I type my number into his contacts and message myself. When I hear my phone beep, I hand his back to him all while he stares at me as if trying to figure out why that pin would embarrass me.
“Chop chop, hubby. Time’s a wastin’,” I tut, hoping to distract him.
He smiles at the term hubby, looking down at his watch and cursing again. “Shit, I’ve got to run. I'll leave the keycard on the counter and text you Davis’s number. You can explain whatever it is I’m missing that put that look on your face when I get back.”
Shit. Busted.
He smiles at my scowl, placing a kiss on my forehead, which instantly placates me. “Have a good day, Skittle," he calls, snagging his jacket and briefcase from the sofa. He is out the door and gone before I can say anything else.
The room is silent now that he's gone, all the warmth and comfort leaving right out the door with him. I don’t move for a moment. I just continue to stand there staring at the door, almost hoping he’ll come back, before I scold myself for being needy. I’m not that girl.
I force my feet to move and head back to Asher’s bedroom. I mean, our bedroom. It's odd trying to make yourself feel at home in someone else's house. I guess it will just take time. Passing by the wall of windows, I notice the rain from yesterday has cleared, leaving nothing but blue skies and bright sunshine in its wake. A little vitamin D may be just what the doctor ordered for my sudden melancholic mood.
I give myself a mental pep talk as I make my way into the bedroom, reminding myself to take a deep breath and brush my hurt feelings aside. I’m not going to lie, it still stings that Asher didn’t recognize the pin as the date we got married in Vegas, but in the end, does it even matter? He’s trying. I can see that with everything he says and does. I need to not sweat the small stuff and cut him some slack. There, pity party over.
I dress for the warmer weather—cutoff jean shorts and a Pink Floyd T-shirt that I’ve slashed in places and cut holes in, customizing it to fit my style. I shove my feet into my favorite pair of beat-up old white Converse sneakers and grab my cropped leather jacket from behind the door. My hair goes into Viking braids as I can't be bothered to do much else with it and opt for lip gloss with a cherry hue to count as my makeup for the day.
I grab the keycard, my purse, and the cash Asher left me until I can get to the bank to get my new card sorted, and shove everything into my pockets.
Checking my phone, I see there is a text from Asher with the number for his driver, Davis, so I enter it into my contacts and send Davis a message.
Davis replies instantly, telling me to come down to the foyer whenever I'm ready. With nothing else to do, I stick the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and head out.
Sam is on again today and when he spots me, he offers me a broad, genuine smile. “Good morning. How are you today?” he inquires politely.
I like this guy. He never looks at me like I don't belong here, treating me like he would treat anyone else.
“I'm fine, Sam. How are you?” It isn't until I get closer that he starts to scowl at me, making me think I might have been too hasty in my judgment.
“What on earth happened to you?” he asks, horrified.
He looks over my eye and lip, coming around his large desk to inspect me. I had temporarily forgotten about my injuries.
“I got mugged last night, but I'm okay now,” I assure him when his look darkens further.
I'm not one hundred percent okay, judging from the little wobble I had earlier at the thought of taking the train, but I've convinced myself the more I say it, the more I'll believe it.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you. Please be careful while you’re out today, and if there is anything I can do let me know. My wife likes to dabble with herbs and natural remedies. She has a concoction she uses for bruising. I can get her to make you a batch, if you’d like? It smells like gym socks but it's a miracle worker, I swear.”
Touched by his kindness, I smile. “That would be awesome, thank you, Sam. I'm heading out to do some errands today, but I'm grabbing some lunch for Asher and me before heading home. Would you like me to pick anything up for you?”
His eyes soften at my offer, but he shakes his head, his smile even wider as he pats my hand. “My wife has packed me lunch, but thank you for your kind offer.”
I shrug. “Kindness doesn't cost a thing.” My mother used to say that phrase to me all the time growing up.
“Now, isn’t that the truth. Have a nice day, Mrs. Sloan.”
I jolt at his words but manage to cover it before he notices. It's going to take a while to get used to the name change thing.
“You too, Sam.” I walk through the door he holds open for me and wave goodbye as I head out into the pretty morning sunshine.
I come to a halt when I see a man dressed in a smart gray driver's uniform standing next to an Audi Spyder. I stare at him for so long he coughs and awkwardly waves his hand in front of my face to get my attention.
“Mrs. Sloan?”
I shake myself out of my daze and look to the man I’m guessing is Davis and back to the car.
“A Spyder? Really? Does he even own anything less conspicuous?” I ask with a huff, making him laugh.
“I don’t know how to answer that, miss.” His lips twitch, which I'm taking to mean a big fat no.
“Typical. I'm not going to blend in very well where we'll be going today. People are going to think I stole it,” I mutter as he holds the back door open for me. I slide inside and scoot across the butter-soft leather seats as he chuckles.
“I think with a driver dressed like I am, you'll be fine. Most people who boost cars don't steal the driver too.”
I nod, conceding his point. “This is true.” I smile, buckling up and turning to look out the window as he pulls away from the curb. Still, his words don’t stop me from feeling like an impostor.
“I need to go to the bank and the DMV. All the fun stuff,” I warn him, making him chuckle.
“I tell you what, call me when you have finished, and I’ll bring you a coffee and a doughnut.”
“You know what, Davis, I think you are going to be my new best friend,” I inform him with a beaming smile.
Twenty
Asher
Surprisingly, the day passes quickly, even though my mind doesn't stray far from my wife. It helps that Davis keeps texting to keep me updated.
Looking down at the hustle and bustle of the city below, I wait as Gregory, the lead lawyer on Peterson’s team, waffles on and on. I swear I hear Graham stifle a snort at one point. These guys are treating us like we’re newbies, fresh-faced and green in all things business, when the truth is, we likely know ten times more than they do.
“Mr. Peterson just wants to make sure he chooses the right candidate,” Gregory prattles on.
“Yes, I understand that, Gregory, and you know our offer is more than generous. We don't want to buy this resort to tear it apart. We want to keep the integrity of it safe. It’s already a flagship property. We just want to enhance it a little,” I tell them, stroking their egos.
“Is there any reason Peterson himself isn't in on this call?” Graham asks something I had wondered myself.