I only have a few days left here, and I have barely scratched the surface of this place.
Sure, I have spent time with Cain, but other than the town center and community house, I haven’t seen very much.
How will I spend the remaining time here?
Maybe I need someone else to show me the grounds. When Cain Archer is around, I have a hard time concentrating on anything else.
I’m not ready, nor do I want to leave this place—or him—and that worries me.
I don’t know him at all.
He might be flirtatious with me, but that doesn’t mean anything. I am supposed to be listening, watching, and learning about this utopian town, and instead, I’m too busy micromanaging the fact that he might be sending me mixed signals.
One minute, I think he’s attracted to me like I’m attracted to him, and the next, everything is different. He’s all business.
I let out a large sigh and reach my arm out to grab my laptop that’s sitting next to my bed.
I open up my notes in Word.
Nothing. There’s also nothing on my recorder.
This is going to be fun when it’s time to write.
Instead of jotting down notes from yesterday, I find myself opening up my browser search engine and typing in Cain Archer’s name.
This time, I know not to look for anything scandalous, so instead, I type in The Elysian along with his name.
His picture comes up, and instantly I regret it. How can I be objective in the article when I’m so attracted to the man?
I pull out my phone and type in his name again.
The strange thing is, on my computer that’s tied into the house’s Wi-Fi, nothing but professional stories come up. But on my phone, while on the open 5G, a boatload of other stories emerge.
The details I wanted earlier are now available to me.
Despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t be doing this, I still find myself clicking the buttons to dig deeper into the strange man. But unlike last time when I focused on his career, this time, I fall down the dark hole.
A path I shouldn’t go down.
I start following a trail about his past relationships.
But the strange thing is, for a man of his caliber, I still don’t find anything. How can a man as handsome as him have no sordid details of a relationship? I see pictures of him at events, but every time, there’s a different woman on his arm.
Never the same woman, which screams commitment-phobe. Something must be wrong with him.
This is not the type of man you hang a dream on or the type of man you fantasize about marrying and having children with.
Hell, I’m not even sure if he’s the type of man you fantasize about having a one-night stand with because it seems he won’t even stay the hour.
If these women meant anything to him other than a quick screw, wouldn’t they be photographed more than once? He’s probably the type of guy to fuck you in the foyer of your apartment and never step inside.
Although for some reason, even thinking of this has my stomach fluttering and my core clenching. No. Layla, this is not the type of man you want.
Plus, more importantly, I cannot harbor feelings for someone I’m leaving in a few days.
Placing the phone down, I look over at the clock and realize I overslept. Cain will be here shortly, and I need to get ready still. I’m not sure what is on tap for the day, but I figure it probably will be a long day seeing as yesterday was.
I don’t want to be uncomfortable, but I also don’t want to look like I just rolled out of bed.
Seeing as he will be here in the next thirty minutes, I don’t have time to wash my hair, so I head into the shower and only turn on the body sprays.
Then, with the speed of a race car driver, I lather up soap and wash super-fast.
My efficiency at rushing is an art.
The number of times I have almost been late to work is not something I should be proud of, but I have become very good at being low maintenance.
The fact is, normally, I don’t oversleep. I’m usually late because I’m busy researching ideas for articles I want to pitch.
Today, I overslept because I spent the night tossing and turning.
Why?
Because I couldn’t get that damn man out of my head.
All I did the whole night was scrutinize every comment he said and the last part that kept me up all night . . .
Good girl.
Yep. One line and I’m a complete goner.
I’m that woman, the woman who goes gaga for a man who calls her a good girl.
The crazy part is, I didn’t expect to go weak in the knees over this.
I had no concept that I would be affected by these words, but my knees went weak, my stomach fluttered, and my damn core clenched.