Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Thanks to this week’s approaching winter storm—The “Snow-pocalypse,” my flight to Colorado Springs is now on its third delay.
I don't care, though.
It could get delayed for two more days and that's still plenty of time to make it home to my grandmother’s world-renowned resort.
As I’m flipping through a copy of Southern Gardens, my phone sounds.
Georgia.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Hello, favorite cousin and best friend in the whole wide world!”
“What have you done?”
“Nothing at all.” There’s a smile in her voice. “I’m just calling to say that I can’t wait to see you.”
“No, really. What have you done?”
“I had to change your room, so you’ll be staying elsewhere at the resort when you get here.”
“I’m not getting the SugarPlum Suite?”
“No, a VIP couple bumped you from the list, unfortunately,” she says. “Your brand-new suite is just as nice, I swear. I decorated every inch of it myself and gave you extra amenities.”
“Who’s this so-called VIP couple?”
“You know I can’t reveal private guest information.”
“Who is it?”
“Um…”
“It better not be you and your fiance, Georgia.”
“What?” She sucks in a huge, dramatic breath. “I would never bump my favorite cousin out of a room for Dominic.”
“That’s exactly what you would do. Is that true?”
Her laughter and abrupt hang up tells me all I need to know.
“Attention, loyal travelers of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport,” a loud voice suddenly comes over the speakers. “Due to a federal weather advisory, all flights are now cancelled. Please remain at your designated gate for updates.”
A collective groan echoes through the airport.
I bite my tongue to suppress a scream.
Tapping my screen, I check to see how long it would take to drive to Colorado Springs.
Twenty hours and nine minutes.
Ugh… The growing line at the car rental counter kills that plan instantly, and I know better than to try to drive my poor excuse of a car anywhere that takes longer than an hour.
I let out a sigh and call the smartest person I know.
Georgia’s older sister, Savannah.
“This is Savannah Grey speaking,” she answers before it even rings.
“Hey Savannah, I need to pick your brain for a minute,” I say. “I’m going through some things with my boss and my job and I desperately need to get home for the holidays, but flights are cancelled. What would you do if you were me?”
Silence.
“Savannah?”
“Hold on.” A keyboard clacks in the background. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to word this email.”
“I’m calling you because this is a personal emergency.”
“No, this email is an emergency.” She continues clacking away, showing me that her workaholic tendencies will never fade. “I can’t say ‘depose.’ That comes off way too formal, right?”
I hang up and call Georgia again.
“I made your suite super nice,” she answers. “Trust me.”
“That’s not why I’m calling,” I say. “The airport just grounded all flights, so give me a list of ways to get home.”
“You could drive.”
“That’s out.”
“You could take an Uber.”
“We’ll make that my last resort.”
“You could take a…” Her voice trails off, and I know better than to ask her to finish that sentence.
I’ll never board a train again, no matter how desperate the situation may seem.
“You could always wait a few days,” she says. “The storm is supposed to be really bad, but once it’s over I’m sure the flights will resume.”
“I can’t be in this city for another second,” I say. “I need some real advice here.”
“What do you want me to say?” She scoffs. “Steal a car and drive it here?”
“No, but—” I suddenly remember that I have the spare key for one of our company’s’ guest cars. “I’ll call you right back.”
The airport tram rattles against the tracks and my phone keeps buzzing with calls and texts from work.
As far as I’m concerned, as long as my team is aware of my plans, there’s no point in picking up for James until I’m at least two hundred miles away.
“Now stopping at the parking garage,” the system announces. “Please use caution when stepping off the platform.”
The doors slide open and I rush off like my life depends on it.
Near the back row sits a line of cars specifically reserved for Magnolia Marketing.
I pull out the key fob and hit unlock, but none of them sound.
Walking down the row, I get as close as I can while hitting the button, but nothing sounds.
Flipping out the key, I move car by car, jiggling handles until the orange Lamborghini gives way.
Perfect.
Weeee! Weeee! Weeee!
It screams and flashes into panic mode, echoing against the concrete walls.
“No, no, no….” I press the unlock button repeatedly. “Shut up, shut up!”
I pound my fist against the steering wheel, but the alerts grow louder.
An elderly couple eyes me with suspicion as they approach a grey town car, so I smile and wave.
They don’t wave back.
“Oh my god, shut up…” I tap the dashboard. “Please, please. I have your keys. Why are you doing this to me?”