Page 1 of Miles

ONE

KAYLA

“Hey, girl, heeeyyy!” The sound of Marissa’s voice brings a smile to my face as I shuffle into our shared office. I huff as I set my purse, briefcase, lunch bag, and coffee tumbler down. Women can do absolutely fucking anything, but one thing they do one million times better than men?

Carry shit.

Marissa giggles. “We need to start getting you a cart or something.”

I turn to my assistant with a faux glare. “I’m a strong, independent woman.”

She props her hands on her hips. “Riiiight. Why am I here then?”

I turn my head left and right, acting as though I’m a scale. “Because being a strong, independent woman equals acknowledging when I need help.”

“You’re such a bullshitter.”

My face grows warm as I smile again. “I know.”

Rounding my desk, I stare at a to-do list stapled to a manila envelope labeled August Promotions with a mix of shock and mortification. Collin and I leave for two weeks, and this is what I have to come back to?

What’s even the point of taking a vacation?

I pick it up and turn back to Marissa. “What the hell? I take it back. I don’t want to be independent anymore.”

A laugh bubbles out of her before she can stop it. “I knew that was coming.”

Sighing, I sit down. “Remind me why I chose being a Social Media Strategist for a company that has an internal balance of seventy-five percent men? Why is ‘unfollow Greene’s Wheels’ on this list? Could they not have done that themselves? And what the fuck is Greene’s Wheels?”

Marissa bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know if you want me to answer that question.”

Uh-oh.

I raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Go on.”

Marissa sighs before sitting down and crossing her legs. “Our CEO and the CEO of that company went to a meeting to discuss a merger, only for Whimsy Willow’s CEO to demand our social media strategist,” Marissa points to me, “was fired due to being a porn star and it looking bad on the company.”

Instantly, my heart stops.

What the fuck?

How could anyone possibly know that?

Collin and I are anonymous.

I force a laugh out of me, bullshitting my way forward. “Who the hell is this CEO?”

She shrugs. “Some guy named Rick. Never heard of him.”

With the smile still painted on my face, I turn toward my monitor and login to my email, even though Rick’s name is playing on repeat in my head—almost as if someone said it in a cave and the echo is surrounding me.

Greene’s Wheels.

Rick Greene.

My ex-fiancé.

My ex-fiancé, who I have under a restraining order for stalking me.