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

31. Carter

31

CARTER

I f someone had told me six months ago that I would be let go from Legacy, I would’ve thought they were insane.

One meeting has turned my life completely upside down. I’m jobless for the first time since I was a kid and, honestly? I don’t hate it. Not one bit. While it sucks that I wasn’t made partner and that all that work I’d put into Legacy hasn’t amounted to what I’d hoped it would, I feel genuinely excited for what’s to come. I’m embarking on a new adventure, a new phase of my life—and I can’t wait to see where it leads.

And I know why.

It’s Eden. She’s made all the difference. She’d strutted into my life with those green eyes and those laughing lips, kicking the door of my heart down with her cheerful personality and breathtaking beauty. She brought with her that infinite ray of sunshine and kindness she carries around and has made me see things in a new light. I have something, someone, in my life who loves and cares about me.

What my aunt said now makes sense. To have someone like that, someone to be there for you through thick and thin is life changing.

But as happy as I am that she’s staying, I’m also concerned.

I’ve noticed that on top of being exhausted, she hasn’t been saying much unless I strike up a conversation first. Even then it’s quick, usually one-word answers. Clearly, something is bothering her. She’s always upbeat and positive—to see her quiet and withdrawn makes my concern jump to outright worry.

Worst of all, I’ve seen some of the sadness return to her eyes. Even the morning’s humming through the apartment and singing in the shower has stopped. Funny enough, it’s something I find myself missing. And I’d given her so much shit about it. Is she having second thoughts? About me? About us?

Or is work getting to her?

While I appreciate her work ethic, I know how thoughtless the company can be in that regard, and I don’t want her to hurt herself trying to please them. She’s been working too hard. Everyone needs a break from time to time, and she’s no exception. I gave years to that place, and they wrote me off without a care. I don’t want the same thing to happen to Eden.

Ever since word has spread that I’ve left Legacy, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I’m receiving job offers left and right.

Several construction giants have reached out to me and shown interest in having me on their staff. I’ve agreed to meet with two. Thorne Architects. Humphries Properties. The work seems interesting on paper, but I need to learn more. After all the time and work I put into Legacy, I’m not about to take the first job that falls into my lap. I know my skills and my worth, and I’m determined to only accept opportunities that align with my capabilities.

I haven’t talked with Eden about it yet, but there’s another reason why I’ve been declining most of the other interviews. I’ve given my career a lot of thought, and I’ve realized that in any new place I join, any job I take will require starting over in some capacity. After everything I’ve been through, I honestly don’t want to start over. I want more.

But I take the interviews to keep my options open. I don’t want to decide without exploring what’s out there.

By the end of the first meeting, my brain is elsewhere. While the company has their ducks in a row and I see a lot of potential, the prospect doesn’t sound even remotely challenging. The company wants me to manage their sales team, and also implement the same strategies and changes I had put into practice at Legacy. True, they pay a lot and there are many perks. But for what? To redo what I’ve already accomplished? No, thanks.

The main thing I loved about my job at Legacy was providing my expertise in the construction field, and making solid decisions based on my knowledge. Being fired hasn’t taken any of that away. Former clients and friends are texting and emailing me asking for that advice. What if I start my own company? Clearly there’s a market for it. Then I could focus on what I want to focus on instead of what some board dictates.

The idea is in its infancy, and I can’t wait to present it to Eden. It’s funny. Not too long ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about deciding what to do. I have the space, the time, and the money. I could start my own company. But I don’t have just myself to worry about anymore. I have Eden. She’s my partner. My decisions affect her just as much as they affect me. I find myself wanting to share it with her, wanting to get her opinion and thoughts because I value what she has to say.

I love her. I love her more than I have ever loved anyone.

And I want the best for her. If she decides to give us a chance, I’m going to make sure she never wants for anything for the rest of her life.

She’s a girl I know I could steal horses with.

Through thick and thin.

I need to show her how serious I am about her, about us.

I want to avoid any possibility of doubts or hesitation on her part that could jeopardize our relationship, particularly considering the numerous uncertainties she’s faced in her past.

She had been dumped at the altar, her dream shattered, and shortly thereafter, I’d asked her to fake marry me.

It’s up to me to make things right.

After the second interview, I hop on my motorcycle and pull out my phone to call Eden. I want to say hi. Hear her voice. Tell her that the interview took longer than expected—even though I left as quickly as possible without appearing impolite—and that I’m on my way. She doesn’t pick up. She’s probably chatting with Hattie.

Before I can text her, I get a message from Bradley.

All it says is:

Call me.

Shit. That doesn’t sound good. I hit dial, and it only rings once before it goes to voice mail. I leave him a message saying that I can’t reach him.

I kick down.

Everything is still up in the air. Eden is the one thing I have to “nail down,” and not in the bedroom. I want—no, need her with me, always. While the future is unclear, one thing is evident: She has to be an integral part of it. The rest will unfold in due time. First, I have to stop by the jewelry store. Next, I need to visit our local bakery.

Time to celebrate.

When I get home, cupcake box in hand, Hattie pokes her head out and tries to greet me. I hurry past her, glad that I don’t have the time to stop. I’m not a monster—I’m busy, knee-deep in things to tackle. I need to talk with Eden. I need to ask her something important. Putting everything else out of my mind, I unlock the door and head inside.

In the apartment, everything is quiet.

“Eden?”

Something seems off. Without taking off my boots or anything else, I march straight to our bedroom, hoping she’s maybe gone to bed.

She’s not in bed.

She’s not in the bathroom either, or on the balcony. She’s not in the laundry room.

I rush to the gym. It’s empty. When she first moved in, I’d given her an earful on how it was off-limits during my sessions, how it would throw off my entire routine. Just this morning, I thought how I yearn for nothing more than to have her by my side, and not just in our gym or singing loudly in the shower, but everywhere we go, accompanying me throughout all my endeavors, extending to every aspect of our lives.

She’s not in the guest suite either. “Eden, baby girl, where are you?”

I rush back to our bedroom.

That’s when I finally notice. All her stuff is gone. Her clothes, her shoes, all her bags.

She’s left.

What. The. Fuck.

She ran away?

She ran away from me ?

Here I was, thinking we were fucking happy, and she’s run off? What the hell has happened?

Rushing around like a madman, cupcake box in one hand, fishing for my phone with the other, I check every single room of the apartment. I dial her number, but she doesn’t pick up.

Blood rushes in my ears as I try to comprehend, make sense of the situation.

What had happened in my absence to make her flee without saying a word?

Has she seriously made up her mind about us?

I shouldn’t have waited to tell her how I feel—instead, I should have made sure there was no fucking doubt in her mind that she was my woman. My heart lodges in my throat, and I instinctively straighten up.

I rush out and knock at Hattie’s door.

“Where’s Eden?” I ask, noticing her lingering just beyond the cracked door, but it swings wide immediately.

“She left about twenty minutes ago. With all her belongings in tow, by the looks of things.”

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“I’m afraid she didn’t, love. She seemed pretty upset. It’s quite possible she has returned home to her sister’s, I presume? Gosh, what’s happ?—”

I’m already running down the stairs, realizing that the damn parcel from the bakery is still in my hands. What the fuck , Eden?

Her car is gone.

I storm to my bike. Before hopping on, I stuff the cupcake box in the saddlebag. I kick down. Damn cupcakes. If I hadn’t made a detour to get them, I wouldn’t have missed her.

I haul ass.

Has she really fucking gone back to Maine?

It’s cloudy, and as if to mock me, it starts raining. Heavily. Thick drops of rain are soaking through my jacket and jeans as I race at full throttle.

I’m facing a long and arduous drive, made even more challenging by the fucking rain.

After covering numerous miles, I drive past the motel we’d stayed at when we’d first met. My gut churns at the memory.

I waste no time thinking back, my focus returning to spotting a small blue car on the road ahead of me.

Maine: 451 miles.

A part of me knows how foolish it is to search for a blue car in a metropolis like New York, but the thought of never seeing Eden again makes me lose all sense of reason. I have to make her understand that she and I belong together.

With the onset of night, the task grows steadily harder.