Page 14 of Matched with Her Runaway Groom

Roman taps my desk with his hand a couple of times. “Outstanding. Isabella will be excited to meet you.”

“Isabella?” Please tell me she’s not another daughter I’ll have to watch out for. I already ducked into the bathroom this morning when I saw Savannah walk into the office earlier. Then again, Roman looks like he’s only six or seven years older than me.

“My wife. She’s the design portion of our company. She’s out running some last-minute errands before we set sail. The woman never sits still, but I love her for it.”

My chest constricts like someone punched me in the stomach. Yep, just beating myself up for about the ten thousandth time. But breaking up with the love of my life was the ultimate sacrifice. The only problem is I don’t think she sees it that way.

“I can’t wait.” I’m not sure what for just yet, as there are about a hundred obstacles sitting before me and the ship.

I’ve never been on a cruise, and the first time was supposed to be for my honeymoon a year ago. Here’s to hoping I can make it through the trip without getting stuck down memory lane on what could’ve been my life.

CHAPTER5

Rachelle

Thirty-seven hours and seventeen minutes.

That’s all that’s standing between me and my first ever cruise experience.

I have to keep telling myself that throughout the day, since it’s like everyone and everything knows I’m excited about the break and needs my help.

Just an hour ago, I had to work on getting the internet working again for the entire floor. Yeah, I’m not a tech genius, but that whole “shut it down and restart” needs to be taught more often to the younger generations.

I’ve gone around to each of the people in my department, making sure they have everything they need for the next week. Taking an extra day off before the cruise was pure inspiration because I’m going to need it.

Working at a call center was never my dream, but it’s been consistent pay and I’ve slogged my way up. The best part of being promoted is not having to call phone number after phone number, hoping for people to stay on the line long enough to listen to our scripted spiel.

“Marsha, how are you doing?” I peek my head around the small cubicle wall. “I know you had a hard time with that call earlier. Do you want to go through what happened?”

The woman who’s only a few years younger than me looks up through her glasses and gives the most nervous smile I’ve ever seen, even from her. She’d called a man who must not have been taken off our lists after a previous call, because she’d endured a string of obscenities.

“I’d rather not relive that moment, thank you.”

“Understandable. You did a great job of staying professional.” Six months ago, I might’ve done the same. But the more and more I get pushed, it’s like I have to respond. Cue the memory of hitting Landon with the paint balls.

“Okay, well, I’ll be gone for a few days, so if you need help from anyone, talk to John, okay?”

She nods and turns back to her screen. “Thanks, Rachelle.”

It’s small, but it’s something from her. I’m still trying to figure out why of all the jobs in the world, Marsha would accept one where she constantly has to talk to people outside her comfort zone. But she’s made a lot of progress since she first started a couple months ago. I guess that’s something I can learn from too. Stretch myself like I’ve been doing with the Breakup Bucket List.

“Rachelle, can you meet me in my office for a minute?” my manager, Ike, says from the doorway of what we called the bullpen.

This is not good.

My track record with Ike is short-lived, but not great. They promoted me to the team lead position nine months ago, even though he’s worked with the company for longer. Then when our boss, Eliza, left to have a baby, the higher up bosses put him as the new manager. I’ve been walking on a thin piece of paper for weeks around him, wondering when it would rip out from under me.

I give him a tight smile and walk in that direction. I’m not sure if I’m stomping more than usual trying to get my frustration out, but my ankle twists and I hear a popping sound.

My first thought is that my ankle is going to be broken and I won’t be able to go on the trip because it will require surgery. Or worse, I’d have to hobble around the decks with crutches. My luck would ruin my first cruise. Why didn’t this happen the other day at paint ball to help my cause?

I turn my upper body around and see that it’s only my heel, laying like a traitor on the ground. It’s giving up, not ready to battle Ike on any more issues.

I lean down and pick it up, cursing at it in my mind before hobbling to his office, one heel and one arched shoe at a time.

Ike sees the piece in my hand and says, “A little rough on your shoes, aren’t you?”

All I can do is channel my best clown-faced smile and sit down in the awkward lip-shaped chair. Yes, my butt is now sitting on the very edge of a pair of lips. But it’s either sit or look like I’m Quasimodo as I bend to the side with one heel on and one heel off. Diddle, Diddle Dumpling my son, John.

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