Page 114 of Release Me

She squints. “Ooh, is that the hot guy who came in looking for you last week?”

“Yeah.” Exactly one week ago, the same day that we had sex and then he ran out of my house like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I haven’t seen him since. Not a phone call, not an appearance at the coffee shop. Not even a text. Vanished like he never existed.

I guess Ronan got everything he wanted.

And I got what I expected.I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me, that I hadn’t held on to a shade of hope that Ronan would be different from all the others. And then I remember his reaction when I asked him not to say anything, how he chuckled, and swore the last thing he would ever want to admit to is fucking me.

I still can’t believe I let him inside me without a condom. After I found out about Cody cheating, I swore I would never allow it again. But with Ronan, there was no thinking involved. I lost all control and sensibility.

“Are you two hooking up?” Skye asks.

“No.” It comes out too harsh, so I amend my tone to add, “There’s nothing there.”

A glance flickers between them.

“I don’t want anything to do with him,” I declare with conviction. “He’s a senior manager at Wolf.” He probably has Henry Wolf on speed dial.

“No shit. How’d you find that out?” Rebel asks.

“He mentioned it,” I say vaguely, tossing a warning glance at Skye. She’s the only one who knows I crashed the job fair, but she doesn’t know the devil’s deal I made.

“He’s hot, Sloane,” Rebel says. “Like,really fuckinghot.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.” A twinge of jealousy stirs in my stomach as these two fawn over Ronan. How many otherwomen are doing the same, over at that hotel? He’ll screw them too, I’m sure. “He’s also a giantdick.” Who happens to possess a giant dick.

“Why? What’d he do?” Skye is pouting like this news personally offends her.

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

Frank appears from the darkness to save me from this interrogation, his arms loaded with wood and Rolland trailing behind him.

Frank wasn’t kidding when he called the kid scrawny. He’s like a newborn giraffe, all knobs and limbs. The obscenely baggy T-shirts he wears hide the protruding ribs I caught a glimpse of one afternoon while he was wiping his sweaty brow. But he’s quiet and he tries, and he hasn’t quit yet, which is all I care about at this point.

“Welcome, cutie!” Rebel beams up at the lanky kid as she reaches into the cooler and fishes out a beer.

“Uh …” He looks from it to me to Frank, reminding us that he’s only eighteen and, according to the little he’s spoken about his family to Frank, was raised in an ultra-strict household.

“I’m not your mother.” Frank drops the load of wood with a clatter. “But you better sleep in one of the empty trailers if you have too many.”

“Just one.” Rolland collects the beer from Rebel with a thanks, his flushed cheeks noticeable even in the fire’s glow as he takes an empty seat on the other side of Skye. They turn their interrogation on him, saving me from having to lie about Ronan.

Minutes later, Mick, Ron, and Will show up, and another round of greetings ensues.

I force a smile and pretend I’m none the wiser to their recent plans for a mass exodus. From what Rebel and Skye heard, they received rejection emails from Wolf Hotels the same afternoon Ronan submitted his approvals—and disapprovals.

They showed up ready to work the next day and, according to Frank, no one seems sour or disgruntled, so maybe it really was a matter of chasing the shiny new thing. Still, that prick of guilt lingers every time I see anyone I sabotaged. It’s quickly followed by the sting of betrayal.

Amanda never showed up for her Monday shift, making up a story about needing to leave the state to take care of an ill relative. AJ called me on Sunday afternoon to tell me he was taking a job at Wolf and he wouldn’t be able to give me two weeks. He thanked me for employing him. There wasn’t much else to say.

Jeremy hasn’t said a word, but I know through Rebel that he’ll be working Friday and Saturday nights at the Wolf beach bar—a ritzy courtyard overlooking the water that serves a menu of martinis and other complex cocktails at twenty-five bucks a piece. Apparently, he’s been studying the manual front and back all week. He’ll do well there, and I’m happy for him.

Frank wedges his giant body into the chair beside me. “You stopped trying to murder them with your eyes yet?” he murmurs, quiet enough for only me to hear.

“Trying.” It’s especially hard to fake nice with Ron. He’s staying in Surf’s Up for the summer. I run into him every morning while feeding the birds.

“Try harder. You gotta let it go.”

I know. “Skye made Gigi’s chili recipe. Crock-Pot’s on the counter inside.” There’s always something on the stove around here in the summer, with enough to feed a dozen mouths.

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