Page 55 of My Totally Unfair Deal

Before I can protest, he pulls me against him, so my back is against his chest and his mouth is near my ear.

In the silence, the words I want to say remain unspoken, and I can feel that he’s holding back, too.

With his arms around me, I eventually drift to dreams and experience the best night of sleep I’ve had in this city so far.

TWENTY-SEVEN

HARRISON

There was no formal conversation about our new bedtime routine. It just happened.

Lessons in the mornings, a couple hours of sightseeing in the afternoon with lunch at an upscale restaurant, and after another round of lessons in the evening and a shower, Eliza slips under my sheets.

She reminds me that there’s not much time left, and that “good sleep” is actually possible.

“If the registration meet-ups begin tomorrow, shouldn’t you be drilling me really hard right now?” Eliza’s choice of words makes me stop walking in the middle of Central Park.

“What?” She licks her strawberry ice cream cone. “Shouldn’t you be doing that?”

“I think you’ll be able to handle a few introductory meetings with the judges,” I say, brushing away her words. “I’d be more concerned with getting some relaxation in right now.”

“If you say so…” She points at the fountain ahead of us. “Do you think the people taking pictures in front of that have ever come here without their cell phones?”

“Being without a cell phone in New York is asking for trouble,” I say.

“Cell phones weren’t always a thing…”

“And I doubt we’re going back to those days anytime soon.” I pull out my phone and snap a picture of her without her noticing. “It’s better now than it was then.”

“You really don’t want to hammer me—at least once—before I have to check in?”

Okay, that’s it. “I need to save your voice for the rest of the weekend.” I stop walking and place my hands on her shoulders. “Your words aren’t coming out like you think they are, and you clearly need a break.”

“What’s wrong with what I said?” She blinks up at me. “Tell me.”

“You’re forcing me to ensure a very high level of restraint,” I say. “I’m not going to be able to keep to that if you keep this shit up.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

ELIZA

The air in the registration suite is thick with polished egos and overpriced cologne.

A semicircle of middle-aged men in navy suits are flipping through my pitch packet like it’s written in a foreign language. One of them clears his throat. Another actually yawns.

Where the hell is Harrison?

I straighten my spine and plant my heels into the carpet.

“Are you Miss Eliza Hart?” one of them finally asks, not looking up from his folder.

“Yes, I am.”

“Hmmm. I see that your company falls under the hospitality and tourism realm more than agriculture.” He’s still not looking up at me. “Can you tell us a little bit about it?”

“Well, first…” I pause. They’re all staring down at their phones or flipping through paperwork, making it clear that this is just a formality to them.

It matters like hell to me, though…

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