Beckoned, Part 3 by Aviva Vaughn

Author:Aviva Vaughn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: travel romance, vacation romance, second chance romance, second chance, romance, love triangle, europe, barcelona, london, bath, los angeles, honolulu, spain, england, hawaii, food romance, jet set, jetset, graduate school, wealthy, strong female lead, long-distance relationships, relationships, multicultural romance, sweet, sweet steamy, slow burn, mba, realistic sex, jane austen, asian-american, old-fashioned, trust fund, international, dating, banker, halle, foster, milan, wilder
Publisher: Everingham Press
Published: 2018-01-11T00:00:00+00:00

The sun blared through the windows, waking Angela as it lit up the beige bedroom.

Beige? My bedroom isn’t beige, Angela thought groggily as she struggled to wake up. Her eyes were still not fully-opened as she smacked her dry—yet sticky—lips, realizing that she felt incredibly parched. Still half-asleep, she rolled to her side and saw Dalia fast asleep, her black hair covering half her face.

She looked at her watch; it was almost 10am.

Her eyes shot open as the night started to come back to her. She remembered going to The Liquid Kitty. All three members of her team had the same original idea to buy her a martini to thank her for her five-point answer. She remembered not wanting to offend anyone and sipping from each of the cocktails.

The rest of the night was fuzzy, but she vaguely remembered sitting in the passenger seat of her own car while someone else was driving.

Dalia must have driven my car.

The thought triggered her memory as she remembered Dalia leaning over and opening the car door as Angela threw up on the side of the street.

Suddenly the sticky feeling in her mouth became disgusting.

Quickly, she went to the bathroom and stuck a bit of toothpaste in her mouth to rinse out the aftertaste of vomit and martini.

Yuck. I am never drinking another fucking martini in my entire life.

The one upside of throwing up was that at least she didn’t have a hangover. She studied her reflection in the mirror. She was still wearing her clothes from last night’s class. There was a spot of something—Vomit?—on her wrap. She grabbed a wet washcloth and scrubbed at it furiously.

She walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water and drank it thirstily. As she was refilling the glass she heard, “Hey, you’re awake. Good morning.”

“Fuck Dalia, I missed my phone call with Soren. Where’s my phone?”

Dalia yawned, scratching her head as she entered the kitchen. She made her cut-off t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms look like the latest thing from the runway. “Um, I left your stuff by the front door. It must be in there somewhere.”

Angela walked to the front door, grabbed her laptop bag, and shoved her feet into her red, patent leather flats. Stuffed in the side pocket of her bag was her cell phone, dead. “Damn it. My phone is dead. I have to go.”

Dalia held up an index finger as she finished drinking her water. “What’s your hurry? Why don’t we go have breakfast?”

Angela scowled. “You don’t understand. Soren is going to be worried sick. He always overreacts when he can’t get in touch with me.” She thought back to the emails he sent when he couldn’t reach her after her flight home from London; a chill went up her spine.

Dalia rolled her eyes. “Seriously, he acts like your mother.”

“Thanks Dal, that really helps. I’ll call you later.”

Angela charged her phone in her car on the twenty-minute drive home. When she got to her apartment, she sat on her couch, looking at her phone as if it was a coiled viper ready to strike.

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