Chapter 7
SEVEN
Meadow
I startle awake to the sound of my own snore.
Damn, I must have been exhausted because I never snore. At least I don’t think I do…
My tongue feels like cotton, and my neck aches from falling asleep at a weird angle. At first, I almost forget where I am. As I try to peel open my eyes, I think I see glimpses of my Chicago apartment, my childhood bedroom, and my godforsaken office.
I blink a few more times, then I see it. The glow of the full moon hangs over the inky blue ocean through the expansive windows.
I feel like I’m in a dreamlike state as I watch the sea move in silver waves, gently dancing beneath the sky.
I still can’t believe I’m waking up from my afternoon nap to this view.
If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be staying at a luxury resort in Turks and Caicos, I would have thought I was being pranked.
I rub my eyes, trying to wipe the sleep away, then squint at the glass.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself, pushing my messy hair out of my face. “How long was I out?”
The last thing I remember is getting out of the shower, scrolling on my phone for a bit, and then losing consciousness.
The room around me is washed in soft blue light, everything tinted in cool glow. The master suite is huge—way too big for just one person.
A king-sized bed takes up the center of the room, the white duvet rumpled where I face-planted without bothering to pull the covers back. There’s a cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, a pair of nightstands with bamboo lamps, and a cozy lounge chair by the window with a coffee table beside it.
I let out a deep yawn and stretch my arms up, having no idea what time it is.
Judging by the darkness outside and the navy shadows tinting the room, it has to be late.
The warmth of the shower after a long day of travel, paired with the emotional whiplash of everything going on with Owen and me, must’ve worn me out.
Lovely.
I’ve been in Turks and Caicos for like five minutes and already managed to sleep through my first evening like my retired Nana, who does crosswords for fun.
My stomach growls, loud enough to echo off the walls of the quiet room. No wonder my stomach is groaning at me; I haven't eaten since the peanut butter granola bar I had on the plane.
I stand from the bed and pad across the polished wooden floor before twisting the knob on the bedroom door. The moment it swings open, a mouthwatering smell hits me.
Wow, that smells heavenly.
I step into the shared living area, my eyes adjusting to the bright cast of light from a floor lamp near the dining table.
Owen stands beside it, unpacking two large takeout containers from brown paper bags. He’s changed out of his travel clothes, and the new outfit is a personal attack. An experiment he’s running to test my patience. I just know it.
He’s wearing loose athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt that stretches across his muscular chest and shoulders. His feet are bare, and for some reason, they’re turning me on, too.
I’ve never had a thing for feet, but just like everything about Owen, his are perfection.
Listen to yourself, Meadow.
Get it together, you sick freak.
My gaze has a mind of its own, drifting lower as my heart palpitates, bouncing out of control at the view.
Owen’s shorts leave nothing to the imagination.
His thick cock is outlined behind the thin cotton, not even hard, and still looking fucking massive. Christ, that thing would destroy me. Maybe it’s a good thing that Owen would never go for me because I’m not sure I could handle all of… that without breaking in half.
My core clenches at the disgraceful visuals flying around in my mind.
I drag my stare back up before he realizes I’m having a full-on conversation in my head about his dick.
As if that weren’t enough, his eyes roam down my body at the same time. I swear I see a hint of possessive heat flare in his pine-green eyes before he quickly schools his expression. Just the thought that Owen likes what he sees has every nerve ending in my body thrumming.
It’s then that I realize what I’m wearing…
I’m in a pair of tiny sleep shorts that barely cover my ass and an old, oversized T-shirt with no bra. My nipples stand at full attention against the thin fabric, practically waving hello at him.
Perfect.
Love that for me.
I cross my arms over my chest, embarrassed at how easily my body betrays me.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Owen finally mutters, voice low and amused.
“I—” my voice comes out rough, so I clear my throat and try again. “I can’t believe I slept that long. What time is it?”
“Almost eight,” he answers. “You were out cold. I knocked once to see if you were alive, but didn’t want to be a weirdo and open the door. I was giving you thirty more minutes before I busted down the door.”
“I appreciate that,” I chuckle. “I guess I needed the sleep.”
He gestures toward the table. “I figured you’d be hungry when you woke up, so I ordered from the resort restaurant. Steak nachos and a turkey avocado club. I wasn't sure what you would want, so I thought we could split both.”
My stomach answers for me with an obnoxiously loud growl.
“Sounds like I guessed right,” he grins.
“You’re a saint,” I groan in pleasure, stepping closer as the scent of melted cheese and fresh bread fills my lungs. “This smells amazing .”
We sit across from each other at the small table, wasting no time ripping open the plastic containers that house our dinner. Seeing what’s inside the boxes feels like opening up a treasure chest. I swear, a phantom light pops out as my eyes feast upon our meal.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my entire life.
The nachos are piled high with steak, cheese, jalapenos, and guac. The sandwich is stacked with turkey, avocado, bacon, and crisp lettuce.
I reach for a slice of the turkey club in a blur, as if I’ve been stranded on an abandoned island for weeks without food.
When I take a bite of the sandwich, my eyes roll back as I let out an involuntary groan. “Shit, this is good. I can’t tell if it’s the best sandwich ever made or if I’m just that hungry.”
Owen lets out a deep, rumbly laugh that turns my insides to mush.
“I think we could eat cardboard right now and would think it tastes good,” he replies.
We eat in comfortable silence, losing track of time as we devour the delicious food. For a beat, our eyes meet, quick and unintentional, sending a giddy little flutter through my chest.
Once we’ve quenched the rumble in our bellies, Owen leans back and eyes me over the rim of his glass. His gaze washes over me like a bucket of molten lava.
“So,” he starts. “Why did you say yes?”
I swallow a bite too fast and cough, almost choking on the chip rammed in my throat. He slides my water toward me with two long fingers, amused but a little concerned.
Why am I like this? I have a talent for humiliating myself.
“Yes to what?” I wheeze, even though I know exactly what he’s asking.
He gives me a pointed look. “To this.” He gestures around the suite. “To being here. With me.”
Electricity crackles beneath my skin as I pick at a piece of melted cheese to buy myself some time.
“I don’t know,” I breathe.
Owen rests his corded forearms on the table, his attention zeroed in on me.
“I needed a break,” I admit, my words tumbling out. “From Chicago. From work. From my miserable manager.”
My heart skips a beat as his brows knit together and a protective flare darkens his eyes.
“She’s fucking awful,” he spits, his fury aimed toward Stacy. “I don’t know how anyone can put up with her shit.”
“Tell me about it,” I scoff. “She jumped my ass over a jersey color in a draft that wasn’t even final. She acted like I plagiarized an article from the New York Times or something,” I shake my head. “God, it’s always something with her. Nothing is ever enough.”
Desperately needing to vent, I keep going before Owen can reply.
“I spend half my day rewriting things to match her mood and the other half trying not to throw my keyboard against the wall,” I huff, blowing out a heavy breath. “I’m just tired, Owen. So tired of dealing with her day in and day out.”
His jaw tenses as his knuckles turn white around his glass.
“You don’t deserve that, Meadow,” he almost growls. “You work so fucking hard, and all she does is make your life a living hell.”
I pick at the crust of the sandwich, my thoughts roaring in my mind. There’s something I’ve been putting off mentioning to Owen, and contemplating saying it out loud makes it feel real.
We’ve been coworkers for years… and I have no idea how he’s going to react.
“I know,” I finally mutter. “I—I’ve been thinking about looking for other jobs,” I add, keeping my eyes on the table. “Just to see what else is out there. Hopefully find a company where my manager doesn’t treat me like an unpaid intern.”
There.
I’ve said it.
My confession lingers between us, heavy and raw. When I finally glance up, Owen is watching me intently, a combination of panic and pride filling his emerald eyes.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I mean, I’m not quitting until I find something else, but I can’t keep doing this forever. I feel like I’m becoming a shell of myself. Every week that I let her speak to me like dirt beneath her shoe, my confidence dies out a little more.”
His nostrils flare as his lips press into a hard line.
“Don’t let her chip away at you like that, Meadow. She’s not worth it. You’re one of the best goddamn employees in that entire building, and she knows it. That’s why she comes after you. Because you make her look incompetent.”
You’re one of the best goddamn employees in that entire building, and she knows it.
His response shakes the hollow void in my chest, a place I hadn't realized had gone completely numb. To have someone acknowledge my hard work—to have Owen defend me—feels like that first inhale of oxygen when you’ve been drowning underwater. For the first time in a long time, I feel seen.