Chapter 20
Afterglow
Raven
With a sigh, I roll onto my back, already regretting my decision to work. I know I need to message… Jordan? No, maybe it was John? Shit.
Doesn't matter, whoever it is, I’m sure he’s expecting a reply.
I don't have an official title, but if I did I guess you could call it a marketing director. Translation, I’m really fucking good at having ideas.
It all started when my social media blew up, and suddenly, people wanted to hire me to teach them how to market their business. At first, it was fun getting creative, and watching people grow. Then it became a full-time job with all the stress and none of the freedom I used to love. So I sold it.
It was the best decision I ever made.
Now, I get to take on projects when I want to. On my own terms. Except for right now.
Which brings me to the pain in the ass currently filling my inbox.
The guy I'm meeting with… Josh? Jake? Shit. I really need to figure that out.
He’s under the impression that he’s interviewing me. I'm here on behalf of my boss, to see if they’d be interested in a partnership. Just from his emails, he’s already coming across as a little too pushy for my taste.
Hopefully, he’s less irritating in person.
My boss, Steven, wants me to meet with this guy, to see if he's a good fit. Unfortunately, he left the final call up to me.
“It’s your company anyway.” He said right before I got on the plane.
“If you keep saying shit like that, I’m going to help Ashley buy this company out from under you. It’s your company for a reason, quit trying to give it back. But yes, I'll help you.” —was my response back.
I groan, already annoyed that I volunteered for this. And honestly? I don't think we need this guy or his company at all, but it’s not my company. This is about what's best for Steven.
Opening my inbox, I see three new messages from Mike.
Close enough.
The first email asks, again, which day we’re meeting. Even though I already told him two emails ago that I was free any of the next three days and asked him to pick one and let me know.
The second email repeats, word for word, what he wants to talk about during our meeting. Because saying it again is going to make me care more.
Then there's the third email. The third email is the real gem.
Apparently, he’s not thrilled about being left in the dark. It's been more than forty-eight hours since he’s heard from me and has kindly informed me that if I need to reschedule, I can do so through his secretary.
Oh, Mike.
Sweet, pushy, can’t-read-an-email Mike…
I stare at the email for a long second, debating on responding now or waiting until I’ve had breakfast.
Better yet… maybe I just won’t respond at all.
I’m so tempted to fire off a reply telling him there’s no need to reschedule, and there will be no need for a meeting. But technically, that isn’t my call to make. Even though Steven made it painfully clear that he wants it to be.
I sigh before typing out a very professional, totally appropriate response to Meathead Mike.
I paused, smiling to myself as I reread it.
Okay, so it’s not the most professional response. But damn, does it feel good to type it out. I sit there for a second, reveling in my imaginary satisfaction, before rolling my eyes and deleting the entire thing.
Not my company anymore.
But I’m still the one who’s stuck dealing with him.
With a resigned sigh, I settle in and type out a much more professional, painfully polite email:
I hit send, feeling a wave of relief for handling it like a responsible adult, despite the very real temptation to tell him off.
I lean back against the pillow, letting out a long sigh. Ten minutes with Magic Mike, and I already feel drained.
The one silver lining is that after this meeting, I won’t have to check my email for nearly a month. Small wins. I haven't told Rachel yet, but I think I want to stay for a few more weeks.
I slide out of bed and step into the bathroom, bracing my hands on the sink, and stare at my reflection. There's no visible evidence that we kissed last night. And yet, for a split second, I half-expected to see evidence staring back at me, screaming guilty.
I splash some cold water on my face, hoping to rinse my thoughts of him down the drain.
Rachel already knows, I’m sure of it. The second she sees me, she’ll demand every last detail. And, God help me, I’m not even sure I want to tell her.
Drying my face with a towel, I wander over to the window, looking out at the view. The sun just started to come up, and everything has a glow to it. It's breathtaking. I can hear birds chirping, and I feel like Snow White.
Without thinking, I step out into the hallway. I really want to go outside and it's too early for anyone else to be up. If I can just make it outside without running into him, I’ll call it a win.
The thought of Kane has me biting back a groan.
Gorgeous, annoying Kane. The Highlander God I was more than willing to climb last night. Unfair doesn’t even begin to cover it.
The castle is blissfully quiet as I tiptoe through the halls. The only sound I hear is coming from the birds outside.
Once I'm in the garden, I look around and suck in a breath. This feels like a different world in the light of day. Last night, it was wild and moody. Now it’s soft and serene. The flowers glisten with leftover rain, making their petals glow in the sun.
There's a lake not to far away, and I can see it shimmering like glass. Just off to the side, there's a massive tree. There’s also a tree swing swaying slightly in the breeze.
Naturally, I have to check it out.
I start walking toward the tree, when my phone buzzes. Of course. I turned the notifications back on for dear old Mike, so I wouldn’t leave him waiting.
For a moment, I consider ignoring it. The swing is calling my name. But, halfway there, I decide to stop.
I know if I make it to that swing, his email will be the last thing on my mind. And knowing Mike, I'll have eight more unread messages by then.
Not today, Satan.
Rolling my eyes, I pull out my phone and open the email, bracing for whatever he’s conjured up this time.
I’m being petty, I know I am, but I’ll feel bad about it later.
He wants to meet today.
“Of course you do, Meathead Mike,” I mutter under my breath, startling a squirrel.
“I bet your life isn’t full of pushy emails.” I mutter, as it scurries up a tree, blissfully ignorant of my rant.
I jump when I hear a soft cough behind me.
Shit.
I turn around and find Kane standing there with his arms crossed and looking entirely too amused. Great.
“Are you following me? Again?” I give him my best unimpressed look. “You know what they say about stalkers…”
“Last night there was a storm, and your safety was in jeopardy.” The smile tugging at his lips is hard to miss. “I thought you were sleepwalking or something.”
“Well, obviously, I'm not sleepwalking,” I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I was sightseeing. Same as last night, in fact. Why on earth would I be sleepwalking at this hour? The sun’s up, for heaven’s sake!”
My voice rises slightly and when I realize I’m rambling, I clamp my mouth shut.
He raises an eyebrow, looking me over. “Are ye goin’ for a swim?”
A swim?
“I realized you weren't sleepwalking when ye pulled out your phone and cursed ‘Meathead Mike’ to hell.”
His lips curve into a smirk. “Must've been quite the morning.”
My cheeks burn and I glance down at my bare legs, suddenly very aware of my lack of pants. Shit. I also wouldn’t have called him Meathead Mike if I’d known someone was listening.
Woopsie.
“Oh, uhh...” I start, feeling flustered while I try to gather my thoughts.
“Not that it's any of your business,” I say, looking back out to the lake. “But I saw how beautiful it looked outside and… sort of got distracted.”
Totally normal behavior. Nothing to see here.
“I was headed to the swing when I got a work message.”
The corner of his mouth tips up, and I can see the humor dancing in his eyes. Is he trying not to laugh?
“From ‘Meathead Mike’?”
I groan. “Yes.”
“And? No backstory? Come on,” he presses, nodding toward the house as he falls into step beside me. “Let's go have breakfast, and ye can tell me on the way.”
The swing is forgotten the second he says breakfast. The thought of sitting across from Meathead Mike in a few hours is enough to seal the deal. With a sigh, I match his pace, shaking my head.
“I just have a meeting with him later. He seems like a total tool. Nothing crazy.”
“Ah, so that’s what’s got you all wound up this morning.” He chuckles, and I swear I can feel him cataloging every little move I make, filing it away for later.
We reach the house and he pulls the door open, stepping aside like the perfect gentleman. The universe is clearly playing favorites, because how does he always look so good? I suck in a small breath, completely distracted, and naturally, I trip.
Not a full-on face plant, thank God, but enough to be embarrassing. Luckily, I catch myself before any real damage is done, but when I look up, he's staring at me, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
I point a finger at him. “Not. One. Word.”
A laugh rumbles through the air, as he raises his hands in surrender.
I don't stay embarrassed for long, because whatever smell is coming from the kitchen is unreal. It smells so good.
I take exactly one step in before freezing. Cam’s wearing an apron that says "I rub my own meat" and he's flipping something on the stove with way too much confidence.
I shoot Kane a disbelieving look, barely holding back a laugh. “Who did you say was making breakfast again?”
Kane leans against the counter like he has nowhere to be. “I was helping. But I don't like cooking with him. He's bossy”.
I snort. “Poor thing, did you get in trouble?.”
Cam doesn’t even turn around. “Raven, darling, you get extra bacon for that. Thank you.”
I huff out a laugh, “Thanks. Is Rachel awake yet?”