Wherever It Leads(46)

“Absolutely.”

A small smile touches his lips. “I just . . . I have a situation I’ve been trying to resolve and it just keeps getting more complicated.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I have to,” he gulps. He eyes me before sitting upright. “I’m going to have to cancel our breakfast in bed for the morning. I, um, I’m going to have to make some decisions tomorrow that are going to take some time.”

I consider that giving advice might mean overstepping my bounds, but his willingness to share that with me without prodding makes me think it’s okay.

“My brother used to say to not make decisions based on whatever problem you’re having. You should make choices based on what outcome you want.”

Fenton doesn’t respond, just watches me with a blank look on his face.

“I never understood that,” I continue. “I mean, it makes no sense, right? But my brother is a doctor and he explained it to me this way once: if a patient is bleeding, you can focus on stopping the bleeding or you can focus on saving their life. Maybe stopping the blood is a part of saving their life, but the decision has to be made with the bigger picture in mind.”

“Smart.”

I grin. “It really is. You have to weigh the risks against the rewards of your decisions. And when the balance begins to tip one way or the other, you just have to find the courage to do it.”

He grabs my arm and twists me so that I’m lying across his lap, pulled securely in his arms. He nestles his head into my hair and holds me tight. “You’re a little light in my life, you know that?”

“That’s me. Bringing sunshine everywhere I go.”

He snorts and lets me pull back so I can see his face.

“I’ve not known you for very long, but I know you’ll do what’s best.”

“I don’t normally get too worked up about things. I just pick a direction and charge on. But this one is just such a mess and what I choose to do doesn’t just affect my bottom line. If that were the case, I know what I’d do.”

“Fenton, you already know what to do. Follow your heart.”

“What if that means walking through hell?”

“Then take a fire extinguisher with you.”

He laughs, but it’s weighed down with his troubles. “You and your fire extinguishers.”

The car rolls up to our hotel and it catches me off guard. I hadn’t even realized we were back on the Strip. I uncurl off Fenton’s lap and gather my things from the floorboard. The car door swings open, but Fenton grasps my hand before I can step out. I turn to see him observing me. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to.

“It seems complicated,” I whisper so the valet doesn’t overhear. “But it isn’t. Risk versus reward. And then follow your heart.”





Fenton doesn’t speak as we trudge the last few feet down the hall towards our suite. He opens the door and holds it open as I enter.

I don’t recall him saying a single word since we got out of the car. He didn’t even thank the valet, which is beyond unlike him. He just nodded his appreciation and continued on, extending his hand behind him until I clasped it with mine.

The light switches on as I enter and watch Fenton make his way into our bedroom. I hear him rummaging around and I don’t know what to do.

What I want to do is hold him in my arms and reassure him. But really, I don’t even know what I’m reassuring him of. I just loathe the look of despair on his face; it’s such a contradiction to his usual confident demeanor.

Tossing my bag near the sofa, I stand with my arms around my waist. It’s so quiet.

I jump when he moseys back into the room. He’s wearing a pair of white sweatpants, no shirt, and no shoes. I sweep his body from head to toe, taking in the divine view. And then I get to his face and my heart breaks.

It’s a sorrowful smile, and I can’t stop myself from reaching for him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He does the same, pulling me into his chest.

“I’m sorry I’ve put a damper on our night,” he says, his voice dejected. “This is not how I envisioned capping off the day.”

“Fenton—stop it. You can’t help it.”

“I know . . .”

“You did come here to work, remember?”

He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “True, but I didn’t come here to work on this. I came here to deal with a problem at Funda and . . . some other business here.”

“So you’re kind of caught off guard by this?”

He shrugs and pulls away, running his hands through his already wild locks. “Kind of. This has been a predicament for a while, but . . . let’s just say it just got a whole lot worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too, rudo. Me too.”

He sort of drifts through the room, aimless in purpose. Every now and then, he sighs or tugs at his hair. But he’s mentally someplace else, and I’m not sure whether to let him be or to try to cheer him up. My decision is made for me when his phone rings in the bedroom. He stalks towards it and disappears though the doorway. I hear him answer. A few seconds later, the door shuts.

“Ugh,” I groan, plopping down on the sofa. I don’t know what to do with myself. Dragging my bag to my feet, I search for my phone. When we got on the Ajax, I turned it off, and now I wonder how many times Presley has texted me. I smile thinking about the possible messages I’ll see when the phone turns on.