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I’ve worked for this company for six years. Before this, I always had to pinch pennies. Now, I’m finally earning a wonderful income—one I’m proud of.
I worked hard to get to where I am.
I can’t throw it all away because I’m getting swept up in…
In what?
I try to sip more coffee out of my cup, but it’s all gone.
I set the mug aside and rest back against the soft cushions. I don’t even know what this is with Jack. A fling? A romance?
We only kissed that one time. But last night, it was like every move each of us made came from some undercurrent of desire. Every minute with him contained that tension, that snappy, sparking zip of energy that bounced between us. The long looks, the intimate conversation…
When he stretched out on that lounge chair beside me, my fantasies bubbled up. It was just like when we lay side by side on the beach towel.
I thought: what if?
What if one day, we laid around like this because we were getting ready for bed or just waking up?
My bed back home has been so very empty.
My phone beeps.
Thank goodness. I push that longing feeling away and swipe it off the coffee table.
My mother has sent a long text filled with gratitude for the last round of pictures. ‘Oh, Hazel, honey, I am so pleased for you! You made my day again with these pictures. He looks like such a wonderful man. You both look so happy. I can’t wait to meet him one day. I love you, sweetheart.’
I press my lips together.
She’s happy for me… for all the wrong reasons.
I’m not here on this island relishing time away with my long-distance boyfriend; the two of us finally united for one glorious week.
Matt Monroe doesn’t exist.
The very troublesome Jack Morgan does.
I try to text her back. I compose a message, delete it, try again, and delete it again. Finally, I give up. With a groan of disgust, I let the phone fall onto the pillows.
I’ll text her later.
Right now, emailing the CEO of Buzzy Digital Marketing is more important. He attached a file to the message, so I’ll take a closer look at that, too. I’m pretty sure it’s a description of the manager role within the company, but I didn’t have a chance to open it last night. I pull my computer bag to me.
No!
Like mine, the sleek laptop tucked inside the bag is silver but way too wide. This isn’t my laptop.
I flop the bag onto its side and take a closer look. It’s black, like mine, and has the same type of strap and similar pockets along the front, but the zipper tabs are neon green. This bag is not mine.
It’s obviously Jack’s.
We were both carrying our computer bags around last night.
At some point, I probably picked up his, and he picked up mine.
And now it’s 6:45 a.m. If I don’t email the CEO back soon, he might call it quits for the evening without hearing back from me.
I hate the thought of leaving him hanging. What if he assumes I’m not interested? In our company, responsiveness is valued. Communication lags are a big no-no.
