Chapter 3
Penny
I’m getting really fucking tired of thinking about Miles MacAllister.
Which is unfortunate, considering I spend close to three hours a day alone with my thoughts on the drive between Charlotte and Azalea Creek.
I’ve never minded driving, though. It’s just another adult responsibility, something to check off between emails, meetings, and making sure other people don’t lose millions of dollars.
But lately, this back-and-forth is starting to wear on me. The days are getting shorter, the nights are colder, and by the time I make it back to my apartment, it’s so dark all I want to do is crawl into bed and pretend I don’t have to do it all over again the next morning.
And yet, somehow, that’s not even the worst part.
It’s him.
It’s been a week since we broke ground, and I’ve fallen into this ridiculous routine—wake up, drive, work, get annoyed because I can’t stop looking at him, drive back, eat, sleep, repeat—and as much as I usually thrive on structure, this one is getting old. Fast.
Old.
Mierda. I hate that word.
I’ve never had an issue with being thirty-five before. Not once. But now I don’t know if it’s the routine, the lack of a social life, or the fact that I had the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life with a man who now acts like it never happened, but something feels… off.
And I really don’t like it.
Not even a little bit.
And Miles being five years younger than me has nothing to do with it. Absolutely nothing.
I’ve always been a confident bitch, and one orgasm is not going to undo that. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my mind over a one-night stand.
…Right?
I let out a long breath as I hit the button clipped to my sun visor. The garage door groans to life, then jerks crooked when it catches on a stray pebble in the track.
A laugh bubbles out of my lips, and I close my eyes, tilting my head back. Río para no llorar, like Mami says.
Once the door is fully open, I let the car roll down the ramp.
Mami.
I haven’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks, but it feels like an eternity. She’s my best friend.
What would Mami Luz do?
At thirty-five, she was already a mom and had been married for at least fifteen years. She was an adult-adult.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I still see the determined twenty-something girl who dreamed of one day running her daddy’s empire. Young, beautiful, wealthy. I thought I had the world at my feet.
And in a way, I still do. But that’s no longer enough.
Like clockwork, the moment I get home, I kick off my heels and pad into the living room, where I sit and massage my feet.
Then I head to my primary bathroom—my favorite room in my apartment—and take off my jewelry.
I start the shower, and while I wait for the water to reach the perfect temperature, I remove my makeup.
I notice I have a voicemail and press play, instantly regretting it.
“Unfortunately, the claim was denied again…” the pharmacy representative says before I pause the message with a frustrated grunt. I’m absolutely over this nonsense.
I make a reminder to deal with it first thing in the morning. If I have to pay out of pocket to get it handled, so be it.
No one should have to go without medication because of greedy corporations.
After a few calming breaths, I’m finally ready for a glorious shower.
I have eight jet sprays hitting my body in different directions. I’d never confirm nor deny that on more than one occasion, these jets have brought me close to orgasm.
Orgasm.
There’s that damn word again.
Does this man have a golden dick or something? I’ve never been so hung up on a one-and-done in my life.
Yeah, Penny. But you also had never seen one of your hookups again. Let alone work with him.
Ugh. I shake my head, trying to push the thought of Miles MacAllister and his devilishly handsome grin out of my mind, but I know it’s impossible. I’ve tried multiple times, with no luck.
Once I’ve washed the day off, I wrap my hair in a bonnet, and after drying off, I apply moisturizer all over.
I sigh happily as the luxurious lotion spreads across my long legs. Oh, Cotton Candy Clouds, I could kiss you.
Choosing a delicate set of silky pajamas, I head to the kitchen where I warm up one of the pre-packed meals my chef leaves in the fridge for me. Javi has been cooking for me for at least five years, and I adore him.
I met him through my finance friends. When I started managing Gio’s finances, I spent a lot of time in the trade district here in Charlotte and ended up building a solid circle.
One day, while we were trying to close a deal, a guy I knew there—Marco—shared his lunch with me, and it was a full-on food awakening.
Luckily, Javi cooks for several clients and had room to take me on.
I’ve been living my best life ever since.
As the food heats up, I head back to the bathroom and go through my skincare routine—my favorite part of the day. It’s the one time I slow down and just take care of myself. I don’t rush; I give each step a moment, letting everything sink in before moving on to the next.
By the time I’m done, I’m so relaxed that if I wasn’t starving, I’d crawl straight into bed.
I set up my spot in the living room—silverware, a glass of wine, food plated just right.
Then I turn on the TV and watch whatever’s playing on the Hallmark Channel.
The plots are predictable, but I still fall for the hero every single time and root for the love story like maybe this one will end differently.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here, but my food and wine are long gone. It must’ve been at least an hour. Usually, this is when I’d head to bed, call it a night, and do it all over again tomorrow.
But something Miles said earlier keeps replaying in my head.
He wanted to go out. I overheard him talking with Steve and Jason—two of the construction workers—about heading to Pine Knoll for a pint or two.
Isn’t he tired?
By the time I get there at eight thirty, he’s already been working for at least an hour, if not longer. And it’s not like he just supervises—he’s out there doing the work too, handling orders, materials, everything.
A picture of sweaty Miles forms in my head. His muscles flexing under his tight shirt. The way his legs fill out his pants.
And that ass—
I’ve never paid attention to a man’s ass before, but Miles’s is a work of art.
I clench my jaw, and my body reacts before I can stop it.
Nope. Not happening. I’m not about to sit here thirsting over a man who clearly isn’t interested.
Time to break free from this cat-less old lady routine.
I’m hitting the Charlotte bars tonight.
If Miles MacAllister can do it, so can I.
By the time I make it out of my place, it’s already ten-thirty, so instead of calling people I haven’t seen in ages and trying to make plans, I decide to head to the bar I used to go to when I worked in downtown Charlotte.
It’s the kind of place where everyone who’s somebody in the finance district goes to blow off steam, close deals, or celebrate.
After handing my fob key to the valet, I make my way inside. The mix of smoke and whiskey hits me the moment I open the door, and I instantly feel out of place.
Damn, I’m old.
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve had anything stronger than a glass of wine. I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I went from being the girl who knew about every party in town to someone who looks forward to the weekend just to rest and unplug.
I’m a fucking millionaire, for fuck’s sake.
Why am I still working?
Because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’m not someone who can exist without a task, without something to work toward.
After a quick look around, I spot an empty stool at the bar and pick up my pace. The last thing I want is to stand awkwardly by myself at one of those high tables.
I’m wearing a cream silk sleeveless top, dark jeans, and my orange Manolo pumps—the ones I love. I threw on an orange, red, and black plaid jacket and called it a day.
Simple. Yet classy and sophisticated.
“Hey, gorgeous. What are you drinking tonight?” the bartender asks, adding a wink for extra effect.
And to think that used to melt my panties in my twenties.
A quiet laugh slips out of me at the thought. “French 75. Extra bubbly,” I say, pulling my black AmEx out of my purse.
The bartender whistles and gets to work on my drink.
I’m dying to know if Miles ended up going out.
Ugh. Why do I have to be so into the most infuriating, cocky, backwoods charmer ever?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up the group chat with the Azalea Creek gals and fire off a text.
Penny: Hey ladies! Happy Fri-night! What are we up to?
My phone vibrates almost immediately, and a warm smile spreads across my lips. I’ve never really had many girlfriends, but the women I’ve met through Gio? They’re all exceptional.
Rain: Penny Lane? Is it really you? Blink twice if someone has you hostage.
I cackle at Rain’s text, quickly covering my face. I don’t want to draw attention. I’m enjoying my time alone with my thoughts.
Carly: Shit! What Rain asked. Penny, are you okay?
Ruin: Hi Penny! So good to hear from you after business hours. It’s good to know you don’t forget about us once you go back to the big city.
Ruin’s text hits like a dagger straight to my heart.
I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. But she’s right. Every time I’m in Azalea Creek, it’s all business. And as much as I enjoy spending time with the ladies, I still feel a little boxed in—like everything slows down out there, like there’s nowhere to disappear to when I need space.
I swear the fresh air messes with my brain.
God, that sounds ridiculous.
Ruin: I’m sorry, Penny. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s just a rare thing for you to reach out when you’re not in town.
Rain: Shush, Ru! You’re making it worse.
Rain: What’s up, Penny? What can we help with tonight?
Carly: Or… is there a piece of gossip we should know? *eyes emoji*