A Bossy Roommate (Next Door to a Billionaire #2)

2. Eden

2

EDEN

MONDAY MORNING

H is clothes are gone. His helmet is gone. All that he left is the manly scent on his pillow.

Leather.

Musk.

A zesty hint of orange.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I should have known the jerk wouldn’t be here when I woke up. There was nothing about last night that made me think it was anything other than a one-time thing.

No kiss. Not even a peck.

It was just raw, filthy hot sex.

Still, I’m pissed to find the spot next to me empty. What a dick! He couldn’t even stick around to say goodbye?

It’s not like I was going to suggest we get breakfast and eat cupcakes or anything.

I’ve just arrived in New York City, all set to start a fresh chapter. I know I’m not the first girl to be left at the altar. But discovering your ex-fiancé wiped out your joint bank accounts? That’s a new low, even by my standards. A girl can only take so much.

I’m over Rob. My ex.

Yet I can still see the church ladies exchanging whispers as they watched me standing there alone in my white dress, their gazes filled with pitying glances and outright stares. Rude . After what seemed like a gazillion years of waiting, I finally made my grand exit, sprinting like my gown had burst into flames, unable to face another living soul. Little did they know, in that very moment, a dream shattered within me.

I could have done without a grand wedding. Or an over-the-top cake. Or a gown straight out of a fairy tale. What had devastated and sent me spiraling into a deep abyss had been something else entirely. I believed Rob and I would grow old together. “’Til the end of all days” wasn’t just a cliché to me—no, I really believed in it. Marrying the man who loved me unconditionally (and vice versa)—that’s what I always dreamed of.

See? Now you know why I need a change. When I was offered an apartment to stay in, rent free, for six months, I jumped at the chance.

And onto him.

Carter Donovan.

That’s what he introduced himself to me as.

In my defense—he was darkly handsome, and said all the words I desperately needed to hear. Honestly, it took very little convincing for me to invite him into my bed. I mean, really, why not go for it? If anyone deserved a night of crazy hot sex, it was me—or so I thought.

Now, gazing at the vacant bedside, all I wish is for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

I haven’t had sex like that in months . Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had sex like that. His hands, his mouth, his dirty words…just thinking about it is sparking a delightful flutter between my thighs.

It was on a whim that I met him, my one-night stand. Carter.

I had finished a nearly six-hour drive from my childhood home in Ellsworth, a small city in Maine, to NYC. It was dark by the time I arrived, but I still marveled at the city lights. With my apartment not ready until later today, I opted to spend the night in a cheap motel. Little did I know, my night was about to take a sweeter turn.

His presence? Breathtaking. Commanding. He owned the room without even trying. Broad-shouldered, dressed in a blend of rugged charm and sophistication, with black biker boots that screamed “I’ve seen some things.” And that dark hair? Tousled just right, framing an unforgettable jawline—a jawline that clearly maintained a twelve o’clock shadow, regardless of how recently he had shaved. But what truly captivated me? His eyes, hidden behind long lashes, finally lifting from his phone.

I glance at the clock.

It’s almost ten minutes before six. The last thing I want is to be late on my first day, and I need to get ready. I want to start my first day at work refreshed and motivated.

“At least I don’t have to do the walk of shame,” I say aloud, sitting up in the squeaky bed. “There’s always a silver lining.”

I refuse to dwell on some jerk ditching me.

Last night was a whirlwind of fun, a temporary escape from reality. Judging by the soreness between my legs, I’ll definitely be thinking about it for a while—ouch!

What I won’t think about is him. Today marks a new beginning.

It’s all about moving forward and leaving the past where it belongs: in the rearview mirror. The thrill of finally being here, of finally having the chance to experience the Big Apple, is as strong as it was when I first made my decision. I’d always wanted to go to New York City, but Rob never shared my enthusiasm. Despite my numerous attempts, he consistently brushed off any plans I proposed for us. So, since he isn’t in my life anymore, this is the perfect time to do what I’ve always dreamed of.

My sister, fifteen years my senior, thinks I’m crazy (which, to be fair, might have some merit), and refused to help me financially, not that I’ve asked her. I still have some pride. Also, it’s not as though she has the financial capability, even if she had entertained the thought (which she did not).

“You have a job and life here,” she said when I told her of my plans. “I don’t see how running away to New York is going to change anything.”

“I’m not running away,” I insisted, easing her concerns by offering to help find a temporary replacement. “Just wait six months. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Having to go back to living with my sister in my childhood room after everything that had happened had been the worst part of the entire experience, worse than being left penniless. Following our parents’ passing, my sister and her husband had moved into the small family home.

She held a deep dislike for Rob and had been vehemently against our relationship, and even more so, our marriage. I’d been too much in love to see what she had. Too blinded by love. I was so ready to be Rob’s wife, to start a family with the man I loved. Until the rug had been pulled out from underneath me.

Seven years of my life—wasted on someone who never wanted the happily ever after with me. But amid the wreckage, thankfully, I made at least one smart decision. Before heading to NYC, I’d emailed an attorney for a free consultation. If she decides to take my case, it could mean a chance to reclaim at least some of my money. But deep down, I don’t have high hopes. Until her reply, I’m determined to erase the damn scammer from my mind.

I’m not going to let him ruin my day.

And I’m not going to let my one-night stand ruin it either.

“I’m swearing off men for good.” I get out of bed and stretch. “No more men. Period ,” I say, forcing myself to ignore the wobbliness in my muscles—muscles that had had the best workout last night. “Okay, not for good, of course, that’s too dramatic. But for a very, very , very long time. Six months minimum!”

Six months. The time I plan to be in NYC before returning home.

This city, teeming with countless individuals, offers the perfect environment to sharpen my instincts, to become better at reading people. The fact that I misjudged Rob to such an extent has dealt a serious blow to my confidence. But I refuse to let it dampen my optimism. Six months away from home presents the perfect window for me to rebuild my self-esteem, regain my confidence, and return home prepared to join forces with my older sister.

I’m grateful that at least two kind souls in their seventies, Kate and her husband, Lewis, family friends of my late parents, reached out to me to offer support. They had been some of the first to RSVP to our wedding. After everything happened, I wasn’t expecting to hear from anybody, so when they called and told me they felt at a loss for words over Rob’s actions, it was a comforting surprise.

Despite his true nature, Rob is widely adored by people (save for my sister), but Kate and Lewis were compassionate enough to examine the situation more closely, especially in the aftermath of what occurred.

Lewis used his contacts in NYC to get me a job interview via phone with Legacy Builders, a prestigious construction firm in Manhattan that needed an administrative assistant. I hadn’t been able to get out of my PJs for days, but thanks to Zoom, I was hired by HR anyway. But the real stroke of luck was when Lewis and Kate offered their already-furnished apartment for me to stay rent free, so long as I took care of the place. Apparently, the current resident, an older lady, had unexpectedly decided to move out on the tenth. And, as even more luck would have it, Kate and her husband weren’t able to find anyone suitable to move in until my time there was over.

“You’d be doing us a favor. We’d rather it not sit empty,” Kate said when they took me out to lunch to present the offer, and I insisted that I couldn’t possibly say yes. “It’s the least we can do. If you want it, it’s yours.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I was close to tears, emotional over their generosity. “I don’t really have much…”

“We know,” Lewis said. “Don’t worry about rent. You need help until you get back on your feet, and we’re more than happy to provide it.”

He forced the spare key to the apartment into my hands.

And just like that, the stage for my comeback was set.

The motel I’m staying at is the only one within my budget. While it may not boast luxury, it offers comfort, affordability…and a truly unique experience.

“It’s my time.” I repeat the words I said to my sister as I squeeze toothpaste onto my brush. “I’m a bad bitch, and I’m going to show everyone—including myself—how a bad bitch bounces back after a bad breakup.”

And I believe it with my whole heart.

“You do that.” My sister had sighed in disbelief and pulled me into an unhappy hug.

It takes a while for the water to heat up in the shower, and even then, it’s lukewarm. I don’t mind. I find it refreshing, and it helps wash away any lingering headache. (Too much sugar yesterday.)

Selecting my favorite pencil skirt with an elegant light-blue button-up blouse, I get dressed. While my brown hair is still wet, I twist it and pin it up into a sleek bun.

Instinctively, I go to grab my necklace from my jewelry bag before I remember I don’t have it anymore. Rob gave it to me on our first anniversary. After the whole altar-dumping-and-bank-account-clearing event, I took it straight to the pawnshop. That, and my engagement ring. The money I got from it had paid for my road trip. It feels weird not to have it after wearing it nearly every day for such a long time.

I leave my neck bare and put on a little foundation, a little mascara, and nude lipstick.

With my head held high and pride in every step, I execute my absolute best walk from the motel—far from any hint of a walk of shame. Confidence is key.

After throwing my stuff into Kiki’s trunk (my beloved blue 2012 Kia Rio), I climb in and wince when my eyes land on the gas gauge—just over a quarter of a tank left. Hopefully I won’t get stuck in morning traffic too long. I still need to find my way there, and in the evening, all the way to my new kick-ass NYC apartment.

After that, I’ll figure something out.

With rock music blaring and me singing along to Destiny’s Child’s “Survivor,” I plug my new work address into the GPS and peel out of my parking spot. The sun is warm, and the sky is the brightest blue I’ve seen in a while. No need to plead with Kiki’s temperamental windshield wipers like I did the day before when an unexpected shower forced me to pull over and wait patiently until it passed.

Everything looks great. Sure, the traffic is terrible, and there are some daredevil drivers out here, but it gives me a chance to familiarize myself with the road and nearby businesses.

Unscathed by any obstacles, I reach the office building.