I should’ve scared the poor bastard off already with my drunken-fool monologue about the bullshit my ex was putting me through, but I guess I didn’t. My money was on the fact that the businessman was probably bored on one of his many trips to London. He ditched his crew of associates to have a change of atmosphere, and I gave him one.
“All right, I’m leaving,” my sister, Britney, said. “This has been fun…and that Jim guy?” She chuckled as she brought me in for a hug. “If he takes you off to the country, I want to know everything when I get back.”
I picked at the breakfast cakes that were brought up by room service. “Seriously,” I said, shoving another bite of cake in my mouth, “don’t you think I should be a bit more cautious, taking off with a random dude?”
“You said he was a businessman named Jim?” she asked, checking through her matched, Louis Vuitton luggage.
“Yep. Jim.”
“Hmm.” She pursed her red lips. “That doesn’t help. Maybe a last name?”
“No last name. Just friends he had with him.”
“Maybe I know their circle,” she said.
My foster sister ran her own skincare line and had become a self-made millionaire almost overnight. A company had come in and acquired it, taking everything on, and now, she toured the world promoting it all—that’s when she became the wealthy woman she was.
Unfortunately, we still had some trust issues. Her mom tried her best to raise me, but I certainly didn’t make it easy on her. Between doing drugs with my surfer pals and running away to live in a bus in Santa Cruz for a few months, my credibility was shaky as far as she was concerned. That life was far behind me, but relationships were complicated, especially the family relationships that define us.
My sister had warned me about Derek, but I just couldn’t seem to stay away from the bad boy. His hazel eyes and dark hair pulled me in, and his sense of humor and charisma kept me around for too long. I only wish he could’ve given up the drugs when I did. His drug use took the darkest turn imaginable, and he couldn’t sober up or admit that he had a problem.
“Avery.” She snapped her fingers to get my wandering attention. “Who were the friends?”
“Um, two guys. One had dark blond, slicked-back hair, like a younger version of Johnny Depp. I think his name was Collin or Alan?” I said, rubbing lotion on my legs. “I don’t know. I just know Jim could afford every item off the menu at your fancy restaurant.”
“Collin, Jim, and Alan?” She sighed, “Damn. It doesn’t ring a bell. However,” she smirked, “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. I know how you eat when you insist we go to those pizza buffets, so you’ll probably never see him again.”
“Well, I definitely made for an expensive date.” I laughed, adjusting the towel that was wrapped around my head.
“Well, if you take off with the guy, let me know where the hell you are, please?” she said, grabbing the room phone and pushing a button. “Yes, I need a valet to bring my luggage to the car, please.”
“I’ll text you when I get there,” I said when she finished calling for the valet. “It couldn’t be worse than me running away from home and living on the streets, could it?”
“Let’s hope nothing will ever be that bad again.” She flipped her unnaturally red hair over her shoulder. “The man is American, and from what you told me about your small interlude last night, he seems like a businessman who probably wants you as his kinky sex toy at this estate.”
“Oh, God.” I rolled my eyes. “He watched me eat last night, so I’d be surprised if he had any sexual desire for me at all.”
She laughed. “Okay, I’m out. Call me, update me, and keep your tracker on that phone, whatever you do. We already talked about my opinions of how odd this is, but God knows with your rebellious streak that if I tell you not to do something, you’re going to do it just to prove I’m overreacting.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a teenager anymore, you know. Part of me wants to take him up on his offer, not just because he’s sort of funny and stupid-fucking-hot, but because I want a crazy-ass memory to take home with me.”
“Even if it costs you your dignity and life?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I said, standing firmly, backing my case.
“One day you’ll learn, Avery. Just remember, you have Addy at home. Feel this man out for safety purposes before you act like you’re not a single mom, okay?”
We hugged, she left, and her words started to weigh on me. Am I a complete moron for considering this? I was getting way too caught up in my vacation, and I wasn’t thinking about the most important person in my life: my daughter.
It was such a refreshing feeling to be here and make an impulsive decision, thinking of no one but myself. I hadn’t had that luxury since Addy was born, and feeling so careless and free was intoxicating.
Shit. I might as well go home now that I’m fucking thinking about Derek again. I did not doubt that son of a bitch would find a way to get his family to back him, getting a lawyer so he could take Addison from me. He wasn’t going to quit.
My problem was that I’d given his ass too many chances. I was a fool. How could I allow that piece of shit around my daughter for as long as I did?
Coming home from work and finding him passed out on the couch while he was supposed to be watching our then one-year-old child was the final straw, although there should’ve been so many last straws that came before. That time, I couldn’t overlook the five fucking cigarettes that had been lit at the wrong end, sitting on my burning gas stove while Addy was in her room, and he lay unconscious as my house was an inch away from burning down. He had been so out of his mind that he didn’t even know he was lighting his cigarette backward—five times in a row.
That situation created a terrifying question for me: what if the authorities took my daughter and put her in the system because I left her in the care of her drug-addict father? I allowed him to live with us. I did that. But there was no way I was allowing Addison to grow up in the system as I did. Over my dead body.
I had to stop thinking. I came out here to get away and take a breath from it all. I was heading right back down my self-destructive road of feeling like a shitty mom for believing my ex and all of his manipulative lies.
I needed to get out. I brushed out my hair and dried it as quickly as I could. I slid on fleece-lined leggings and an oversized sweater and flats, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door. I didn’t even check the clock or finish putting on my makeup. Just a touch of mascara, and now I was heading into this luxurious elevator, standing next to a gorgeous brunette wearing couture—nothing like fancy ladies in high fashion to make me feel like a self-loathing, country bumpkin.
As I exited on the ground level of the hotel lobby, I found a chair in a private corner of a lounge and pulled out my cell phone to dial my foster mom.
“Jill?” I said when she picked up.
“Hey, sweetie. I was just getting ready for bed. It’s morning for you, right? Did Britney leave for the Netherlands yet?”
“Yeah, she did. Sorry if I’m interrupting you trying to get some sleep, but I need some reassurance,” I said, knowing I could use some of her hippie advice with the way I was feeling.