Hate Notes - Page 25
She seemed to ponder that, then said, “I could see that you were upset. I knew it had nothing to do with me but rather what my question prompted you to have to think about. I didn’t take your anger personally—aside from your using the term ‘weaseling.’ Your anger was directed toward me, I suppose, but it really wasn’t meant for me. And the truth is . . . as curious as I may be about you . . . what happened isn’t any of my business.”
I cocked a brow. “Why are you so curious about me?”
Her eyes seared through mine. “Because from the moment I met you, I knew you weren’t the person you were portraying.”
“How would you come to that conclusion so fast?”
Apparently I’d asked one question too many, because she simply walked away without an answer.I told myself I wasn’t going to venture over to the pool on my way back to the room. But I had to pass it anyway in order to get to the elevators.
Maybe just one little peek.
If she was swimming, I’d just pop my head in and say hello.
Feeling the steam emanating from under the crack of the door, I stood outside of the entrance to the indoor pool and peeked through the glass window. Charlotte had it all to herself. Her blonde hair swayed in the water. She reminded me of a mermaid, moving with smooth precision. She stopped at one point to push her wet hair back off her face, offering me a glimpse of her drenched cleavage. It was like watching water streaming down the most beautiful mountain. My eyes darted away from her rack, not because I didn’t want to see it, but because this somehow felt creepy and voyeuristic given that she had no clue I was watching her.
She resumed swimming back and forth across the length of the pool.
I envied her ability to lose herself in the water. The more I watched her, the more tempted I was to jump in.
I actually laughed out loud at that thought.
Could you imagine? If I just jumped in and joined her?
Charlotte would probably have a heart attack. She thought she had me pegged as a guarded, miserable person. She’d been trying to figure me out from the moment she first met me, evidently. The one thing I was certain of—if I jumped in that pool, it would be the last thing she would ever expect me to do.
That was exactly why I wished I had the balls to do it.
Maybe it was her little list that influenced me—not sure. But I suddenly felt motivated to step out of my comfort zone—and my pants.CHAPTER 11
REED
Charlotte Darling, I typed into the search bar.
It had been at least six months since I’d even signed on to Facebook. Social media wasn’t my thing. But it was after midnight, and I still couldn’t fall asleep. Surprisingly, the bed was comfortable enough in the standard economy hotel room my whack-job assistant had booked me into. I just felt restless and couldn’t fall asleep for some reason.
Since Charlotte had invaded my privacy and stalked me, I figured I’d return the favor. I started with her pictures. The last picture she’d posted was a few hours ago—an arty-looking shot of the hotel pool with some kind of a filter on it. The caption underneath it read Just keep swimming. Those three little words pretty much summed up Charlotte Darling’s outlook on life. Her ability to see the positive in a negative situation drove me nuts, yet I couldn’t help but admire it in some way.
Fender bender and stuck in the sticks at a three-star hotel? While I groaned and thought “inconvenience” and “bed bugs,” Charlotte picked up her pom-poms and cheered “hotel pool” and “Ruby Tuesday!”
I clicked to the next picture. What the fuck? Is that . . . me?
She must’ve snuck and snapped the picture on the drive out here. The picture was only of my hand, so no one except me would even know who it was. But, of course, I recognized my own damn hand. My fingers were wrapped around the steering wheel, gripping it so tight that it looked like I was attempting to choke the shit out of it. My knuckles were white, and the veins in my hand and forearm were bulging. Why was I strangling the damn steering wheel? My eyes dropped to the caption she’d given the shot: Let it go.
What the hell? She had some nerve taking a picture of me and posting it on social media, even if no one would recognize it was me. Let it go. I had the urge to march three doors down and let it go, alright.
What else might Ms. Darling have posted about me? I clicked to the next photo. It was a shot of a vase painted with bright purple flowers. The caption read Create your own happiness. Create irises. This was probably the vase I’d knocked from her hands that she’d made for my grandmother. I zoomed in on the photo. Wow. Charlotte had talent if she’d made this—it was actually beautiful.
Source: readsnovelonline.net