Page 10 of Undeniably Unexpected (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires #6)

“ W hy are you staring at your closet like it’s about to solve all your problems?”

“Fashion always solves problems, Kenna.”

“Is this your way of saying you’re going shopping. Because if you are, I think that’s cruel.”

I glance over my shoulder as my sister brushes her teeth, her bathrobe pulled tightly around her and her wet red hair hanging limply at her shoulders. “Without you? Never.”

I don’t know why I’m awake this early. Habit, I guess. I stayed awake last night, trying to teach myself to dictate, and I didn’t do so well with it. It was a lot of stuttering over words and a lot of ums and yeahs and ands. Plus, I need better software to convert it to my document.

This is after I got a reply from the publishing house with a contract for me to peruse and sign.

They adjusted the deadlines to allow for a little more wiggle room, but not much, and once I sign it, they’re going to get working on edits for book one.

This broken wrist and hand really came at the worst possible moment.

I sent the contract off to my attorney, but now I’m starting to freak out a bit.

I should tell them no. I should focus on the end of my residency and healing my broken bones, but I can’t make myself send that email. I want this. I want this so fucking badly, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with my current life.

Scenes from my unwritten book unfurl in my mind like a movie reel.

Forbidden love. Tangled mates. A smoldering vampire who fights his primal instinct.

His touch both a promise of ecstasy and a threat of destruction.

His gray eyes and tattooed arms… wait, what?

When did my vampire start looking like Loomis?

Nope. Not doing that or going there. That shit stops now.

“Have you ever looked at your closet and realized you have no idea what to do about your life? Like, you feel it should hold all the answers and tell you exactly who you are, but it’s just… blank. Just clothes and shoes and bags that can’t tell you anything you need them to.”

“Um, no, but I think your existential crisis is because this has been the most chaotic and stressful week of your life, and that’s saying a lot. Have you spoken to Alden again?”

“No.” I’ve been ignoring his texts and calls.

“What about Loomis?”

I shake my head. “Not since I saw him a couple of days ago.”

Kenna’s got a real bee in her bonnet about the men not in my life, and I regret telling her I ran into Loomis.

Twice. I didn’t tell her about Fen, obviously, and I didn’t tell her about his let’s get married proposal.

That threw me for a loop for a minute. I know it was a joke, but his demeanor when he said it was entirely too serious.

And the way my stupid heart bounced isn’t something I’m proud of or looking to have happen again.

“I just… I’m thinking maybe I’ll get away for a few days or a week or something. My head is all over the place, and this isn’t who I am, Kenna.”

“You mean because you don’t know how to be spontaneous and just go with the flow?”

I glare. “I know how to be spontaneous.”

“Name one time.”

My mouth opens and abruptly shuts.

She points her toothbrush at me as if to say, gotcha there . “I think it’s a great idea if you get away. Go somewhere and clear your head and get your creative juices flowing.”

I throw her a dubious look over my shoulder. “You think I should turn it down.”

She shakes her head adamantly. “Absolutely not. You’re too talented for that.”

“It’s a ridiculous, nonsensical dream, Kenna.”

“You mean having a successful small business that you love? That doesn’t sound ridiculous or nonsensical to me.”

“I spent four years of premed in college, four years of medical school, and I’m in my fourth year of residency.

That’s twelve years of education. Of blood, sweat, and tears—literally.

That’s what I should be focused on. Not being an author when I haven’t even told most of the people in my life that I am. ”

“You could, though. You should even.”

I frown before I can stop it. I did that once. I told someone I thought I could trust with it, and he bashed my heart, faith, and confidence in one blow. This is why boyfriends suck and fictional men are way better.

“You’re so worried about doing the wrong thing or making a mistake, Keegs.

So fixated on what other people think of you.

What Mom and Dad and Grandma think of you.

Yes, I know you told Travis, and he was an asshole.

But he was an insecure prick who didn’t have the balls to chase his own dreams, so he shit on yours.

Not everyone will be like that. You work your ass off night and day, harder than anyone I know, and it’s still not enough for you. ”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that maybe all these things are happening at once as a way to push you to step out of your comfort zone, say fuck it to the world, and take a chance on yourself. You have nothing to hide and everything to be proud of.”

I can’t respond because she’s right, and I hate that she’s right.

I know this. I’m proud of myself and what I write, but that doesn’t mean others will be too.

It’s easier to keep the secret than to explain it and face disapproval.

Trust me. I’ve been there. As she said, my ex, Travis was an asshole.

I puff out a breath. “I have a broken wrist and approximately five months left of my residency. I have boards to study for and take. I don’t have time to be an author.”

“Or maybe you need to figure out where your heart and passion truly lie and make adjustments around it.” With that, she walks away to get ready for her shift at Brigham and Women’s, where she’s a pediatric neuropsychiatrist, and I’m left here with my closet like it’ll answer all of my questions if I stare long enough.

My lips twist into a scowl. I think I just need some time away to really think and figure this out.

It feels nearly impossible to do that here.

I can’t just sit in this apartment, and I can’t go to work.

I did two telehealth visits yesterday, but I had trouble documenting in the patients’ charts, and truth be told, I don’t want to sit here for six weeks doing that.

Plus, Alden is everywhere here. His ghost is imprinted all over my bed.

It’s like I can’t escape him either, and legit, what could he possibly want to talk to me about?

When someone breaks up with you because they don’t love you back, that’s it. You shouldn’t be forced to see them after that.

With a heavy sigh, I strip down and throw on some running clothes.

Maybe a jog will help. It’s sunny and not too cold today.

That is until I run straight into Alden as I exit my building.

Literally. It’s like my mind conjured him up again and spat him out at me.

Only he’s not the only thing being spat at me.

He was attempting to open the front door since I obviously forgot to get my fob back from him, balancing two coffees in one hand, and I had my head down as I searched for my running mix on my phone. I didn’t see him, and he didn’t see me.

We plowed straight into each other, and the two cups he had been precariously holding smashed straight into my chest, right on my boobs. And now I’m covered in coffee. Again. Hot coffee this time, though thankfully, it’s not hot enough to burn me.

Jesus Christ. Can’t a girl catch a break this week?

Okay, I didn’t mean that literally.

I stare balefully down at my chest, the cloying scent of hazelnut and French roast mocking me.

“Shit, Keegan. I’m so sorry. Crap, look out.” Alden grabs my shoulder and yanks me forward so the heavy building door doesn’t bump into my back. “Are you okay? I didn’t see you. Did you get burned?”

“No. Not burned.” Just wet and hot and cold and annoyed all at the same time.

Ugh. “That makes three, right?” I mumble to myself as I do some mental math.

He broke up with me, I slipped and fell and broke my wrist and hand, and now this.

That makes three, especially if we cluster my last coffee incident and ruined coat with this one.

I’m hoping that means I’m done, and Karma will sail on and leave me the fuck alone.

“I deliver babies. I save lives. I’m a nice person, dammit! ”

“Huh? Wait, what happened to your wrist?”

“I fell the other night and broke it,” I say absently, staring down at my boobs that, even with my sports bra, make it look like I entered a wet T-shirt contest. And lost since this is coffee and not water, and it’s forty-two degrees outside in Boston instead of eighty in Miami during spring break. I’m not even making sense anymore.

He cups my chin and lifts it until I look at him. “How’d you break it? Do you need surgery?”

It’s kind of funny. He was there right after I broke it, and not only did he not notice I was gingerly holding my wrist that night, he didn’t see that I had a coat covered in frap.

Was he always this oblivious? I didn’t notice until now.

I fell for him hook, line, and sinker, and fast too. So smart and funny and charming.

And he wanted me.

The girl with a lot of extra curves and not a lot of straight lines. So unlike the women he dated between our relationships.

He goes for my wrist, gently taking the brace in his hand and turning my arm this way and that as he examines me. I pull my wrist free of his grip, and he frowns like I just sucker-punched him. Is he kidding me with that?

“I fell outside the café the other night right before you got there. It’s nondisplaced and nonsurgical. Four to six weeks, and I should be right as rain. Or coffee.” I snort. I think I’ve officially lost it.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me? That’s awful. I would have brought you to the hospital.”

“That’s why I didn’t say anything.” I give him a duh look. “Why are you here? Why are you coming to see me at the hospital, my coffee shop, and now here?”