I don’t know why she matters so much to me, but she does. And now she’s marching through the trees beside me and all she wants to do is be done with me. She’s even willing to give up the inheritance money to get away from me.

This is what I do. I drive valuable, important women away from me. Women are willing to leave behind great wealth just to flee from me. I could almost laugh out loud.

I’m completely unwanted.

We walk for a little over a half hour—in tense silence—until I see the inn in the distance. At first, I’m relieved. But then I see two figures out back and I bite back a curse.

Levi and Ellen.

Of course Ellen and Levi are out back when I’m trotting up to the inn with a girl chained to my wrist. I swear to God, it’s like I’m trying to ruin my questionable reputation. Or at least keep it intact.

They look like they’re having a deep conversation. Good. Maybe Kayla and I can sneak past them without being noticed. That would be good. Levi and I aren’t exactly pals right now. Or ever.

The last time I saw him, Levi was choking me on Monique’s hood because I’d tried to drive drunk—with his girlfriend, Pixie, as my captive. Needless to say, Levi’s not one of my biggest fans.

His eyes shoot to mine. Ah, hell. I hate the way he’s staring at me, and I hate the way Ellen is now staring at Kayla. And I hate myself for bringing all this on.

“Daren?” Ellen takes a step forward as we near.

“Uh, hi.” I smile sheepishly and start to wave with my cuffed hand, causing Kayla’s wrist to yank up with mine.

She whips her arm down and hisses, “Use your other hand.”

“What the hell…?” Levi stares horrified at me and points to Kayla. “Did you kidnap this girl?”

“What? No!” I say. “Hell, no. You think I wanted to be handcuffed to this girl?”

Kayla glares at me. “Oh. Like I wanted to be chained to you?” She rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Ellen looks around in confusion. “And where you guys came from?”

I sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“It’s a stupid story,” Kayla corrects. She sneers and my anger bubbles up.

I glare at her. “Are you incapable of shutting up for even a second?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps back, raising our cuffed wrists. “You’ll have to excuse my bad mood. I’ve been attached to a douche bag for two days.”

“And who are you?” Ellen asks.

She holds out her free hand. “I’m Kayla.”

“Ellen.” Ellen slowly shakes her hand, glancing between the two of us.

Kayla cuts her eyes back to me. “See how I used my non-cuffed hand to do that? It’s not rocket science.”

I narrow my eyes at her before turning back to Ellen. “Is Angelo here?”

Ellen hesitates. “Uh, yeah…”

“Excellent. If anyone can get us out of these things, it’ll be him. Come on.” I pull Kayla by the cuffs to the back door and inside the inn—while she mutters death threats and curse words at me—and walk us through the lobby and into the dining room.

Angelo is behind the bar, right where I thought he’d be, wiping it down with a white rag. His bar is always ridiculously clean, but still the guy insists on polishing its surface day in and day out.

He looks up from his shiny bar top, glances at our cuffed wrists, then goes back to wiping like seeing a guy chained to a girl is an everyday occurrence for him.

“Looks like you two had an interesting day,” he says.

“Something like that,” I say. “You don’t by any chance have a pair of bolt cutters here, do you?”

“At the inn?” Angelo laughs gruffly and shakes his head. “We ain’t got no bolt cutters here.”

I curse under my breath and see Kayla’s shoulders slump from the corner of my eye.

“But if you’re trying to get out of those handcuffs, I might be able to help,” Angelo says, waving at our metal manacles.

“Really?” I say.

He nods at a nearby dining table. “Sit down and put your wrists on the table.”

We do as we’re told and Angelo walks up, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out a leather case. Pulling out a thin tool with a hook on the end, he shoves the case back into his pocket and slips the hook tool into the lock on the cuffs.

I’m not at all surprised that Angelo carries a lock-picking kit in his back pocket. Because why wouldn’t a guy tote a shady tool kit around in his back pocket?

First he pulls the broken bobby pin from the lock, then ten seconds later our cuffs pop open and we’re free. Just like that. Where was Angelo two days ago when I wanted to pull my hair out and pee in private?

“There you go,” Angelo says. He smiles at Kayla. “Sorry you were attached to this schmuck.”

She half-smiles back. “Me too,” she says, but there’s no venom in her voice.

Her eyes meet mine in a sad exchange, both of us feeling remorse but neither of us brave enough to apologize.

We nod our thanks to Angelo and leave the dining room and enter the lobby, where Ellen is behind the front desk. When she sees us, she lifts her brows.

“I see you found Angelo and were able to… untangle yourselves,” she says, nodding at our unchained wrists.

Kayla shifts away from me, like she’s just realized she’s no longer bound to my side and can now put space between us. That hurts.

“Yeah.” Rubbing my wrist, I clear my throat. “Hey, um… I know this is unprofessional, and probably crossing the line, but I was wondering if maybe you might—”

“Of course you can stay here tonight,” she says then looks at her computer.

“Seriously?” Gratitude and relief flood my veins.

“Seriously,” she says. “But I only have one room available. Is that going to be a problem?” She looks first at Kayla then me.

“Uh…” I glance at Kayla, who quickly looks away.

“That won’t be a problem at all,” Kayla says.

I look at Ellen and pinch out a smile. “Right.”

No problem at all.

31 Kayla

When Daren said he worked at an inn, I pictured something like the Quickie Stop. Something with doors on the outside, peeling wallpaper, and chipping paint.

But the Willow Inn is cute, and even kind of quaint. It sort of reminds me of every inn I’ve ever read about in a book or seen on TV. It has a very “Sweet Home Alabama” feel to it and there are dozens of purple flowers in the field out back.

Ellen seems nice. She looks nothing at all like what I pictured Daren’s boss to be. She’s sexy and confident, and she smiles at me like she actually cares. And not once has she looked me up and down, sizing me up like most women do upon meeting me. That alone makes me want to hug her.

She hands us our room key and Daren leads the way. I trail a few steps behind him, my eyes fixed on his broad back. It’s weird to be anywhere other than at his side. It’s weird to be free of the handcuffs. Nothing about the tension between us feels liberating at all.

By the time we reach the top of the staircase and get into room number seven, I’m exhausted and eager for a shower—one without a guy attached to my wrist.

Thinking about last night makes my heart ache and my throat close in. I swallow and blink and wring my hands, not sure what to do with myself. I’ve never felt so torn up by a guy before.

Daren flicks on the light switch. The room is really cute, with pale green walls and honey maple furniture. A king-size bed sits against the far wall, flanked by two nightstands. A chaise lounge is positioned under the large bedroom window and off to the side is a bathroom with vintage faucets, a walk-in shower, and a claw-foot bathtub.

“You can take a shower first,” he says, not looking at me.

I shift my weight. “That’s okay. You can go—”

“No, really. You go first,” he says firmly.

I silently roll my suitcase into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The moment it latches shut, I let out a long breath and lean against the door. Daren shouldn’t matter so much to me. He shouldn’t. But here I am in this sweet little bathroom wishing I could go back in time and undo all the damage of the day.