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And yet as I walked back toward my bedroom, the lingering scent of jasmine and salt-filled breezes followed, teasing my senses and kindling the curiosity within me. I’d always been confident with women, but something about this one made me feel uncertain, vulnerable even.
No, with so much at stake, I couldn’t allow distractions. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing thoughts of Marissa to the back of my mind and vowing to focus on what truly mattered—securing my future role as head of the Sato empire.
CHAPTER 7
Bree
Iwas always most at peace in the ocean. The waves enveloped me in a way only a lover could. Within those dark depths, I was weightless, breathless, yet full of life. The currents tugging me closer, willing me to let go. To abandon my control.
I longed to listen to the ocean’s song, longed to add my voice to its choir again.
The call of the sea was almost too much to bear some days. And as the years dragged on, I wondered how much of it I had imagined. The ocean didn’t really sing…
…did it?
A loud bang startled me from my reverie.
I blinked, and the bathroom stall swam back into focus. Handwritten notes and phone numbers marked the metal dividers separating the two stalls, and the once white tile floor had long since turned a gross shade of tan and dark brown. The grout needed a scrub?—
Wait, no. Scratch that.
The entire bathroom needed demolition.
From my vantage point kneeling in front of the toilet, holding a tattered sponge in one gloved hand and a label-less cleaning spray in the other, I had an up-close and personal view of the porcelain throne. Thankfully, the copious amount of bleach kept the worst smells from knocking me flat on my back.
None of the toilets in here had been replaced since at least the ‘80s. Maybe longer. Much like a tree stump, I imagined the rings in the bowls revealed the porcelain’s age.
Oh, the stories this bowl could tell.
“Bree! Stop daydreamin’ and get scrubbin’.” Frankie’s sharp tone cut through my thoughts before the bathroom door swung shut again—the source of the bang.
I swear, scaring me had become her life’s passion. She’d picked it up from Marissa, and the two of them together were relentless.
“Stop peeking at me in the bathroom,” I called out loud enough that I knew she could hear. “It’s creepy.”
The door opened, and my boss strode back in, her faded black boots thumping against the tile floor. As she leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, a look of amusement pulled at her thin lips and crinkled the skin around her brown eyes.
She’d been a looker back in the day, with her mess of wild curls and hipster fashion sense. Sure, plenty of people still considered the fae woman good-looking even with the thick sprouts of white hair and lines across her face, but she’d given up dating long ago.
The gym was her one true love, and no one else could compare.
“The gym’s closed for lunch,” she said.
“Oh, thank sweet baby Jesus.” I sat back on my heels and winced as my ankle cracked against the tile. “Ow.”
“Never thought you’d sound just like the rest of us landlubbers.” Frankie’s chuckle echoed in the tiled room as she pivoted on her heel to leave. “Finish up and come eat. I got subs.”
“Because eating after scrubbing sticky crap off the toilet bowl is just so appetizing,” I grumbled at her retreating back.
The door swung shut, leaving me alone to finish scrubbing said crap.
I sighed. Marissa was supposed to be the one cleaning today, but as usual, she’d talked her way out of it late last night. I’d hold her to her promised cleanings, no matter how long it took. She could be ninety-nine years old and wheelchair-bound, for all I cared. I’d still make her fulfill her promises.
Leaning forward again, I squeezed the spray bottle’s handle, soaking the bowl in commercial-grade bleach. Scrubbing toilets to make a living hadn’t been on my life’s to-do list. Then again, I’d never planned on running away from home, either.
At least now we were free to do what we pleased, even if it meant living paycheck to paycheck.
Meeting the Red Dragon yesterday might have been one of the highlights of my life. Or of recent years, anyway, even if he was a cocky flirt who hadn’t given me the time of day all those years ago.
