Deep Dive: An enemies-to-lovers billionaire romance (Deep Love Series) by Lauren Winter (best fiction books of all time TXT) 📗

tugs at my heartstrings painfully hard. No, she is the one who wronged me. She doesn’t deserve my sympathy.

“It’s not like that.” She repeats. “I haven’t seen my father in years. I told you about that. You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand? That you have been lying to me this whole time?”

“I haven’t had any contact with my father in years. I have no idea what he did to you. I know he is a terrible person. He hurt my mom, remember? Fletcher, please believe me.” She continues to sob, but I don’t want to watch this anymore. I stand up to leave and she catches my arm.

“I don’t want to ever see you again.” I forced out the words between my clenched teeth.

“No! Please—” I pull away and she blindly grabs at the flap of my blazer, right next to my left pocket where the velvet pouch sits. I don’t want her to know that the pouch is there. It’s bad enough that I have fallen for Alfred Worth’s daughter, I don’t want her to know that I almost proposed to her. I dodge the reach of her hand and nudge her away by the shoulder. Since she is still halfway between sitting and standing, she loses her balance and falls into a heap on the ground. Her back knocks into the table as she falls. A water glass tips over the edge and shatters on the floor into a thousand pieces of crystal.

She stares up at me in disbelief. I have pushed her.

I didn’t mean to hurt her. I think she is despicable, but I would never hit a woman. I watch as her face turns into stone. It was an accident; I want to explain. I reach over to help her up, but it is her turn to push me away.

“Just leave me alone.” There is ice in her voice that I’ve never heard before. She straightens herself and grabs her backpack from the floor, avoiding eye contact with me this whole time.

I am frozen in place as I watch her walk out of my life.

Chapter 15

Amelia

“Come on,” Meghan cries as she drags me by the wrist. “I’m so sick of watching you mope around all day. I promise you it’ll be fun.”

“I haven’t been moping!” I contradict her, but I know that it’s a lie. Sure, I go through the motions of everyday life: work, sleep and eat, but my mind is somewhere else. I feel like I am enveloped in this thick, hazy fog all the time that I can’t get rid of. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to cut through the fog and I can’t seem to forget about Fletcher Payne.

As usual, Meghan won’t take no for an answer. What can I say, she has also been unbearably helpful and kind. She helped me sell a few things, including the furniture I got from Fletcher, to scrape together a few hundred dollars to cover rent. I was reluctant, at first, to let go of the things that remind me of him. But Meghan insisted I get rid of every last shred of the man from my life and move on. She told me that “to live well is the best revenge.” She is helping me look for scholarships so that I can afford nursing school next fall. I don’t think she ever worked this hard, even for herself.

“What is this place?” It is a small storefront in a largely empty strip mall. In the front window, there is a gigantic neon sign that flashes “SPA.”

“Just a little place that I go to to help me relax and spruce things up.”

We walk into the door and a little bell rings automatically. There is a row of fake leather seats with pedicure stations. A couple of women are getting their nails done. The air smells faintly of nail polish remover and massage oil. There isn’t an English menu or sign anywhere.

“Two, please.” Meghan gestures to the tiny middle-aged woman in the front. The older woman nods enthusiastically and waves another two smiling younger women toward us.

“I’ll have the mani-pedi combo. And my friend here.” She playfully shoves me toward them. “She’ll have the ‘special.’”

“What’s the ‘special’?” I ask Meghan, who doesn’t answer. As I get dragged into the back room by one of the women, Meghan throws me a mischievous smile that confuses me.

“You take off. Take off everything. Okay?” The lady takes me into a small, dimly lit room and shows me the massage table. There is soothing spa music playing and I smell a pleasant scent of eucalyptus.

I cringe inwardly and nod. “It’s just like going to the doctor’s,” I tell myself. As soon as she leaves, I strip down to my underwear. She said “everything” but she didn’t mean “everything everything,” right? I’ve never gotten a massage before. On TV, people usually look completely naked under the sheets, but that doesn’t seem right, does it? After much hesitation, I leave my bra and panties on and slip under the thin cotton sheet on the table.

I fit my head into the headrest loop and close my eyes. It’s nice, actually. I feel a little relaxed. The air smells refreshing. After what seems like hours, the lady comes back in again.

“No, no, no,” she says gently. “Take off please.”

Reluctantly, I reach back and unhook my bra. Then, to my chagrin, she tugs at the edge of my panties as well.

As best as I can, I keep myself covered with the sheet and slip my panties off. The lady tells me to face up and helps me adjust the sheet so that I am properly covered.

It’s just like going to the doctor. I try to relax as I lie completely naked next to a stranger. I shut my eyes and try to focus on the spa music.

“And then she waxed me!” I yell into Meghan’s face as we sit down for dinner. “She took the hair off. Like, everything!”