Ho-ly.
Shit.
My mouth fell open as I realized what—or who was really behind this decision, and suddenly, I was so livid that I legitimately broke into a sweat. My heart slammed in my chest like it was trying to shatter my ribs, and my mind raced with the burning need to get answers—to grill every last detail out of Morgan, who was now jumping to answer the phone so she wouldn’t have to talk to or even look at me.
Un. Fucking. Real.
I was getting madder by the second, my teeth clenched tight as I hawked Morgan, ready to launch into the interrogation I was mentally preparing in my frantic mind. I knew I was going for it as soon as she hung up, but instead of hanging up, Morgan frowned, glancing my way and saying “sure” before handing the phone over to me.
Reluctantly, I took it. And I barely got out a “hello” before Mia’s stiff voice interrupted.
“Holland. You need to get home right now.”
I got up to the third floor of my walk-up to see the door of my apartment propped open and two men walking out with a mattress. Wait, no.
My mattress.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell?
In my mind, I sputtered in furious protest. Ran over, arms flailing while yelling, “Hey, hey! What’s the big idea?”
But I didn’t actually do that.
What I did was suddenly process what I’d seen outside my building right before I came in.
A truck. But not just any truck.
A furniture truck.
And with that image in mind, I felt a sudden pit in my stomach. A fog of disbelief dizzied me as I shook my head weakly, letting my feet float me up the rest of the steps and carry me me past the movers into my apartment, where I saw empty cardboard boxes stacked against the wall, plastic packaging strewn about the floor, and a stunned Mia standing just outside my bedroom, looking in with both hands pressed to her cheeks.
When she saw me coming, she threw her arms out.
“Holland! I’m so sorry. I was so confused! I probably I should’ve stopped them but I…”
Then she trailed off.
Either that or I stopped listening because I could no longer process anything else. I could no longer think anywhere close to straight now that I was standing right next to her, my pulse slamming in my ears and my blood boiling in my veins as I stared into my room at exactly what I knew I would see.
The bed of my dreams from Stone Pine.
Brand new and fully assembled.
Gifted to me from none other than Iain Fucking Thorn.
5
IAIN
The afternoon started with my two favorite words: Client emergency.
Prior to that, it had been a punishingly slow morning. Staff meetings and video calls that I conducted on auto-pilot because they were gratingly routine. They presented few problems that required more than a minute of thinking to resolve, which was less than ideal for me today, because today, more than any day, I needed a challenge.
A distraction.
I needed something to occupy the space in my head for more than sixty fucking seconds so I could think of something other than the images that had jolted me up early this morning.
Despite an alarm set for 5AM, I’d found myself flinching awake at a quarter to four. And barely a second into consciousness, I’d found myself glaring at the ceiling, silently cursing my brain for the images it had forced on me in my sleep.