4. Bailey
Bailey
Monday morning came around the way it always did—unexpected and after a much too short weekend. I was correct in assuming my dreams would be filled with reliving my night with Allen, so not only was it Monday, but it was Monday, and I was sexually frustrated.
Unfortunately, it was not a combination that coffee was likely to fix.
I groaned, slamming my pillow on top of my head before rolling over to hit the snooze button.
I unplugged my phone and saw the looming notification from my mother still haunting me.
My morning was already off to a rough start.
What was the harm in ripping this particular Band-Aid off?
Hello Bailey,
Your father and I are beyond disappointed in the selfish and immature decision you made to leave town without so much as a proper conversation.
Walking out the way you did not only left your father short-staffed during one of the busiest quarters of the year, but also humiliated him in front of his colleagues.
People are starting to ask questions, Bailey.
And then there’s Caleb. I truly hope you realize how much embarrassment you caused him after everything he has done for you. He loved you, supported you, and stood by you while you threw away a future most women would be grateful for.
You have always had a habit of running away the second things become difficult, but this time your choices affect more than just you.
Your father and I will be out of the country for the next four weeks while he works to secure additional international clients. We expect you to spend that time thinking seriously about the damage you’ve caused and how you intend to fix it.
You are an adult, Bailey. It is time you started acting like one.
Stacy
So, that Band-Aid actually hurt like hell.
It must have been one of the extra-strength ones.
However, considering previous conversations with my mother, that was relatively tame.
I quickly deleted the email, hoping that if I banished it to the trash folder, I could pretend it had never been there.
I didn’t have time to process my parental trauma before 8:00 a.m. I swiped to the home screen and spotted texts from Harper:
Harper: CRUSH your first day of work, Bails
Harper: Also remember red really isn’t your color
Harper: LOVE YOU!
I fired back a middle finger emoji before dragging myself out of bed and attempting to look presentable. Praise be that my morning commute was merely a walk down a flight of stairs each day.
I brushed my teeth, looking over my initial ideas on how to start promoting events at the inn.
I wanted to make a strong first impression on my boss, and being proactive made me look eager, not young and naive, right?
I needed to focus on making an impact at the inn and definitely not be distracted by the life-changing makeout session I’d had last night.
It should have been a dang crime for someone to kiss the way he did, all soft and toe-curling.
After failing to tame my curls and avoiding my red linen shirt, I gave myself one more pep talk before heading out the door.
You can do this, Bailey. You deserve to be here. You are going to knock their fucking socks off, and even if you don’t, at least you know Harper will always love you.
Hopefully.
As my foot hit the final step of the lobby staircase, I spotted Eli. He was helping an older woman choose a local breakfast spot, and you could tell from a mile away how much he adored helping people. I waited until he caught a break, sliding up to his desk with a cheery good morning.
“Morning, Bailey,” he responded with a grin. “Noah should be in any moment to get you started for the day. I know he’s eager to meet you.”
Maybe my luck was turning around.
“Really? He’s excited? Because I have a ton of ideas, and if he crushes my festival extravaganza vision, I’ll have to quit before I even start,” I teased.
He laughed. “Noah loves a town festival. Has since he was a kid. He’ll be thrilled to incorporate some sort of yearly party here.”
I sipped my coffee, waiting for the elusive Noah to arrive, when I heard the voice of the bartender from last night.
“Do you care if I get someone to cover my shift for Friday night? Lucy’s in town, and you know I can’t miss an opportunity to rile her up,” he said.
“Do I care if you skip out on our busiest night at the bar so you can get rejected by Lucy again? Yes, actually, I do, Grant,” an unknown voice replied.
“It wasn’t rejection,” he grumbled back. “It was strategic redirection—”
“She threw her drink in your face and told you hell wouldn’t be hot enough to contain your bullshit.”
Wait.
That couldn’t be right.
“Yeah, but the drink was my favorite. It was like she ordered it with me in mind,” the bartender said.
“The Red Flag ’Rita that we sold for Galentines?”
“At least I made it with good tequila.”
My stomach dropped somewhere near my knees.
I shouldn’t have recognized the voice of my boss, whom I’d never met. And it definitely should not have been the voice of the same man who’d had his tongue down my throat last night.
Speaking of throats, mine was beginning to close quickly.
“Was that some kind of twisted foreplay for you? Salt in your eyes turns you on?”
“Hey, no kink shaming around here!”
His name was Allen, not Noah. I would’ve remembered the name of my brand-new boss.
The look of terror on my face must have been enough to concern Eli because he reached out to touch my shoulder. “Bailey, are you okay?”
I sensed Allen’s surprise before our eyes connected.
“Bailey? What are you doing here?” he blurted.
“I could say the same thing, Allen,” I nearly screeched.
The bartender, whom I now knew was Grant, leaned over to Eli in the worst stage whisper I’d ever heard and said, “Who the fuck is Allen?”
“Brilliant question!” I snapped back.
Noah quickly closed the gap between us, tugging on my elbow. “Can we talk in private, please?”
“No, I think I’d rather flesh this out in the open. I want to make sure I’m not being bamboozled and embarrassed again.”
Grant and Eli’s eyes volleyed back and forth between Noah and me, clearly unaware of the bomb that had been dropped. Grant slid a ten-dollar bill into Eli’s hand, whispering conspiratorially in his ear, until Eli smacked the back of his head.
“We’re not betting on whether or not she slaps him, dickhead,” Eli whisper-shouted.
Noah sighed, raking his hands through his curls before blowing out a breath. “I never lied to you, Bailey. My middle name is Allen. Noah Allen Whitaker.”
“Oh yeah? And my middle name is Cher,” I deadpanned.
“Jesus fucking Christ, what have I done?” he mumbled under his breath. He placed both hands on my shoulders, steering me into what must have been his office before yelling at his brothers to “get their asses back to work.”
I was on the verge of a panic attack—the huddled-in-the-corner, rocking-back-and-forth kind.
I flirted with my boss. Made out with him and damn near tried to sleep with him. And thought, however briefly, about our future kids.
I was screwed.