Chapter One
Charlotte Paulson stepped out of the convertible she’d been cooped up in for nearly twenty-four hours and squinted into the blistering midday Florida sun.
But the second she was past the large interchange, the lights of the confluence of highways behind her, the vise immediately released. So she’d just kept driving.
But without the GPS in her cell phone, she’d had no idea where she could even go. Her foggy brain had given her no choice but to keep driving. Miami was three hundred and forty-eight miles away. She thought maybe that would do.
When she’d gotten too tired, she’d rolled down the windows and screamed along with nineties’ and early two thousands’ angry rock music. Screaming out her hurt and anger and frustration and devastation at the top of her lungs to “You Oughta Know” felt amazing.
As the sun had risen out her left window somewhere in south Florida, she’d felt more awake, so she’d driven through the congestion that was Palm Beach to Miami, and it was just natural that when I-95 ended and she was suddenly on US Highway One, she kept going and didn’t stop until the road ended in Key West.
But now, eyes burning from the incredibly bright sun and standing in a rumpled pantsuit with an empty briefcase in front of what looked like a luxury hotel, she really wished she’d grabbed some clothes or toiletries. Or at least had a pair of sunglasses in her car.
“Ma’am, are you checking in?”
Charlotte blinked at the young Latinx man who barely looked old enough to drive and tried to clear the clouds her brain seemed to be locked in after not having slept for thirty-five hours. “Uh, yeah, I guess I am.” She slipped him a twenty with her keys and walked into the opulent lobby.
“Welcome to the Aqua Blu hotel, ma’am,” a sharply dressed receptionist said from behind the massive desk. “Are you checking in?”
“I’m hoping to,” Charlotte said. “But I don’t have a reservation.”
The receptionist—Sally, she-her, according to her name tag—said, “You’re in luck. It’s the offseason, so we have a variety of rooms. Were you looking for the most economical, or are you looking for something with a view, a little higher in the building and facing the sunset, or a suite, perhaps?”
Charlotte hesitated as she contemplated what she wanted. Tried to contemplate, anyway. Her sleep-addled brain was not working the way she was accustomed to. “Maybe the…sunset room you mentioned?”
Sally smiled and nodded. “Sure. I just need your ID and credit card.”
Charlotte slid her hand into her cavernous briefcase and grabbed her small wallet.
When the electronic lock clicked on her door a few minutes later and Charlotte walked into the room, she tossed her soft leather bag on the floor, not caring where it landed.
She shrugged her jacket from her shoulders and threw it haphazardly at the desk while walking to the sliding door.
The door slid open with almost no effort.
The warm, humid air was a sharp contrast to the cold, air-conditioned room.
Charlotte desperately wanted to sleep, but despite her exhaustion, the caffeine still jittering through her veins and making her hands quiver against the balcony railing didn’t seem likely to let that happen for a while, and she couldn’t imagine sitting with her thoughts for hours until her body metabolized the caffeine.
Especially not sober. That was way too depressing.
So she picked up the phone for room service and ordered a bottle of their best bourbon and a plate of truffle fries. And a toiletries kit of whatever they were willing to send up since she hadn’t stopped anywhere to buy anything.
While waiting, she dumped her briefcase on the bed to take stock of her current possessions and discovered that she literally had the clothes on her back, a nearly empty briefcase, her wallet, her passport, a tin of mints, three tubes of ChapStick, a tube of lipstick, seven tampons—three regular and four super, which would be helpful if she started her period in the next twelve hours—six fifty-dollar bills, one one-hundred dollar bill, two hair ties, and one ostensibly clean tissue that she tossed in the trash just in case.
After sitting in the bottom of her briefcase for who knew how long, it wasn’t really clean.
It was a sad stockpile. She’d normally have a phone, a tablet, a laptop, a paper copy of the Wall Street Journal…
but the bank had confiscated all her electronics when they’d basically fired her, and she’d thrown away the Journal in disgust as she’d walked out of the building, knowing that she’d never be able to work on Wall Street ever again.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her silent chant was broken by a sharp knock on her door.
Finally.
She opened the door to allow the room service cart in. She wondered if it was judgment in his eyes when he left a plate of fries, a bottle of Woodford Reserve, and a nice lowball glass on her desk, but she truly didn’t care.
She was judging herself enough for everyone.
She pulled out one of her fifties, not wanting to leave the room again until tomorrow. “Do you happen to know if they have big rocks down at the bar?”
“I believe they do, ma’am,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Any chance you could bring me two…eh, let’s call it three, of those big rocks?” She gave him a smile she hoped was endearing but was entirely fake. She didn’t feel like smiling in the slightest.
“Of course, ma’am.” He took the fifty she casually slipped him. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said as the door clicked behind him.
While she normally preferred her bourbon over ice, she couldn’t wait on his return to take the edge off, so she pulled the foil off the top and poured just a splash into the glass before sticking the bottle in the freezer.
It wasn’t the best bourbon, but Woodford Reserve was always a solid option. She could drink it neat.
Her former boss’s words from yesterday morning resonating in her head caught her off guard:
“Listen, Charlotte. I know you’ve been loyal to the company all these years. And you’ve earned a lot of money for us.” She’d felt sick. She hadn’t known where this was going, but she could tell it wasn’t going anywhere she was going to like. “But we need someone, and you’re that person.”
“Me, sir? Why me? Like you’ve said, I’ve made you a lot of money.”
“You’ve made yourself a lot of money too, haven’t you?”
Her head had reeled as her mind had rebelled at what he was trying to imply. “I don’t have any complaints.”
“That’s good. I promise you, we’ll take care of you after this, but what the company needs is for you to sign this NDA.
” He’d tapped the end of his pen on the papers sitting on the desk between them, the echo reverberating throughout the room while the generic guy from HR had stood blocking the door.
“Either way, you aren’t going to work here anymore in about ten minutes.
You can sign, and we’ll take care of you, or you can leave, but you’ll never be free. ”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
Dread filled her as she stared into the amber liquid and tried to ground herself in the present moment.
A sharp knock sounded at her door again, and she sighed in relief at this distraction, taking herself out of that painful memory.
She took the small ice bucket that actually had five big rocks in it, gave him another fifty, and closed the door.
She really didn’t want to keep wearing her suit and was pleased when she found a robe in the closet.
When she undid the knot and the belt fell to the floor, she swore softly.
Why did hotels always do that? Everyone puts the belt through the belt loops of the robe to wear it.
She shrugged out of her suit and laid it over the back of her desk chair, knowing she’d need to wear it again in the morning to buy another outfit more appropriate for the weather and casual atmosphere of Key West.
After dropping one of the big rocks into her glass and pouring more bourbon until it was even with the top of the cube, she stepped back out onto her patio and sank into the cushioned chair, staring out at the water.
It was a shimmering, crystalline blue as far as she could see.
She briefly wondered if it was the Atlantic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico…
or was it all Atlantic Ocean down there?
She didn’t actually know what the dividing line to start the Gulf was.
Not that it mattered.
She took a long sip of bourbon and embraced the burn in her mouth, the blazing fire down her throat when she swallowed. Though, at least the bourbon was cool now. It burned and soothed at the same time.
But other than the burn, she felt numb. She could never go back to her old job. Her old life. She didn’t want to after they’d thrown her away like she was absolutely nothing. Just a piece of litter. A forgotten candy wrapper the janitor picked up and tossed into a trash sack.
Fuck.
She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear dripped off her chin and into her bourbon when she lifted it to her mouth.
She was so unbelievably fucked. Everything she’d been working toward her whole life had been snatched away in an instant.
What was she going to do? It wasn’t like money was a concern.
She had enough—more than enough once the company’s final “paycheck” hit her account—but her entire life, her self-worth, everything, was wrapped up in her job.
On Wall Street. In her ability to create something out of nothing. And now it was gone. All fucking gone.
Charlotte tipped her glass and was surprised to find that she’d already finished her first generous pour.
She stood, feeling a little wobbly, and went to pour another.
Snagging a fry while she poured, she savored the salty deliciousness and filled her glass nearly to the top.
What the hell? She was neither planning to share with anyone else or impress them, so decorum didn’t apply.
And the bourbon seemed to be helping. Thinking of her old office didn’t make her heart hurt as sharply, so she grabbed the plate of fries and her glass, taking a sip to keep from spilling as she wandered back out onto her balcony, planning to drink until she forgot everything.
Maybe then, she could figure out what was next.