I want to tell him I’m not going to, that it doesn’t matter. I want to tell him that I’m done. But I know it’s not true. Because I may have myself convinced I can control my heart, but there’s one thing I know without a doubt I can’t control—my competitive nature. And it seems like Sage Everling has just challenged me to the biggest competition of my life. I hope she’s really ready to play.
Eleven
Sage
“I know what you’re doing,” Harper says. “You’re hoping he’s here.” Harper leans on Brad at the bar, winking at me in what I find to be an annoying gesture.
“Who?” I ask, raising the margarita to my lips.
“You know who. Cash Creed who.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Okay, not to take Harper’s side, Sage, but it is rare you’d come here twice in one week, not with things being so busy at work,” Brad says now, setting his beer down.
I roll my eyes. “Of course you’ll take her side. You two lovebirds. See, see what love does to you? It ruins all original thought. Because of course I’d come here twice in a week with the new line launching. I need to get rid of some stress.”
“He’s right. Maybe two years ago you’d have been here three or four times in a week, but not now with the business being so serious. But hey, I think it’s great. I’m not judging. I think you need to live it up. Your business is a success. You need to take some time to celebrate. But I’m just saying, I know what you’re really doing here. You’re hoping for a replay.”
“That’s so not true,” I reply a little forcefully. “If it were, I’d have accepted his offer for dinner.”
“But this way, you can still act under the pretense that you’re not interested in him. If you see him here, it’ll be a coincidence.”
I sigh. I love having a best friend I can tell everything to—like how Cash Creed came into Midsummer Nights and I almost considered saying yes to dinner. But I also hate it because it means I can’t hide from myself. Ever. She knows me better than anyone, and she’s not willing to let me fool myself.
In truth, though, a big part of the reason I tossed on my favorite silver top and tight jean skirt was in the hopes of seeing Cash Creed. Dammit, I hate what that man’s done to me.
It’s not just the sex, either. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of good sex over the years. No, it’s something more. Something I can’t even explain because… well, what else is there? We had one hot night, and now the man plagues all my daydreams. I keep imagining all these scenarios of running into him, and it’s driving me crazy. And then yesterday, the daydream came true and there he was.
When I saw him in front of me, I wanted to take him up on his offer. I imagined what it would be like to get to know him, a man who appreciates both business and play, a man who doesn’t take love too seriously but takes pride in his work. He’s accomplished, he’s driven, and he’s a whole hell of a lot of sexy. He knows how to have a good time. He’s me in so many ways… but that also scares me.
Because one person hesitant about love is too much in a relationship. Two would be unbearable. So I did the typical Sage Everling tactic—I clammed up, closed myself off, and swore that sex was enough. And then I went home, spent an afternoon when I should’ve been working daydreaming about how things could’ve gone differently if I wasn’t such a paranoid, antilove kind of woman. What’s wrong with me? Don’t most women dream about a man like Cash Creed asking her out to dinner?
I know what’s wrong with me. It’s a mixture of my overly goal-oriented nature mixed with a family background that still haunts me. It’s a way to cover my vulnerabilities. My confidence in the bedroom masks what I lack emotionally.
In short, I’m a freaking mess.
But here I am, nonetheless, standing at the bar like a sad excuse for a single lady, keeping my eyes open for one man in particular so I can… what? Awkwardly accept his invitation a day late? Take him to bed for another one-night stand, which will actually be a second-night stand, and then complicate things even more? And who’s to say he even feels the same way? He asked me to dinner, not to marry him. The guy clearly is just after more sex, more fun. I don’t know why I’m fooling myself.
I think about turning to Harper and Brad and telling them I’m heading home, when Harper smacks my arm, practically knocking the drink out of my hands.
“It’s him,” she says animatedly, pointing to the door.
I turn to see him walking through. Tonight, he’s wearing a suit jacket, charcoal colored. It makes his eyes pop, his hair tousled in a perfectly sexy way. I feel my chest tighten as I set my drink down, trying to remember how to be coy when I really just want to run up to him like a sad sixteen-year-old, squealing and smiling way too much.
But the smiling sixteen-year-old within is quickly squelched. He walks straight through the Marooned Pirate like he’s on a mission… and the mission isn’t me. I watch him cross the floor to greet a brunette sitting in a corner booth. She stands and extends a hand, which he kisses like he’s some Disney prince. She smiles coyly, and he smiles back, squeezing in beside her.
“Oh my God,” I say, still staring. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I knew this was who he was. And hell, it’s who I am too. Why am I so pissed?
“I’m sorry, Sage,” Harper says, putting an arm around me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, reaching for my drink to toss it back. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does,” she replies. “But look, it’s not too late. Why don’t you walk on over there, say hi?”
“You know I’m not like that.” And I’m not. I’m loose with my own dating rules and sex, but I’m not loose with breaking up relationships, no matter how fresh. Consensual sex between two singles is fine in my books, but any kind of sex when one is attached—just no. That’s too complicated.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I say.
“Don’t you want to look around? There are some nice guys on the dance floor,” she murmurs.
But I’m already gathering my bag and heading toward the door. I’ve lost my desire to play tonight, and suddenly this life I’m living feels… off. It feels wrong. It feels lousy. So I head out front to snag a cab, anxious to get home to some Netflix and time with the cats.
The life of the rich and famous… oh, how glorious it is.
How gloriously lonely.
Twelve
Sage
I stir my second cup of coffee, adding in what seems like an entire bag of sugar. I need something sweet to get me through this conversation. Seven in the morning is way, way too early to be dealing with this.
“Uh huh,” I mumble after counting to ten as Mom continues rambling about the new sheets she ordered and some boat her and Dad were on yesterday and Tahiti and meeting the Queen of England.
Okay, so the last part I may have ad-libbed. But you get the picture.
“Darling, are you even paying attention? I swear, you’re so obsessed with that little business venture of yours, you can’t even listen anymore.”
The little business venture she’s referring to is Evermore. The business I single-handedly built from the ground up without a single ounce of help from my parents—which explains the constant resentment.
“Well, Mom, I am busy with Evermore. You know that.”
“Your father and I still think it’s time to sell that thing before it wears you down. Sell on the up, you know that.”
“And you know it’s my passion. I’m not selling.”
“Oh, darling. You proved your point. You made it. Now quit being so childish.”
I roll my eyes. Again, it’s too early to deal with my mother. So I suck it up and ignore her, trying to change the subject.
“So when are you two going away?”
“Next week. Want to come?”
“Can’t.” And it’s true. The new line coming up has me busy. But even if I weren’t, in truth, I wouldn’t be joining Cathy and Alexander Everling anytime soon. That sh
ip has sailed long, long ago. As in at the age of fourteen.
“You know, it saddens me how detached from this family you are, Sage. You’re our only daughter, but it’s like you don’t exist.”
“Your words, not mine,” I reply, feeling the insolent teenager within rise up.
“You could make some effort, you know.”
“Goes both ways, Mom,” I reply, shaking my head.
“What did we ever do so wrong, Sage? We gave you everything.”
I take a deep breath. She’s right. They did give me everything money could buy… and that was about all they gave. But I shove down the childhood problems that come surging back every single time I speak to my mother… which isn’t all that often for that very reason. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I made something of myself without them. I stood on my own two feet, and I’m still standing. I am independent, and I’m happy. I don’t need their approval, their love, their time. I don’t need to be sucked into their world of lavish vacations and showy flashings of money. I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is. Sure, I’m not scraping for money, either, and I can appreciate the finer things in life. But I’ve worked for it. It wasn’t handed to me, not like Dad.
“I’m happy, Mom. Thanks for asking.”
“Well, it saddens me that you’ve walked away from the family. We used to be so close.”
The blood starts to boil. I remind myself she’s hundreds of miles away, that her words don’t matter. But the stubborn, sassy woman within rises up before I can quiet her.
“Really, Mom? And it’s my fault that we’re not? How about you talk to your husband who has been openly having an affair for fourteen years while you sat by and pretended it didn’t matter? Why don’t you talk to him about patching back together the façade of the family you two tried to cover with money?”
“Sage….”
But it’s too late. There’s nothing more to say. I click the phone off, slamming it on the counter. I take a few deep breaths, reminding myself it’s irrelevant. I’m not them. I’m different. I’ll always be thankful for the upbringing I had. It made me who I am.
A confident businesswoman determined to make a go at it for herself.
A woman who is smart with money but can appreciate it isn’t everything.
A woman who isn’t going to let the pretense of love own her like it did my mother.
She sat around and watched him flaunt Sheila in front of her for years and did nothing because she knew to walk away from him would be to walk away from the extravagant life they had. She was addicted to money, to the lifestyle he’d built for her—and she let that mean more than her pride.
My parents taught me so many important lessons. They taught me to be independent, to not count on someone to have your back. They taught me that it was okay to be alone because for most of my childhood, that was what I felt. Most of all, they taught me that love is a weakness, and that love and money are a toxic combination. I won’t let that happen to me. I won’t let money and love mix. I won’t let myself fall into the trap.
Pissed off for the umpteenth time in my life, I grab my purse from the counter and dash out the door, heading to my Sunday ritual, my version of spirituality that helps soothe me, helps remind me I’m nothing like my parents. I get in the car and drive the five miles to my refuge, hoping to work out some of the darkness in my soul and the past.
“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?” I murmur, stroking the white cat that’s propped over my shoulder.
I’m wearing sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt from my college days, a far cry from the stylish CEO I try to present to the world. But here, I don’t have to be that woman. I don’t have to slather on makeup or perfect my outfits. Here is where I let it all go and do something that matters to me.
“Sage, when you’re done visiting with Freddy, can you help the family in the waiting room? They’re looking for a male cat who is good with kids. Thought you’d have a recommendation,” Janice says, peeking around the corner. She’s got a mop in her hand.
I smile. “Sure thing. Just a minute.”
She grins. “I think you should take Freddy home. Barcelona and Monticello could use a playmate.”
I take a deep breath. “You know I would love to. But I’m afraid once I start taking them home from here, I won’t be able to stop.”
“There are worse things than being a crazy cat lady,” Janice replies before spinning around to head back to her cleaning duties.
I suppose she’s right.
I gently carry Freddy back to his cage, tucking him in his bed and stroking him once more before heading out to talk to the family. I know exactly the cat that will be their perfect match. Joey, three years old, hit by a car. He’s a sweet boy who loves to play and to cuddle. He’ll be perfect for a family with kids.
I’ve got all the stories memorized for the sixty-three cats inhabiting Seaside Serenity Rescue, the animal shelter I volunteer at once a week. I’ve been coming here every Sunday for five years. It’s actually where I adopted Barcelona from when I decided Monticello needed a friend. Barcelona was born blind, abandoned on the boardwalk. I took one look at him and knew I had to have him. And once I adopted him and saw this place, I knew I had to come back. If I couldn’t take every cat home with me, I could at least help place them in homes.
It’s my weakness—animals. I’ve always had a soft spot for them. Coming here, though, is about so much more than serving them. It’s about remembering what matters, about escaping from all the pressures of the fast-paced business world. It’s about doing something soul soothing.
I stumble out to greet the family, leading them to Joey’s cage. An hour later, after they’ve completed the application and I’m seeing Joey off to his new family, I stand smiling in the office area. I wave to the little girl who is carrying the cat carrier. I know she’s got a new best friend. It’s beautiful, really.
“Oh, hey Sage, I almost forgot to introduce you to our newest volunteer,” Janice calls from the dog room. Janice is the volunteer coordinator and has been working here since the shelter opened in 1982. She’s an older woman with a heart of gold. I smile, turning to meet her in the dog room.
“Sage, meet Cash Creed. He just moved here from Texas and loves dogs. He’s going to be helping in the dog room on Sundays. Isn’t that great?” she says as she motions toward an empty dog pen. Cash is scrubbing it out, getting it ready for the next intake. He stands at the sound of my name, turning to look at me.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, shaking my head as rage bubbles inside. This is getting ridiculous. I guess it’s what I get for one night of fun—I’ve got myself a stalker.
“Sage? You volunteer here?”
“You know each other?” Janice asks, her sweet smile not calming me. I ignore her, stepping toward Cash.
“Enough is enough. If you don’t stop following me, I’ll get my lawyer to file a restraining order. And I have a good lawyer, you know.” This guy is unbelievable.
Cash shakes his head, laughing. “Full of yourself much? Did you ever think that maybe this has nothing to do with you? That maybe I’m just volunteering?”
“Right. So you just happen to roll into Midsummer Nights the other morning and now you happen to volunteer here on the same day as me?”
“Well, it is the only shelter in Ocean City,” Janice adds. I turn and give her a look. She puts her hands up in apology, walking with her mop to the other end of the dog room.
“Look, I had no idea you work here. Back home, I volunteered at our shelter once a week. It’s where I adopted Killer, remember him? I thought it might be nice to help out here. I might be an asshole, but I figure volunteering a few hours a week might lessen my asshole score just a tad, you know?”
I roll my eyes. “I still don’t know. Mighty coincidental.”
“Maybe it’s fate,” he says, and the smug smirk on his face just irritates me.
“Well, whatever. I’m glad you’re helping. You just stay over here in the dog ro
om. I’ll stick to the cats.”
He leans on the pen now, his arms crossed. He’s smirking.
I raise an eyebrow. “What?” I ask. I exhale, still frustrated, but not at the prospect of him stalking me—I’m frustrated at the fact that even in sweats and a T-shirt, scrubbing feces out of a pen, he looks freaking amazing. How can he pull that off? And why is my heart racing so much at the sight of him?
“Just thinking that you look good no matter what you wear… or what you don’t.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he winks, strolls down the cement walkway, and walks right out the door to the outside area, dogs barking all around us.
I stand in the ruckus, staring at the space where he used to be. Coincidence, stalking, or fate, it doesn’t matter. This guy’s under my skin. I stomp back to the cat room, needing some time in the cuddle room to get my stress levels down. Sitting back in the cuddle room with Felix this time, stroking his long gray fur, I think about Cash even though I don’t want to.
I have to admit, it’s nice to know that despite his overt cockiness, he’s got some warmth in his heart. I mean, a man who volunteers at a shelter? A man who clearly likes animals? If I were looking for a partner—which I’m clearly not—that would be a big checkmark.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking. It’s ridiculous to even think about it.
When my shift is done and I’m saying goodbye to my favorites, whispering a silent hope that they find their forever home this week, I hear footsteps coming toward me. I look up to see Cash calmly ambling in the cat room.
I cross my arms. “This is my area.”
“I know. But I’m coming to see if you might be willing to switch teams for a half hour.”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head.
“I’ve got three dogs left to walk, and one is quite a handful. Not so good on the leash. I wanted to see if you could give me a hand, take the two little guys so they all get their turn before the shelter closes.”
Lone Hearts (Lines in the Sand Book 6) Page 6
