It was 4 a. m. when Annie fell asleep. She had tried to finish Beggar’s Choice, but even after four cups of coffee, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. When she awoke, she found the last page she was read was stuck to her cheek.
The deck of Secrets Kept was barely lit when it eased into port. Annie thought the man leaning against the rails might be Richard, but he was hunched over with his head bowed as if it were too heavy to hold upright.
Heavy traffic caused Annie to arrive at the yacht club later than planned. She lifted her suitcase from the trunk and wheeled it to where Secrets Kept should have been berthed but wasn’t.
“I don’t wish to be disturbed,” Brooke said to her assistant using the intercom function on her phone. Brooke thought she was agitated because she was impatient to hear what happened with Bertie and Annie, Brooke knew that wasn’t the real reason for her anxiety.
Jackson, Bertie, and Annie rode the two hours back to where they left the jet skis. They said goodbye to Maddie, Brownie, and Jackson.
When Annie came upstairs for dinner, she was wearing a light-blue, silk pajama jumpsuit. She had shopped online for hours before finding an outfit that was stylish and sexy.
Annie was surprised when Bertie called that afternoon considering that she had rejected him less than 48 hours earlier. If he had any qualms about a second date, his voice didn’t betray him.
Annie walked with purpose from her car to her office on the seventh floor. Normally on a Monday morning she would check her emails and text messages before getting herself a cup of coffee from the break room. Instead, she dropped her briefcase on her desk and headed to Bridget Bachman’s office.
Annie opened her eyes and out of habit reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. She couldn’t believe she was still in bed at 10:30. She hadn’t slept late in years. She did, however, know why. At least from what she remembered.
The date recovered because Annie found Bertie attractive even if she didn’t believe a word he spoke. She decided to stay because it was a two-and-a-half-hour drive home, and she wasn’t ready to get behind the wheel of her car.
If she were home in Wilmington, Annie Peterson and her best friend, Brooke Marshall, would be two of many bankers and brokers who were ending their week with two or three cocktails.