Page 5 of Sugar Pie
“To be honest, I’ve encountered that as well. We could probably both use an honest friend. Let’s give it a try, and maybe we can help each other.”
I headed into my apartment complex. Opting for my own space felt important, and at least rent wasn’t big-city prices.
“I’ll stay at the motel, but I’d like to take you up on the offer of friendship.”
I checked my phone and realized the closest motel was a mile away. I headed that way then parked in front of the building. “What’s your name? I don’t think it’s Missy.”
She slipped out of the truck but waited for me, staring at me as if she needed to see inside my soul.
I stilled.
“No, it’s absolutely not. I’m Kerry Jackson. And you?”
I handed her my phone, and she began to type her number into it.
“Warren No—Tate.”
I walked her to the front desk, and when she handed my phone back to me, it smelled like her rose perfume. “Warren Tate or NoTate?”
I wouldn’t tell her that Norouzi was my name, as it alone was unique in the business sector. It was time for me to prove I was as smart and capable as everyone said I was. I waited for her to check in with the cash she’d just earned as I repeated my birth name. “Tate.”
She smiled at me, and my chest expanded. “Maybe we can get a coffee tomorrow.”
“I’d like that,” I said quickly before she walked down the hall.
I waited until she was out of my sight then headed back to my truck.
It wasn’t how I’d expected the first day to go—it was better. Maybe if I had someone to talk to who didn’t know me as Warren Norouzi, I could figure out my million-dollar idea more quickly.
2
Kerry
My motel bed was small, and pea-yellow bedsheets probably hid an old mattress. However, it was better than the night when I’d walked as far as I could to get away from the highway and into a country I’d never seen.
Warren Tate reminded me of a nice-guy superhero who’d swooped in to save my life. He even had the ass, not that I ever would have said that out loud. Except I wasn’t some reporter snooping around who needed to be rescued or anything remotely that ambitious.
I tossed my only pair of shoes, sneakers I’d destroyed when I left my husband, near the bed and stretched in my small room.
Warren’s truck had been old, so wherever he lived in probably wasn’t much better than a motel, anyway.
In the shower, I closed my eyes and imagined him. His muscles were defined, and maybe the T-shirt had hidden some flaws, but I imagined washboard abs, chiseled and worked from manual labor. I sighed as I wondered what a man like him would taste like.
Either way, I was unavailable to men, and I needed to figure out who I was. All my college friends had lives, spoke to each other, and probably all met weekly in the city. And I’d listened to my parents, married a man older than me, and died every second of every day since becoming a trophy wife.
Maybe housekeeping in a small town wasn’t going to land me a career or the ability to prove my independence. But it was a start. I wasn’t ready to wait out the rest of my life and do nothing.
It had been the roof over my head that had steered me to the temporary housekeeping position.
Warren with the sexy smile kept me humming as I showered. The water cascading into the tub drowned out the noise of the couple arguing next door. I dried off with the thin towel that had seen better days and wrang out my one pair of underwear in the shower. They’d be dry by the next day, and I could figure out where to get a job, get myself settled, and buy the things I needed.
The screaming next door grew louder, and my pulse zipped. I hoped they didn’t get physical.
My phone rang. For one second, I dreamed of the blue-eyed guy who’d shown up in my life earlier but then shook my head. I answered. “Romeo, don’t call me anymore.”
“You’re still my wife. It’s my job to take care of you, and you need the meds.”
Meds were for people who were sick, and that wasn’t me. I took a deep breath. I’d never had mental health issues in college or as a kid. All my problems had started after I’d said “I do.” And no, I hadn’t taken the bag of medicine when I dashed away from him. I bolted with only my pocketbook.
