Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sunny
Well, this is just perfect.
I’m half-heartedly flipping through Boston Heritage Monthly—because apparently, it’s part of my lobby decor now—when the article slams into me like a freight train.
“Ryder Hale and the Quinn Legacy: A Bold New Chapter for Boston’s Garland Rose Hotel.”
My stomach drops. My fingers freeze on the page. The words blur. My vision is swimming in a gut punch I didn’t even see coming.
This is how it happens, huh? The city-wide spotlight, the kind I didn’t ask for, isn’t interested in giving me any grace. No, it’s got to hit right when I’m teetering on the edge of a complete meltdown.
Perfect timing, as always.
I can feel my chest tighten as I scan the piece. There it is, in black and white. My name, splashed across it like a neon sign in the middle of the night.
Sunny Quinn: new owner of the Garland Rose Hotel.
The little bit about me revitalizing it… that’s rich. My version of revitalizing is more like trying to duct tape together a sinking ship with glitter and holiday lights.
And then, to top it off, the words new chapter, like this is some heartwarming story I’m supposed to be telling.
As if I’m not drowning in invoices, panic attacks, and the sound of my own stress-fueled ramblings into the hotel’s phone system. I haven’t figured out how to make one damn thing not fall apart.
But here I am—front page. Like I’ve got it all together.
A sarcastic laugh bubbles up, but it gets stuck in my throat. Instead, I yank the magazine from my hands, crumpling the edges between my fingers as if I can erase what it says by force of will alone.
There’s a faint trace of peppermint oil on the pages, leftover from the holiday-scented candle I knocked over this morning, and it only makes everything worse. It smells like I’m suffocating under a mountain of forced cheer.
I’m not even sure what I expected anymore. But this? This is definitely not it.
I drag my feet all the way to the back office, where Dex is buried behind a mountain of paperwork. The stress isn’t just in the air around here. It’s practically clinging to the walls.
The whole hotel’s been a pressure cooker, and right now, I’m about to blow.
Tinsel, of course, is no help. She’s sprawled right across Dex’s paperwork, tail flicking lazily as if the world isn’t on fire. Dex absently scoops her up with one arm, settling the cat on his lap like a fuzzy paperweight.
“Dex,” I mutter, slamming the magazine down on his desk. “Look at this.”
He doesn’t even flinch when the magazine lands with a thud. Instead, he leans back in his chair, flashes me one of his signature grins, and picks it up, beaming from ear to ear.
I can practically hear the “you’ve got this” speech he’s about to give.
“Isn’t it great?” he says, flicking through the pages, not even bothering to look at me.
I scoff. “Great? Do you know what this is? This is me being shoved into the public eye when I’m barely holding it together.”
Dex raises an eyebrow and flips the page. “It’s good press, Sunny. The hotel is practically shining in this picture.”
“Shining?” I repeat, throwing my hands up. “You can’t be serious. It isn’t ready yet. It isn’t done.”
“But that’s what we’re working toward, right? You’ve got it under control.”
“I am not under control!” I throw my arms wide. “Have you seen my to-do list? It’s a goddamn circus in here, Dex.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But you are making progress. People are noticing. You know, the media loves a comeback story.”
“Comeback? I haven’t even started yet.” I slouch into the chair beside his desk, rubbing my temples. “I’m just trying to stop the walls from caving in.”
“Hey, hey.” Dex’s tone shifts slightly, more reassuring now. “You’re doing it. You’re breathing life into this place. That’s the story. And this article is huge. You’ve got the city’s attention now. Just in time for the gala.”
“Just in time for the gala,” I repeat flatly. “Yeah, because I’m definitely feeling ready for a night of charming the public while I can’t even keep my own pulse from racing.”
Dex leans forward, his usual optimism still bright. “Sunny, this is the moment. You’ve got everyone’s eyes on you. You can turn this around.”
I close my eyes, squeezing my temples harder, trying to push the pounding away. My body is betraying me, getting worse every minute I try to focus on anything other than the thudding of my head.
The dizziness hits in waves, and my hands are shaking so much that the pages of the magazine slip through my fingers.
“Great. Fantastic. I can barely keep my balance, and you want me to lead a gala.” I laugh bitterly. “You know what’s even worse? I can’t even blame Ryder for this. He didn’t want this either. I know he didn’t. But somehow, this whole mess is still on my shoulders.”
Dex’s face softens, his gaze turning a little more serious. “It’s not just on you, Sunny. This hotel… this legacy… it’s all of us now. And not everything has to be perfect, right?”
“Not everything has to be perfect?” I repeat, looking up at him in disbelief. “Dex, the entire event is about making everything perfect. The whole damn thing is built on perfection, and right now, I feel like I’m one step away from passing out.”
He stares at me for a moment, as if deciding whether to press or back off.
“You should rest, Sunny. I know you’ve got a lot to do, but maybe it’s time to take a step back. You’re not helping anyone by running yourself into the ground.”
I want to argue. I want to say I can’t afford to rest. But as I feel the dizziness creeping in, my vision blurring slightly, I know he’s right.
I hate it. I hate the idea of having to stop when there’s so much to do. But the thought of pushing through when I feel like this… it makes my stomach churn with anxiety.
I drag myself up from my chair, the strain of the day pressing down on my chest. “I guess… I guess you’re right. But if I go to bed now, I’m going to feel like I’ve failed.”
“You’re not failing,” Dex reassures me, standing up to give me one last nod. “You’re doing what you need to do. Get some rest. We’ve got this.”
I nod, even though I’m not convinced. As I walk out of his office, my legs might as well be made of lead.
My mind is buzzing with everything that still needs to be done, the thousand details I can’t forget, but my body refuses to cooperate. My vision wavers, and I lean against the wall for a moment to steady myself.
The hotel feels too quiet, too empty somehow, as if everything is just waiting for me to fall apart. I can almost hear the murmurs of everyone watching, waiting for me to fail, and I wonder if it’s all going to crumble before I even get a chance to prove I can do this.
I make my way to my room, and it feels like the world is slowing down around me. The last thing I want to do is lie down.
But my body doesn’t give me a choice.
Tinsel pads after me like a little shadow, slipping into the room before I can even shut the door. When I collapse onto the bed, she hops up too, circling once before curling into the crook of my side.
Her steady purring is the only sound in the quiet, a soft reminder that maybe I’m not as alone as I feel.
The bed is too inviting. It swallows me up, pulling me into its warmth, and I give in, closing my eyes. But it doesn’t make it any easier to silence the noise in my head.
The phone buzzes on my nightstand, pulling me from the fog.
It’s a text from Marjorie.
Marjorie: Hey, are you still alive? It’s been a while, and I miss you.
I stare at the screen, my mind still foggy, and then I finally start typing, needing to unload everything that’s been bouncing around in my head.
Sunny: Just barely. I’m a mess, M. I don’t even know where to start.
A pause before her response.
Marjorie: Girl, what’s going on? You sound like you need a vent session. Spill it.
I let out a sigh, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment before starting to type.
Sunny: Well, first, I’m on the front page of Boston Heritage Monthly now.
Because, of course, that’s how my life is going these days.
They wrote this whole article about how I’m “revitalizing” the hotel, and my name’s plastered everywhere like I’ve got it all together.
But really, I’m just trying not to fall apart completely.
Marjorie: Hold up, what? Front page? Okay, that sounds huge. But I can tell by your tone that you’re not exactly thrilled about it.
Sunny: Not at all. It’s a nightmare. I didn’t know this was happening at all, and I’m just… scrambling. The gala’s coming soon, and I can’t even keep my pulse steady half the time. I feel like I’m going to pass out.
Marjorie: Oh, no. That doesn’t sound good at all, babe. Are you… okay?
Sunny: I don’t know. I feel like I’m cracking up.
I thought I could handle this, but the more I try to focus, the worse I feel.
My body’s betraying me, and it’s like it’s all piling up at once.
I’m literally dizzy all the time now, and I can’t stop shaking.
I just… I don’t know how to keep it all together.
I press send and wait for her reply, biting my lip nervously. Marjorie’s always been my rock. If anyone knows what I should do, it’s her.
Marjorie: Okay, okay. No more pretending, got it. You need to slow down, Sunny. But I get it… this whole hotel thing, it’s a lot. What can I do to help?
I take a deep breath, nodding as if she could see me.
Sunny: I wish you could come and visit! But apart from that, I’ll be okay. Dex keeps telling me to rest, but how can I when there’s so much left to do? I’ve got to make the gala perfect. The pressure’s insane. Especially now.
Marjorie: You’re allowed to take a break, Sunny. And you’re not going to mess everything up. You’ve been doing a fantastic job, even if you don’t feel like it. Trust me. I’ve just looked up the article online, and it’s cool.
I rub my forehead, the headache pounding behind my eyes as I type my reply.
Sunny: I wish I could believe that. Honestly, I’m kind of ready to crawl into bed and not come out for the next week, but the gala’s right there, and I can’t mess this up.
Marjorie: How are things going with the grumpy CFO?
Sunny: He has his own drama. His mother is here, and it doesn’t look like they have a good relationship…
Marjorie: Ugh, that sounds rough. You’ve got a lot on your plate, babe. You can’t be everyone’s rock right now. Not even Ryder’s. You need to take care of yourself.
I sigh, feeling a mixture of frustration and exhaustion at the truth in her words. She’s right, but I can’t seem to stop trying to hold everything together.
Sunny: Thanks, M. I needed to hear that more than you know.
Marjorie: Anytime. And seriously, you need to sleep. I’m sending you some positive vibes from Chicago, and if you need me, I’m always just a call away. We’re all still here for you, no matter what.
I smile at her text, even as the dizziness starts to crawl back.
Sunny: Okay, I’ll try. And I’ll be better tomorrow. Promise.
Marjorie: Promise. Sleep tight, you crazy badass. Talk soon, love you!
Sunny: Love you too.
I set the phone down and take one last deep breath before pulling the covers up around me, letting my body sink into the mattress.
The world can wait. For now, I just need a moment of peace.