The One That I Want (Scorned Women Society Book 3) by Piper Sheldon (e book reader android txt) 📕

the majestic beauty as the car pulled up to Donner Lodge. To be honest, it was a lot nicer than I expected. Skip mentioned that they were in the process of renovating. Gretchen pulled up the long driveway surrounded by a lush manicured lawn leading to a large main building painted a fresh farmhouse white. The driveway looped around and a few golf carts were parked waiting to take visitors to their getaway homes.

She put the car in park and turned to me with a dazzling smile. “Listen. Not sure how long you’re gonna be in town, but the Lodge is hosting a movie this Friday at the drive-in. It’s not as exciting as the nightlife in Denver, I’m sure. But it’ll be fun. A bunch of locals. Movie, food, beer. It’ll be fun if you’re looking for a good place to network. I’d be happy to introduce you to some of the bigwigs in town.”

“That’d be great, thanks,” I said and I meant it.

“See ya around.” She winked, but the sneaky smile on her face as she drove away had me wondering.

I wouldn’t worry about that though. Worry was a pointless emotion unless it drove change. I’d learned years ago to not overthink and question everything. Obsessing over facts you couldn’t change was a hamster on a wheel. Best to take life one day at a time. Today, I had a business to save.

Roxy

Along with a full-length selfie, I sent the following message to the SWS group text:

Roxy: Corporate Roxanne asks for her promotion.

In the picture, I looked the complete opposite of the woman I’d been that night in Denver. Every tattoo was covered by my simple black business suit that went to my knees. Even my long hair was twisted into a bun so tight it made my eyes water. I wasn’t exactly comfortable but at least I looked the part. There wasn’t a hint of the Roxy that rode with a motorcycle gang.

Kim: The promotion she earned.

Suzie: Looks great. U got this.

Gretchen: Very corporate, Roxanne.

I frowned at the text, hating how it caused a little twist of nerves in my already nervous belly. Luckily, my friends knew me well and sent a follow-up to boost my confidence.

Gretchen: Knock ’em dead.

I smoothed my plain black skirt and let out a long breath. Hell yes, I deserved this promotion to events coordinator. I’d spent the week trying to get on Vincent Debono’s calendar. Now, almost the end of Friday, he was able to see me.

My hands shook as I slid my phone into my purse. After dropping my bag in my work cubby, I made my way to his temporary office next door to what was formerly Diane Donner’s office. The Dragon Lady—a well-deserved term she’d been dubbed secretly by most of the staff—had originally hired Vincent as a renovation consultant. Since her sudden disappearance, Monsieur Auclair volunteered Vincent into the lead role on the events side of the house. I had hardly interacted with Vincent since he’d been brought in to transform the Lodge into a “Historical Experience Boutique Lodge,” but I hoped to change that today. After the trip to Denver, I’d proven I wanted the best for the Lodge.

I tapped on Vincent’s door immediately wishing that I had knocked with more confidence. Come on, Roxy, you didn’t leave the Wraiths just to be a chicken-livered sissy. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin.

“Come in,” Vincent said.

I pushed open the door to find the small office was strewn with papers and half-open boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner.

“Hello, Mr. Debono. We had an appointment,” I said from the doorway.

He pushed my request to meet back all week. We were to discuss the potential networking opportunities I secured during the hospitality conference. I don’t know that he even had a chance to look at the presentation from my trip, highlighting the most promising prospects.

“Please come in,” he said.

Vincent stood next to a tall cabinet rifling through some folders. He was an inch or two shorter than me, especially in my heels, but his presence was commanding. He was an attractive man, maybe mid-forties, with short cropped hair and thick black-framed glasses. His crisp white shirt was rolled up revealing pretty defined forearms. The gray vest over his shirt was as perfectly tailored as his pants. His dark eyebrows always seemed full of judgment, but I was the last person to blame someone for the impressions their face made. He was from New York and money leaked off him like sap on bark.

“Roxanne Kincaid. I’m sorry we haven’t had much time to meet yet,” he said with a strong Yankee accent as he made his way to his desk. Reaching out to shake my hand, he asked, “What can I do for you?” then gestured for me to sit.

Now, I wasn’t one for a ton of small talk, but this was the South, you didn’t just jump right into things. I had a plan of how this talk was going to go. First I’d made small talk and then oh so casually remind him of all the good I did at the conference, before pitching my ideas for bringing in more business, like this weekend’s drive-in event. Finally, I’d get to the meat-and-potatoes part of the conversation and suggest my promotion to the events coordinator, a new and official position filled by yours truly. I was prepared but his direct question had me feeling like I was weeble wobblin’.

But I wouldn’t fall down.

I cleared my throat, crossed my ankles, and clasped my hands in my lap. If he wanted direct, I could be direct.

“I want to be promoted to the position of events coordinator.”

His thick eyebrows shot up behind his glasses before they smoothed back down, the rest of his face expressionless. He glanced to the stacks of paper on the desk, looking for something. “Events coordinator?”

“It would be a new title and position for the Lodge but a needed one,” I explained.

“Remind me of your