A note.
On creamy white paper, hotel stationary, the name of the hotel on the top in scrolling blue letters. Wynnhamn Hotels. I reach over and with shaking fingers, lift the paper from the table, but I know what it’s going to say before I read it.
He’s gone.
And he’s not coming back.
Emmeline,
Thanks for the awesome weekend. Had a little work emergency. Didn’t want to wake you. Order whatever you want, you have the room till noon.
Take care,
Rawley
Work emergency? For a shoe company? On a Sunday?
Take care?
I groan, tossing the terrible note to the floor. Awesome weekend? Is that all it was to him? An awesome weekend to me is like, I don’t know, a good meal and a long nap. What we had went far beyond awesome. Life-changing, soul-mate chasing, dreams come true, deepest fantasies fulfilled, take your pick. Anything other than a word one would use to describe a good movie, or their team winning a football game on tv.
Take care?
Could he be more generic? What does take care even mean? Is that code for, see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya? Code for, don’t call me, and I won’t be calling you.
Code for…goodbye forever.
Are those stupid tears stinging my eyes, threatening to fall? I brush them away with the backs of my hands. Get it together, Emmeline. This was a paid transaction. You were providing a service, nothing more.
This was not some princess fairytale and there is no happily ever after for you.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I dig through my belongings, finding the tan, knee-length coat I came in. I’ll keep the boots, but everything else stays. I wrap the coat around my naked body, slip the boots on my feet, grab my phone, and leave the room without a backward glance.
Goodbye, daddy.
I get back to my apartment, scoop Mr. Whiskers into my arms, kissing him and burying my face in his fur. I refill his self-feeder and waterer, and scoop out his litter box. I take a hot shower, washing the hotel from my skin.
I dress in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, twisting my hair up into a bun on top of my head. Grab my laptop and dive into my anatomy assignment.
And just like that, Cinderella has turned back into a lonely, thankfully somewhat richer, workaholic, dressed in rags with only her animal to comfort her. I swipe at a tear, wiping it away before it can fall. I have one week left in this one-bedroom apartment.
Then, I’ll move in with Lexi. My bank account is stuffed with cash. I’ll focus on school and end the semester, graduating with honors, adding the letters MD to my last name. I guess I could afford to keep this place now, but I can’t stand the loneliness. I vow to myself to let my last day in the apartment be a new beginning for my life.
I’ll give myself these next seven days to wallow, study, drag my sad ass to class, then it ends.
And when I move in with Lexi, I’ll never let myself think about him again.
Chapter 8
Rawley
What have I done?
What the hell is my problem?
I booked that one night with Sugar Daddies thinking a quick fuck would get my mind clear, satiate my needs, but now my heart is completely gone, given away to a girl who’s left me desperate for more of her. A girl who made me want to be her daddy after only two days with her. Thirty six hours to be specific, but who’s counting?
Hell—I was.
What was I thinking?
But it’s not my fault, right? I mean, what are the odds that after a decade of my playboy ways, just when I’m swearing relationships off, I find the one. If there is such a thing.
We had a contract, an agreement, and my ridiculous romantic notions about her being the one and bullshit like that have to stop now. I’m not going there again. I can’t. She deserves better. Hell, she’s a med student, not a hooker. We had a couple nights I will never fucking forget. But that’s all they were.
So maybe we had a connection. A fucking, magical, unbelievable connection.
She’s my soulmate. I give a shake of my head. Cut that shit out, Rawley.
I’m going to force her from my mind. Focus on work.
There’s a knock on the door of my apartment. Could it be her? Don’t be an ass, it's most definitely not her. “Coming.”
I open it to find the building's bellboy, standing beside a rolling cart that’s laden with all the things I bought her. He gives me a look. “Mr. Morrow. All this is yours? The Wynnhamn sent it over. Said to bring it up to you.” He side eyes a green dress with a gold zipper.
No, dude, it’s not for me.
“Thanks. Just, umm,” I don’t want this stuff in my apartment. The last thing I need is reminders of her. “Tell you what. I’ll pay you generously to take it down to Sugar Daddies for me? Use my driver. Just give it all to the lady at the front desk, Sam? And ask her to get it to…Emmeline.” My throat tightens just from saying her name.