17. Sam
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
sam
Motherfucker.
Sam jostles the key and yanks on the doorknob, but the lock remains stuck. So she tries again. Stuck. One more time. Stuck.
“Goddammit,” she finally screams and slaps the door with her open palm. Then she kicks it. Then she slaps it again. Then she takes a long deep breath, searching for a single iota of calm in her entire body, and twists once more.
The door to her apartment swings open.
She walks straight into the living room, collapses onto the couch, covers her face with a pillow, and screams.
It’s been two weeks since the Maldives.
Two longgggg weeks.
Two weeks in which the entire world has seemed out to get her.
Maybe it was too much time off. Too much time in the sun. Too much time with a certain cowboy whispering in her ear, telling her she doesn’t have to put up with this shit. She doesn’t know. All she knows is that the city has never felt so oppressive. The buildings have never felt so gray. The air has never felt so polluted. Her cubicle has never felt so small, her chair so uncomfortable, or her computer so bright in the dim, environmentally friendly lighting that gets switched on at 2 a.m. for all the lemmings stuck there after hours. She had to get out of there. She had to come back to this closet-sized apartment, and this love seat masquerading as a couch, and this pillow she got for ten dollars at HomeGoods because there was a sand dollar stitched to the front and it reminded her of home.
“Rough day at the office?”
“Fuck!” Sam jumps about ten feet in the air and flings the pillow across the room before the familiarity of the voice registers. Her roommate swats the projectile away with a yelp while her heart spasms uncontrollably in her chest. She presses a palm to the spot, trying to control her racing pulse. “Winnie! What the hell? Where did you come from?”
“Where did I come from?” Winnie arches a perfectly plucked brow as she rests her drawing pad on her curled-up knees and turns toward Sam. Her black hair is tied up in a loose bun. Tortoiseshell glasses rest on the rim of her nose. An oversized purple NYU sweatshirt hangs lopsided off one shoulder, while the rest of her is hidden underneath a cozy sherpa blanket. She’s sitting in the corner of the room on that god-awful embroidered floral chair Sam begged her not to buy—as if Winnie would ever listen. The stubborn ass. Then again…
Pot, meet kettle.
“I’ve been sitting here for…” Winnie pauses to check her watch. “Shit. Three hours.”
“Working on a new project?” Sam asks. Her roommate usually only breaks out the pen and paper to brainstorm. Otherwise, she works digitally.
“I just got hired by a new client,” Winnie explains, an excited glow livening her features as she leans forward eagerly. “She’s a huge indie romance author. If I get this right, she could put my freelance career on the map. It’s a small-town, rivals-to-lovers, only-one-bed billionaire romance, but she wants two covers. One a bit smutty with people, and one object-only for a discreet special-edition option. I’m trying to figure out how to make sure they go together. And I’m close. But I wanted to sketch out a few more ideas before I polish up the ones to send her.”
“I got about half of that.”
Winnie rolls her eyes. “One of these days, Sam, you’re going to read the books I’ve not-so-subtly stacked up on your windowsill. Join me on the dark side. You know you want to. We have sexy men and orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms.”
Sam snorts, then unzips her pencil skirt, releases her topknot, and lets her head fall back with a sigh.
“Rough day?” Winnie asks. “You look…”
“Like a shell of my former badass self?”
“I was going to say stressed , but we can go with that if you want.”
“It’s just—” Sam pushes the heels of her palms against her eyes and groans. “It’s everything. My bosses are relentless.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“The hours are insane.”
“Sure.”
“I’m so sleep deprived I need a caffeine drip.”
“Don’t we all.”
“And it’s boring. There. I said it. It’s nothing but grunt work. And I know I need to pay my dues. I know I need to make my way up the corporate ladder. I know it’s a good foundation for the future. But it also makes me want to gouge my own eyes out with the stupid company pens littered across every surface of the office.”
“Well, that’s graphic.”
“Especially when I’m doing actual interesting things for my sister with her company. Real business. Real plans. Real ideas. Stuff that stimulates my brain, you know?”
“Right,” Winnie agrees. “Plus, there’s the whole ‘accidentally fell for a cowboy who showed me I was completely wasting my life like my best friend and sister have been trying to tell me for years’ thing.”
“Yeah.” Sam snaps up. “I mean, no. What? Winnie!”
“Don’t you dare try to eliminate the Cooper of it all.”
“There is no Cooper of it all.”
“The Cooper of it all is the all.”
“What are you even saying?”
“Sam.”
“Winnie.”
“ Sam. ”
“ Uldwyna. ”
“Don’t you dare full name me, Samantha Rose Peters. Just because you’re being a bullheaded ass doesn’t mean I can’t point out the obvious. Everything you just said is exactly how you’ve been living for the past three years. The only thing that’s new is Cooper.”
“Well, and he who shall not be named . He starts next week.”
“Please. Spencer wishes he was on the same level as Voldemort. Don’t give him that much credit. And you’re so over him anyway. Don’t even try to use that as an excuse.”
“I’m not.”
Winnie frowns at her pointedly.
Sam rolls her eyes. “I’m not .”
And she means it. This isn’t about him . Fucking Spencer Winthrop. Of course his dad pulled some strings. Of course he got hired based on zero credentials. Of course he’s starting at the same salary level as her even though he spent the past year traveling after getting fired from his first banking job. She knows she’s better than him—at her job, at life, at being a functioning human being with actual emotions. Sure, she loathes the idea of seeing him every day, but she’ll never let him get the best of her. And she’ll be damned if she lets his presence affect her career. But though she hates to admit it, while she’s long over him, she’s not sure she’ll ever fully get over the way he made her feel.
Charity case.
Pity lay.
She hasn’t cried in front of a man since she walked out his door—not until Cooper. Her heart aches whenever she thinks about the way he cradled her in his arms and carried her to the shower to wash away her tears, understanding without words exactly what she needed. No derision. No shame. No judgment. Just tenderness. Just compassion. Just…
Sam blinks away the memory and rubs at her chest.
“Like I said, the Cooper of it all,” Winnie comments triumphantly.
“You don’t even know what I was thinking.”
“I know you were thinking about him. You’re like the heart-eye emoji come to life right now.”
Sam throws another pillow at her head.
“Hey! Don’t shoot the—”
A blaring alarm cuts through the living room. Winnie scrunches up her face, looking around for the source of the noise. Sam doesn’t need to. She knows exactly what it is. Simple as that, her shit attitude disappears, replaced by an embarrassing surge of elation as she dives for her phone. Finally. Finally. She’s been waiting two weeks for this call, this one lingering connection to the Maldives and everything that happened there, this tiny smidgen of hope whispering that maybe it isn’t completely over after all.
It is.
It has to be.
But maybe, just maybe, it isn’t.
Sam digs through her purse as her phone continues screeching with the unmissable ringtone she assigned a very specific number, the one labeled as a priority contact and set to override her Do Not Disturb . As she slides her thumb across the screen to accept the call, her stomach leaps into her throat, as if she’s in a full-fledged free fall, not sitting on her couch.
She swallows once to steady her voice. “Nina.”
“Sam.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I said I’d call. This is my call.”
“So you figured out your next step?”
“No. I figured out yours.”
Sam gives Nina the opening to elaborate. She doesn’t.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Sam can practically hear Nina’s victorious smirk in the taut silence, but she can’t help it. Her nostrils flare and she practically growls, “Which is?”
“A trip.”
“A trip?”
“You’re going to Nebraska.”
Forget butterflies. Locusts swarm across her chest like the warning of an impending apocalypse. “Nebraska.”
“You do remember that’s where—”
“Yes, I know that’s where he lives.”
“You’re going to see him.”
“No, I’m not,” she blurts, even though her heart is doing a happy dance as excitement brightens every crevice of her brain. “We agreed to keep Cooper out of this.”
“He has no idea we made an agreement. I kept my end of the bargain. But this is out of my hands. The lead and the F1 always get one secret meetup before the live finale. Cooper said he can’t leave his ranch again, so it’s got to be there. Though I guess it doesn’t have to be you. I could call Emily—”
“No,” Sam cuts in.
Nina snorts. “Still haven’t come clean, then?”
No. She hasn’t. She’s been dodging Em’s calls for two weeks, keeping her text messages vague, and only replying to emails related to business. As far as her sister knows, everything in the Maldives went exactly according to plan and she sent Cooper packing with a gentle, mutually approved goodbye. No proposal. No engagement. No problems. Luckily for Sam, Em is far too deep in her love bubble to notice how shifty she’s acting, but it’s only a matter of time. She’s not entirely sure why she’s so adamantly against being honest with her sister, but the idea of letting Em know how much she messed this up terrifies her. Maybe because it’s just one more card in the carefully built house of lies she’s told her sister—her love of New York, that night with Jake, this whole crazy thing with Cooper. If she confesses once, the whole stack might come tumbling down. “None of your business.”
“Actually, it’s all my business. Literally. It’s my job, and I’m putting myself on the line for you, Sam. So do you want to go to Nebraska or not?”
Yes.
It’s exactly what she wants.
It’s what she’s been telling herself for two weeks she absolutely cannot do, but it’s exactly what she wants. To see him again. To be near him. To be in his arms. She wants it so much it terrifies her.
But Nina doesn’t need to know that.
“How long is the trip? I need to make sure it’s okay with work.”
“A long weekend. Three or four days. Not much.”
Three or four days , Sam thinks. Just enough time to get him out of her system for good. At least, that’s the lie she’s going to tell herself to justify what she says next. “I think I can arrange that.”
“Good. I’ll email you with the details. Until next time—”
“Wait!”
“Yes?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. She isn’t doing this. Yes, she is. Fuck . “Can I have his phone number? In case of emergency?”
“What kind of emergency?”
“A…packing emergency.”
“Right. A packing emergency.”
“Ugh, fine.” Sam rubs at her neck as an uncomfortable itch forms beneath her skin. “Never mind.”
“No. No. I’ll give it to you.”
“Forget I asked.”
“God,” Nina mutters. “The two of you are so annoying. I really should be getting a bonus for all this overtime I’m putting in.”
“What overtime?” Realization hits. Sam fights her grin. “Did you talk to him? Did he ask for my number?”
“Do you want him to have asked for your number?”
“No.” Yes.
Nina snickers.
Dammit.
“I’m hanging up.”
“I’m putting his number in my email.”
“Goodbye, Nina.”
“Good luck, Sam.”
She frowns. But before she can ask what she needs luck for, the line goes dead. Sam stares at the black screen for a moment, then releases a breath. It comes out almost like a laugh as a giddy smile takes over her face. She bites her lip, trying to fight the ridiculous reaction, but it’s no use. Bubbles of happiness swarm up her chest like freshly popped champagne. She covers her mouth with her hands and squeals like a fifteen-year-old who’s just been asked to prom. It’s embarrassing, actually. Thank god no one—
“So, Nebraska, huh?”
“Jesus Christ, Winnie!” Sam clutches at her heart. “You have got to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” her roommate challenges in disbelief. “I’m literally just sitting here. It’s not my fault you’re too in love to notice what’s going on around you.”
“I’m not in love.”
“No? Care to elaborate on what the hell that sound that just came out of your mouth was if it wasn’t love?”
Sam opens her mouth to retort.
She’s got nothing.
“See?” Winnie grins triumphantly. “Love.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Love.”
“I’m going to throw another pillow at you.”
“Love.”
Sam chucks a pillow.
Winnie dodges. “Love.”
“Oh my god!”
Sam grabs another pillow and launches to her feet. Winnie leaps out of the chair and runs with Sam chasing behind. She ducks into her room for cover and slams the door closed. But a moment later, it opens.
“Wait,” Winnie says, this time fully with glee. Her eyes are comically wide. She grins. “You’re going to Nebraska.”
“I thought we established that.”
“You need boots.”
Sam sneers. “No.”
“You need a hat.”
“Definitely not.”
“You need highlights.”
Sam furrows her brow. “What?”
“Can I give you a makeover?”
“Winnie.”
“Oh, please. Please. Please, Sam.” She jumps up and down and folds her hands into prayer mode. “What is the point in having a roommate who grew up in Texas if I can’t put it to good use? I’ve been preparing for this moment my entire life. I can’t even tell you how many cowboy romances I’ve read. I’ll give you some. You can—”
“Absolutely not.” Sam pulls the door closed.
Winnie opens it back up. “Just one. For research!”
“No,” Sam stresses and turns around.
“What about a new outfit? You’d look great in fringe!”
“For the love of god.”
“Sequins!”
“Good night, Winnie.”
“Do you even know the hat rule?” her roommate cries right as Sam shuts the door to her bedroom, cutting her off.
The hat rule?
Sam falls onto her bed with a sigh. Nerves and anticipation and, yes, fear all swirl together beneath her skin. She rolls over and buries her face into her pillow with a groan, still unable to completely erase the smile on her lips.
What in the world have I gotten myself into?