Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunny
I blink awake, completely disoriented, like I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer dart. I’m tangled in a pile of blankets, my hair in a knot that could probably be classified as a crime scene.
Tinsel is perched on my chest, staring at me with those big, unblinking eyes, like she’s been waiting for hours for me to wake up. Her weight makes it even harder to sit up, but I don’t have the heart to shove her off.
At least one of us has her life together.
It takes me a second to even remember what day it is, what time it is, or why I’m not already up and about, dealing with a million things that won’t handle themselves.
But then I glance at the clock on the nightstand.
Three p.m.
I stare at it like it’s a ransom note. How the heck did I sleep this long? I’m supposed to be finalizing catering orders, checking lighting, and making sure the staff isn’t about to burn the place down accidentally.
Instead, I’m wrapped up in this cocoon of exhaustion and, okay, fine, regret.
I groan and attempt to sit up. But my body? Not having it.
My legs might as well have been replaced with cement. And my stomach does this weird, unsettling flip. It knows I shouldn’t have let myself get this far gone.
Great.
I push myself upright, but I’m immediately sure I’m gonna pass out. The room tilts, the walls start to spin, and I grab the side of the bed like it’s my lifeline.
I need food, maybe some coffee, or at the very least, a good, strong shot of denial. But the thought of food, especially anything greasy or heavy, makes my stomach do another flip.
Ugh.
I put a hand to my stomach, willing the nausea away, but it’s still there. A little ghost in the pit of my stomach, tugging at me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to tell myself that it’s just stress.
Stress from the gala. Stress from trying to figure out how in the world I’m going to juggle the hotel, the renovations, my whole existence falling apart at the seams.
But still, there’s that gnawing feeling in the back of my brain. A voice whispering, What if it’s something else?
I drop back onto the bed, trying to breathe through it. Nope. Not today. I’m not dealing with that right now. I’m not ready for that kind of emotional chaos, and frankly, my body is already doing enough to me today.
I need a plan. A small plan. Just get out of bed, drink some water, eat something, and try to piece myself back together.
It’s what I do best. Put on a smile, fake it until I can make it.
I grab my phone, hands shaky, and dial Marjorie’s number without overthinking it. I need her, like right now.
As the phone rings, I lean back into the pillows, hoping the world will slow down for a second. But the longer I lie here, the worse I feel. I can’t breathe without dragging it in hard.
“Hey, Sunny,” Marjorie answers on the third ring. “Everything okay?”
I swallow hard, trying to clear the lump in my throat, but there’s no air in my lungs.
“I’m… not okay,” I mumble, the words coming out weak and raspy.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Sunny, what’s wrong?” she asks, immediately picking up on the way my voice trembles. “You still sick?”
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, feeling the heat there. “I don’t know. I woke up way too late. My body is made of bricks. And I’m… I’m so tired, Marj. Just so tired, and my stomach’s all wrong. I thought maybe it was just stress, but it’s not going away.” I pause. “Something’s… off.”
Marjorie softens, that steady, calm tone that always reminds me that someone cares about me. “Hey, slow down. Take a deep breath. You need to eat something. Have you had anything today?”
I wince at the thought of food making my stomach turn even more. “I… haven’t. My body says no every time I think about it.”
There’s another pause, then Marjorie turns serious. “Okay, listen. I’m not buying that you’re just stressed. You need to see a doctor, Sunny. It’s time for me to visit, okay? Don’t even try to argue.”
I shake my head even though I know she can’t see it. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s probably nothing.”
She doesn’t back off. “No, this isn’t nothing. I can hear it in your voice, you’re not yourself. I’ll be there as soon as I can. And I’ll bring donuts.”
A laugh bubbles up despite the nausea still churning in my gut. “I can’t believe you’re talking about donuts. You’re gonna feed me carbs and sugar and call it medicine, huh?”
“Absolutely,” she says without missing a beat. “If I have to bribe you with pastries to get you to take care of yourself, I will. But no excuses. You’re gonna let me look after you for once, alright?”
I sigh, but it’s a little more relieved this time. I really can’t fight her. “Fine. But only because you’re insisting. I’m counting on you for the world’s best donut selection. No pressure.”
“You got it. See you as soon as I can, and don’t do anything stupid while I’m on my way.”
I hang up the phone, my chest a little lighter despite the sick feeling still swirling inside me. The dizziness is still there, nagging at the edges of my thoughts, but it helps to know Marjorie’s on her way, and I’ll have someone on my side for at least a few hours.
I close my eyes for a moment, take in a shaky breath, and try to push everything out of my mind. One step at a time, Sunny. One step at a time.
After the phone call, I try to pull myself together. The gala is coming up, and if I can’t manage to at least pretend to know what I’m doing, I’m pretty sure the whole hotel will implode before we even get to the Christmas lights.
So, I find myself in Aunt Evie’s room, at her desk. But no matter how hard I focus on the spreadsheet in front of me, something doesn’t click.
My eyes are too tired, my head is consumed in a fog, and the numbers. Ugh. They blur into a jumble of dollar signs and cell columns.
I reach for my coffee, of which I’ve had about three cups today, not that it’s doing much, and that’s when I see it.
Another strange folder.
What is this? I haven’t seen it before.
I know that for sure because I’ve been obsessively going through this office like a detective searching for evidence. And yet, there it is, all thick and official-looking, sitting at the corner of my desk, with “Lang Capital Holdings” printed across the top in sleek, too-perfect letters.
Okay.
Okay, no big deal.
Maybe it’s nothing.
But my gut’s already tight, and that’s usually my cue to panic. I open it, and… well, no. This isn’t nothing. This is… a whole bunch of numbers that make no sense.
I know it isn’t good. Red flags everywhere.
My fingers start to shake.
The numbers inside aren’t just confusing. They’re wrong. There are invoices for services Evie never seemed to use, consulting fees that no one ever approved, and deposits logged but never matched to bookings.
Tens of thousands of dollars moved around like a shell game, disappearing into nothing.
I slam the folder shut, but the damage is done. My brain won’t stop spinning. Lang Capital Holdings. The name is a firecracker going off in my head, echoing through every corner of my thoughts.
I look around the room. The curtains. The vase on the desk. The picture frame. And then… bam.
There it is again, staring at me like a billboard: Lang. Capital. Holdings.
In the background of a photo with Aunt Evie and some guy.
My breath catches in my throat. What the hell is going on? I grab my phone and start Googling, but the more I search, the more I see that name.
Vincent Lang.
It’s everywhere. And every link is a dead end. Investors. Business dealings. Mergers. More numbers I don’t understand.
I feel my stomach tighten, and panic starts to creep in. What if this is about to get way worse? What if Ryder has been hiding something?
Or worse… what if my aunt knew about this? Was she mixed up with this Lang guy? Was the hotel being targeted?
I can’t breathe. My heart is a drumbeat in my chest.
I yank myself out of the chair and practically run down the hall to the bar, desperate to get some answers from someone who isn’t me.
Dex is there, cleaning a glass with a towel. He looks up when I approach, his eyes softening at the sight of my panic.
“Sunny,” he says gently, “you really need to sleep. You’re looking… a little wrecked.”
“I can’t. I need to know something. Vincent Lang. Do you know who that is?”
His expression doesn’t change. He scrubs the glass one more time, shaking his head. “Not off the top of my head. Why? Is this about the hotel?”
“I… I don’t know,” I admit, feeling utterly lost. “I think it’s connected to… something. The finances, maybe? I’m freaking out over here, Dex.”
He looks at me for a long beat, then sets the glass down. “You should take a break, Sunny. You look like you’re running on fumes. Are you sick?”
I shake my head, stubborn. “I can’t be sick. I don’t have time. I need to find Ryder. He must know something about this. Please tell me you know where he is.”
“Ryder?” Dex’s eyes flicker. “He’s out with his sister.”
My brain stops. His sister?
“But it’s his mom here, right?”
Dex shakes his head. “Nope, his sister has come too. Seems like it’s a whole family reunion.”
Great.
I was going to talk to him about this, but it seems like he’s too busy.
I really am in over my head.