CHAPTER 28 Millie Monroe
Talk it Out with Me
He muttered something about how he needed to get some rest, and he bolted. But I think I got through to him.
I just hope it’s not another six days before I see him again. It feels like such a waste when we’ve made so much progress over the last twenty-four hours.
He’s a complicated man who’s terrified to let anyone in, but I find myself slowly chipping away at his walls.
It feels like we’re both learning a lot about ourselves on this trip, and isn’t that what you want out of a partner?
Someone who can challenge you, make you think, make you trust. Make you a little crazy, make you hotter than hell, make you orgasm like you’ve never orgasmed before…
I digress.
When I check Instagram, I see my notifications are blowing up. If I didn’t know what was going on, my first thought would be that there was someone naked in the background of my live. Or maybe I nip-slipped and didn’t realize it.
But no. I see I’ve been tagged in the same photo several times.
It’s from breakfast. Someone snapped a photo of Ford and Archer at the same table. They named the resort. And some internet detective figured out who I am—probably not hard since I’ve been broadcasting live and tagging the resort in every photo I’ve posted.
Of course this had to happen just when it felt like Archer and I were having a breakthrough, but I’m hopeful I made him see the truth about me. I’m not out to use him or hurt him.
I wish I didn’t care as much as I do. I wish it was easier to just walk away. He’s certainly trying to make it easier, but something just keeps drawing me back in despite knowing how dangerous this could be for me.
I keep telling myself I’m not letting my heart get involved. How could I when he hates everything I stand for? He walked away and managed to avoid me for almost an entire week. The resort is big, but it’s not that big.
And in that week, I learned something.
It only took a couple of times with him to become addicted to him.
And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way I feel like he’s addicted to me, too, and he’s fighting it so hard because he’s terrified of getting hurt again.
It’s the way he sees past the facade I post online to the real me.
It’s the way he wants me to know that I’m more than the sum of my likes and comments online.
It’s the way he prefers me without perfect hair and makeup and the fake smile I broadcast to the world. He likes the person underneath all of that, the one I never seem to let out, because the shiny, sparkly one is the one who’s more often acknowledged.
And I don’t think I ever really realized that there’s someone behind all that. I never saw it as a different personality, just a different side to me. But being without my phone for that one afternoon, where we just focused on fish and massages and each other…
It was the best afternoon I’ve had in a long time.
That’s something I should probably tell him, but admitting it is admitting that he’s right—and it’s also admitting that maybe my dream of being a travel influencer really isn’t as glamorous as I thought it would be.
And admitting that would be admitting that I have absolutely no idea what direction I want to take my life. Without that dream, that goal I’ve poured so much of myself into for the last six years…I don’t have a clue who I am or what I want anymore. I’m a bartender from a suburb of Chicago.
I’m twenty-four, and I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I know I like to travel. I know I like to take photos and post on social media.
But that’s about where it begins and ends.
I don’t have any prospects for getting married and having a family, though that’s something I’ve always wanted.
I see Chip and Jackie and know how happy they are together, and that’s all I want someday, too.
Someone I can laugh with, someone I can rely on, someone who supports me and my dreams, whatever they may be. Someone I can have a family with.
I try to sleep, but it doesn’t go well. Everything is too turbulent right now to focus on rest.
I order breakfast up to my room and take photos to review the room service. I need to head down to the excursion desk and book some more tours, so I take a shower and walk in that direction. On my way, I spot Archer at a table at the café in the Coast Tower, tapping away on a laptop.
I walk over and pull out the chair across from him, and he glances up at me.
He sinks back into his chair. “Good morning.”
I tilt my head. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
He shakes his head and holds up his coffee. “This is helping. You?”
I shake my head, too. “Nope, and I haven’t had any coffee yet. What are you working on?”
“My foundations. Do you want some?” he asks, nodding to his cup.
“Do you need help?”
“Why would you offer to help me?” he asks, flagging down the server.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I wasn’t exactly nice to you last night,” he admits. The server arrives at the table. “Can she get a coffee?” he asks, nodding to me.
“Of course.” The server walks away.
“That chick really fucked you up, didn’t she?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Nah. I think I’m moving past all that at this point. My family did, though.”
“Yeah, families can do that. My parents are great, but they aren’t the most supportive when it comes to my career choice,” I admit.
“And then you run into a man who takes you to bed and runs the other way when he finds out your career choice,” he says.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
He presses his lips together. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted.
For what it’s worth, I think what you’ve built is pretty damn amazing.
As you know, I just came here to lay low, and after my father had me sign that paperwork, after Tatum started asking me for favors…
it all just felt like people who are supposed to be the closest to me only care about what I can do for them.
I unfairly put you in that same column.”
To be totally honest, I’m shocked by his words. “Would you still?”
“If I met you today, probably.” He shrugs. “I can’t apologize for treading carefully. But knowing what I know now?”
I nod, prompting him to go on.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “Of course not.”
His words feel like a relief, and I think I visibly relax.
“So the foundations,” I say. “Can I help with anything?”
“I signed off on a few things for Archway, but I’m in limbo on another foundation,” he says, staring at his laptop screen. “A new one. My mom left a foundation in my name when she died, and I talked to my lawyer with an idea, but he didn’t love it. Neither did my agent.”
“So talk it out with me,” I suggest.
“I had this idea to do something involving gambling addiction.” He says the words just as I take a sip of my coffee, and I swallow wrong.
I choke at his words.
He wants to create a foundation centered around gambling addiction when he’s currently suspended because of…gambling?
I want to be supportive, but that seems…dangerous.
“What did your lawyer and agent say?” I ask carefully.
“My lawyer said it’s risky, that it’ll look like damage control. My agent said it’ll look like I’m throwing money at the problem.”
“Of all the possibilities that a foundation could benefit, why gambling?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s a slap in the face to my father while honoring my mother’s memory.”
“Okay, so who is this benefitting? What support are you offering?”
“I don’t know. I just want to find a way to put good in the same world my father tainted.” His voice is quiet, but I still hear the slice of pain in it.
“Let’s think this through,” I say, brainstorm mode activated. “Do you want to focus on prevention? Education? People?”
He nods. “All of it.”
“You know, I recently came across a headline talking about the rise in gambling on college campuses. Since the Supreme Court legalized sports betting in a bunch of states, universities have partnered with sports betting companies. So college kids are more exposed to it than ever before. What if you partnered with a Vegas casino and did some sort of Play Responsibly campaign on college campuses?” I ask.
His brows push together as he thinks that over. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“And you could take it a step further and partner with college athletes and sports influencers about the dangers of gambling addiction, signs to look for, that type of thing. You could develop programs that teach responsible gaming or help identify risky behaviors.”
His brows crease even more, and I wrinkle my nose.
“Sorry. You hate it,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No. Quite the opposite. I’m impressed, Millie.”
“With what?”
“I’ve been mulling this over for a week now and couldn’t come up with what angle I wanted to use. Two seconds after explaining it to you, you whip out the angle. My angle. It’s perfect. You’re really good at this.”
My cheeks heat a little. “Thanks,” I mumble.
“No, I mean it. You have the creative brain for this kind of thing with a mix of this incredible business sense. It’s fascinating to watch.”
My cheeks heat even more. “I just keep up on what’s trending, that’s all.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not just what’s trending. You understand perception and marketing. You’re a strategic businesswoman with incredible ideas.”
I guess I’ve been dismissed so many times with my little blog that I forgot that beneath the smile and perfect makeup, he’s right. I’m a fucking badass. It just took the hottie sitting across the table from me to remind me of that.