Page 11 of Always Knew It Was You

And true to her word, Carly seems to be exactly the type.

But I’m disappointed because I wouldn’t have minded another round before she left. Or maybe have some breakfast with her. I enjoyed our conversation yesterday before we had sex and would have liked to see more of her easy wit.

Oh well. It’s not like I don’t know where to find her if I need to. I’ve only met Carly on a few occasions and even “met” is a strong word for it. On the day Declan proposed to Emma, I saw Carly across the grassy field and was around the general vicinity when she and Emma talked. I knew her name but that was about it. I didn’t notice her much beyond the fact that she looked cute and innocent.

And cute and innocent has never been my type.

I prefer worldly women, women who know what they want and go for it. Carly with the pigtails and the overly baggy clothing didn’t seem like that type.

But as it turns out, I was wrong. Because she definitely went for what she wanted last night.

My smile widens as I get out of bed, padding naked to the bathroom to wash my face. Then I look at my shoulders noting the red marks from when Carly scratched me as I ate her out the second time. I admire the marks like a badge, wondering if I should wear a vest today to show them off. Maybe I’ll show up to where she works. It would be worth it to see the blush spreading on her face.

And then maybe I’ll even get to see more than her face.

Who knew her baggy clothes were hiding a body like that?

The ringing phone breaks through my thoughts. I turn around and pad back to the room, retrieving my phone from my pocket. I sigh when I see the caller ID.

The jig is up.

I pick up, anticipating the explosion. “Hello?”

“Are you insane?” my father roars, and I can almost see him bristling behind his office desk at the top of a skyscraper near Central Park.

“It depends on the time of day,” I respond mildly. “I’m usually fine in the afternoon, but I’m told that I go rabid at night. Like a vampire.”

“This isn’t time for your stupid jokes, Micah. Do you have any idea what you just tried to do? Are you trying to ruin me?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Dad. How is sellingmyshares in the hotel going to ruin you? You could sneeze on a hypothetical billion-dollar note and it wouldn’t hurt you.”

“This hotel isn’t just any hotel. It’s the Pink Hotel, a hotel that has been on the tip of everyone’s tongue for months now. It’s advertising itself with how much it has been on the news.”

“Yes. It’s been advertised as the scene of several crimes. You think that people will want to stay here?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course! The only thing better than a vintage hotel is a vintage hotel with a killer story. Do you know how many people would stay in the Manson house if they could? We’ve struck literal gold here Micah and spent a fortune polishing it up. And now you want to throw all that away by selling it for a pittance of what it’s worth. To Benjamin DuPont of all fucking people.”

My dad’s voice screeches at the end and I move my ear away from the receiver to rub it.

“I’d hardly call thirty million a pittance.”

“It’s a pittance compared to what we stand to make in the future. It’s less than what we’re projected to earn even in the next ten years.”

“Aren’t you the same person who told me not to put too much stock in projections?”

“Now you choose to listen to me?”

“I always listen to you, Father. Listening and obeying are two different things.” I pick up the menu by the bed, wondering what to get from room service. Then I remembered the hotel is not technically operational yet and put it down again. I’ll have to go into town for breakfast before I leave.

I wait for the rest of my father’s rant. I know from his breathing that the old man is only getting started.

“I truly don’t know what your problem is, Micah,” he continues. “Here am I offering you a chance on a silver platter and you’re throwing it away. It’s a chance that many would kill for, the chance at a stable income, at ownership, something you could call your own that will make you millions for a lifetime.”

“And who says that’s a chance I want?” I say. “Maybe I want something different.”

My father is silent for a second and then in a shocked tone he says, “You want to be poor?”

“No,” I say. “What I want is freedom, Dad. The freedom of not running this hotel and answering to you and Tudor all the damn time. I want to do what excites me.”

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