Her Pucking One Night Stand (Game On Daddies #1)

2. AVA

2

AVA

Stepping onto the thoroughfare of the airport is an unnerving experience. The place is crowded and bustling, and everyone seems to know exactly where they’re going.

Well, everyone but me.

Yes, I have my ticket and have a rudimentary understanding of what gates are, but I’ve never had to navigate to one on my own. I’m scanning left and right when I get a notification on my phone.

Since I’m supposed to check in an hour ahead of my flight time and I’m thirty minutes early, I peer down at my screen. It’s probably just Leighton sending one last hug emoji before I have to put my cell in airplane mode, anyway. But it’s not her. It’s the headhunter I’ve been dealing with in California.

I open the email and then halt dead in my tracks. No. No, no, no. This can’t be right.

I read through the contents of the message four separate times before it sinks in. Even then, I don’t want to accept it.

Dear Ms. Sterling,

Thank you for your interest in A Healing Caress, the largest chain of therapeutic massage and bodywork on the West Coast. Unfortunately, all positions have been filled by other applicants. We wish you well in your future endeavors.

Best,

A Healing Caress Hiring Staff

At first, I’m in utter shock. Then, as the reality of my situation sinks in, I rewind what the person I spoke to on the phone said. I couldn’t have misunderstood her. Could I? In a panic, I dial her number.

“Mindy Conrad, please.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Conrad is unavailable,” declares a young male voice. “May I take a message?”

Dammit.

“Can you tell her that Ava Sterling is calling? I need her to get back to me immediately.” I tap my foot as I say that, needing some way to rid myself of this pent-up energy. “This is an emergency.”

“What sort of emergency?”

“I must’ve received an email in error. It’s not even from Mindy, but it states that I didn’t receive the job that I was assured of over the phone.”

There’s a pause.

“Can you give me your name again?”

I do.

Then the man’s voice begins to drip with condescension as he releases a long-suffering sigh. “Well, your name is not among the list of new hires. Therefore, I have to conclude that someone made a false assumption. Did you receive a packet in the mail with instructions to follow?”

Taken aback, I shake my head before I realize that he can’t see me. “No.”

“Did you receive a text confirming your first day or the address where you’d need to arrive?”

Any bubble of hope I might’ve been sheltering in my chest pops like soda fizz. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” With no further discussion, he disconnects, hanging up on me.

It doesn’t matter that this Conrad woman told me, “You’d be a perfect fit for our Santa Barbara location.” Or that she was impressed by my education and experience, could picture me in that role, and would be thrilled to have me join their team.

Apparently, none of that is true.

Reflecting on everything we discussed only makes a pit form in my stomach. Did her “being thrilled” mean she’d legit offered me the position? I thought it did. I’d Googled the Santa Barbara facility so I’d have the address. That means she didn’t send it. But did I jump to the conclusion that I had confirmation of a job when I actually didn’t?

Evidently so. Ugh!

Drifting off to one side of the concourse, I lean against the nearest wall and drop into a seated position right there on the shiny tiled floor, hyperventilating.

How could I be so stupid? Yeah, this was my first time applying for out-of-state positions, but to be so far off about something I’d been banking on. Hell, betting my life on.

The pit in my stomach becomes a churning whirlpool. So much so that I might be sick. The only thing that keeps me from puking there in public is the knowledge that I have to cancel my plane ticket and get my money back before it’s too late.

Lurching back to my feet despite being out of breath, I glance up and find the correct gate. Thank God. I race over there like I’m being chased by monsters.

“I need to… cancel my ticket, please.”

It takes a lot of rigamarole and dealing with a frowny host, but I’m able to get the return credit back on my debit card for the ticket I bought online. My main problem at this point is what to do next. After being this close to a solution for getting the hell out of dodge, failing is like a slap in the face.

But I can’t go to California without a net to catch me when I land.

I remember the mocking message I scrawled in four-foot letters across Dean’s business, and my breath catches. If he sees that—if anyone he knows tells him it’s still there while I’m still in town—he might just kill me.

I’ve already set the pieces in motion—the message, the divorce papers. It was all supposed to unfold once I was safely gone, away from him, where distance could shield me from the storm of his rage.

Where’s that distance now?

Maybe I truly am the idiotic bitch he claims me to be. I leaped before I looked, and now, I have to deal with the consequences. I run through some options. I have two days before Dean returns from his trip to discover all that I’ve done.

I could go back to him, scrub that shoe polish off his windows, and pretend that nothing’s changed. That’s the most repugnant option. It also means praying that no one tells him of my highly visible insult before I take it down.

I’m such a moron.

I could run blindly to some random place and try my job hunt in person there, but what guarantee do I have that recruiters will find me any more attractive as a possible hire than I am now? I’ve been putting my resume out there for months with only this one carrot being dangled in front of me. A carrot that’s vanished like it never existed. What would I do if, after spending all I have in my secret bank account, I came up empty in a few weeks?

So, I can’t leave. The simple notion of staying with Dean makes me physically ill. The weight of my mistake lands on me like a boulder, and again, I find myself tipping off my feet in reaction, this time on a bench.

Scents waft over from the assorted airport restaurants, and the ebbing and flowing of traveling humanity hurries everywhere around me. Yet even as a customer yells at the top of his voice, a baby screeches from another nearby bench, and the endless scrape of luggage wheels roll past me, it’s like none of this is real. I’m stuck in indecision.

Rooted here.

Trapped.

The only reason I’m able to pick up the phone is because I'm desperately looking for an out.

“Leighton?” I croak into my cell, but I’m barely audible, even to my own ears.

“Ava?” My name is a question filled with caution. “Everything all right?”

“No,” I say. It’s all I can manage.

“Where are you?”

“The airport. California fell through,” I mumble.

I’m not even sure if any sound comes out at that point. It’s like I’ve been transformed into a piece of stone, but one that might crumble into nothing at any second.

“Stay put. I’m on my way.”