Page 60 of Love is a Game

“I thought it might help a little,” she muttered.

“It didn’t.”

Sadie pulled the towel off her shoulders and twisted it in her hands. “Look, I promise I will do everything I can to keep the hotel the way it is. I just want to do what’s best for Briar Cove.”

He held up his hands to stop her from going on. “Please don’t. Don’t give me that line. You’re going to go along with whatever is best for Maddox. We both know it.”

“What do you want me to do, Andrew?” she asked, a note of anger in her voice. “I’m sorry, all right? But this is my job.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

She dropped her hands noisily to her sides. “So, what, I should just quit like you did? I can see how happy that’s made you,” she said derisively.

“I am happy.”

“I don’t think you are. Just look at yourself.”

As she said it, her eyes moved up and down his frame, and he saw the same look of disgust settle upon her features that he’d seen that first day in April when she appeared at the library, but now it was mixed with an infuriating pity. He hadn’t been interested in her judgment then, and he didn’t need it now.

“Sadie, we haven’t seen each other in years. You really think you know me because we had a couple of dinners together?”

She cocked her head to the side and stared at him hard. “It was more than that,” she said quietly. “You know it was.”

He scoffed. He’d wanted to think it was more, but if he really meant anything to her, she wouldn’t have given up on the hotel so easily. “Whatever you want to tell yourself.”

She pursed her lips and let out a heavy breath through her nose. “You know what? I have nothing to lose here so I’m just going to say it. Andrew Price—You. Are. Bored.” She jabbed her finger at him, punctuating each word.

He stepped back. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. Had Julie talked to her about their conversation at the barbecue? It was possible, but it had been such a fleeting interaction, he would be surprised if Julie even remembered it.

“This life you have in Briar Cove, shelving books, and going to poker night—that’s enough for you?”

“Yes.”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen you at work. I know that you can’t stand the quiet when the library is empty. That’s why you keep the radio there, why you sing so dang loud. When people come into the library, you jump up like a puppy, so eager to actually have something to do. I honestly don’t know how you can stand it. I would have gone crazy by now.”

“Maybe you’re just more uptight than I am,” he said in a low voice.

“Maybe,” she agreed, shrugging, “but I’m not wrong. I’ve known you too long to believe you’re comfortable not knowing what the future will hold, not knowing what you’ll do when you leave the library.”

“People change, Sadie.”

“I know that, but not this much. You decided when you were twelve years old that you wanted to be a lawyer. It only took you another year to figure out where you were going to go to school and what you wanted to specialize in. It became your whole persona. You started dressing up for school and calling out teachers for infringing on your rights. Did you happen to notice that none of the other fifteen-year-olds were reading legal briefs in the cafeteria?”

“So?”

“Everything you did all through high school was in pursuit of one goal and you worked so hard to achieve it. I know, because I had to work just as hard in order to squeak by ahead of you. I imagine that fancy law firm wasn’t going to hire just anyone. You probably graduated at the top of your class at Stanford, too, didn’t you?”

He had. Not quite as well as he’d done in high school, but he’d been among the top twenty highest performers. By the time he earned his degree, he had eight job offers to choose from, each one offering more than he had ever dreamed of.

“What’s your point?” he asked, growing impatient.

“After all those years of hard work and sacrifice, are you really willing to just walk away and never look back?”

He nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m not going back into law. I told you, I don’t want to be that guy. It’s not worth it.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re missing the point. You don’t have to go back to law; there are plenty of other careers where you would thrive. You’re so smart. You’re so good with people. I saw you with those kids. Be a teacher, if you think you’d enjoy it! But you can’t just hang around here pretending you’re not miserable while you wait for the next thing to fall into your lap.”

“I know it's your job to point out problems, but I’m not a hotel.” His words were measured. “Whatever assessment you’ve made of me, I really don’t want to hear it.”