because you’re a fucking idiot!a voice in my head repeated over and over.

Harrison didn’t shut up once on the way back to the resort. Every mile that he drove farther and farther from Max felt wrong. Like something inside of me was clawing its way to get out. I shouldn’t have let her walk away. I shouldn’t have left with Harrison. What I should have done was chase after her, hold her to me until she promised to listen.Fuck!

The rest of the day was a blur. I had no idea how long it had been since Harry and I arrived back at The Crown and Iforced myself to walk to my office instead of jumping into a car and driving back down to the main area of Moonlit Pines and straight to her apartment.

I’d fucked up. Royally. Now I needed to figure out how to make things right. I needed her to listen to me. To let daddy explain and to somehow talk her into giving me another chance.

I glanced at my watch, and my brows bunched tightly. How the fuck was it so late already? How long had I been lost in my thoughts? I stood up just as I watched Stan enter my office. The old man looked like he wanted to throttle me. I knew he hadn’t liked me before, and now he must really think I was a piece of shit.

“Storm, we gotta talk.” I begrudgingly sat down and pointed to the chairs in front of my desk.

“Take a seat.”

“I’m okay standing,” Stan clipped, standing ramrod straight in front of my desk with envelopes in his hands.

“What are those?” I asked stupidly. I knew what he was doing.

“Resignation letters.” He set them on top of my desk to let me see the names on top.

Stan. Olive. Max. Berta.

“Stan, this is unnecessary—“ I started to say, but he put a finger out, and I quieted.

“I’m going to tell you something, and you’re going to listen.” I sat straighter. I wasn’t used to anyone talking to me in that way who wasn’t one of my brothers. “I don’t know what you were doing with Max. If this was some kind of bullshit midlife crisis you were going through or some kind of billionaire asshole game you and your brothers like to play, or what. But I do know, I’ve seen your type before.”

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