by Elise Faber
“Wait here,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes.
She repeated, more firmly this time, “Wait here.”
Then she closed the door, threw the lock, and moved to the bookcase. It wasn’t far, thus, it didn’t take her very long to retrieve it, but Jeremy was already knocking again by the time she made it back to the entryway.
God, why did she have such horrible taste in men?
Sigh.
She flicked open the lock, turned the handle, and thrust the vase at Jeremy. “Anything else?”
He scrambled to hold on to it. “Um . . . no.”
“Good.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you show up on my porch again, banging on my door, I will call the police.”
Jeremy’s lips parted, anger flooding his blue eyes.
“You remember I have another vase or something else, you text, and I’ll get it to you when it’s convenient for me.” Her voice was harder than it had ever been, and she saw the surprise trailing over his expression. Good. The only positive from this morning’s call was that Stef was now certain there wasn’t a speck of longing inside her for this man. “Now, go home.”
“Stef,” he began, and she would have to have been an idiot to not miss the sudden interest in his face.
Nor the way his eyes went to her breasts.
As though the first sign of her temper—which she could truthfully admit wasn’t something she’d ever shown him, even in their two years together—was a turn-on.
But seriously, yeah. No.
Maybe she’d been so invested in making the relationship work that she’d hidden parts of herself. Okay, no maybe about it. That was the truth. She’d definitely hidden whole facets of herself in order to keep things smooth sailing with Jeremy.
Pathetic. It really was.
Well, no more.
She slammed the door, not caring that it was close to his face, not caring if it hit his face.
Then she threw the lock and went back to her shower.
Shutting the door on Jeremy, on the person she’d been with him. Forever.
And good riddance.
For the record, her shower was absolutely divine.
Chapter Two
Ben
He was half-delirious from jet lag, but he had a full day in the office.
This was the week his company was going public.
And no matter how many times everyone had assured him that all the pieces were in place, shit kept hitting the fan. He was tired of putting out fires. He was tired. Period.
Ben Bradford was thirty-six years old and CEO of a company that was valued at eighteen-and-a-half billion dollars.
He’d never even dreamed something that big was possible.
Not ever.
But it was, and he now had more money than he knew what to do with, money that would grow to an even more ridiculous amount with the IPO.
If only his parents could see him now.
Unfortunately, they were both gone. His dad five years before from a fucking carjacking gone wrong, his mom just the previous year. She’d had cancer, and cancer was a fucking asshole.
So now it was him and his dog—or rather, his mother’s dog. A fluffy Bichon Frise who had typical big-dog-in-a-little-dog’s-body-syndrome and whose name was Sweetheart.
She was not sweet, not in any sense of the name.
She barely tolerated him, and that tolerating meant nipping at his heels if he didn’t feed her fast enough or take her outside often enough or just happened to walk by at the wrong time and she felt like chasing his ass down the hallway.
But Sweetheart was part of his mom, so he tolerated her.
Plus, she was old, and her teeth were worn down.
Not much damage was doled out, even with the fiercest of heel-nipping.
However, the pet sitter he had on retainer wasn’t as convinced, and though she’d been a trooper, he’d received a text the moment his plane had landed telling him that she was sorry, but she could no longer do it.
The evil beast had been fed and watered and pottied that morning.
But she needed a break before she could step back into care mode.
A long break.
Which meant he needed to retrieve the little asshole that morning and would be working with Sweetheart under his feet—the pooch in a crate that was specially designed to fit beneath his desk.
Just what he needed.
Sighing, he swung by his place, bundled up the pup while ignoring her snarling then jammed her into her carrier because there was no way he was allowing the beast to run free at the office, no matter how dull her teeth were.
Twenty minutes later, he was pulling into his space on campus and moving through the floors with the grumbling, unhappy Sweetheart in tow.
Luckily, he didn’t garner any second looks.
Or not any second looks that weren’t the usual ones shot toward the big boss walking past offices. The additional second looks that didn’t come were those associated with him lugging the pink carrier.
News traveled fast at Hunt Inc., and everyone knew they didn’t want to be within fifteen feet of the fluffy white beast who had flunked out of every doggy day care, boarding facility, behaviorist, and trainer, and who’d actually become even worse while on anti-depressants and CBD oil.
Yes, he’d even tried drugging the damned dog.
So, now his life was about his work and trying to mitigate Sweetheart, and no surprise, that was more than enough to keep him very busy.
Maybe once the IPO went through—
Sweetheart went bananas, and he glanced around, trying to figure out what had set her off. Did she see ghosts of doggy boyfriends and enemies past? Was there a person in a thirty-foot radius who’d dared to look at her? Or was she just feeling like her snarling, evil self?
Probably the last.
Likely all three.
Regardless, he managed to get into the elevator, take it up to his floor, and then make the transfer of carrier to crate that finally meant Sweetheart went quiet.
Until he had to take her out to pee.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, straightening, before moving to the large bank of plate glass windows that looked out onto the city of San Francisco.
In the distance.
Because San Francisco real estate prices were ridiculous.
So, he and Hunt Inc. were situated south of the city, not that the prices were significantly better. This was California. This was Silicon Valley.
It seemed like it cost a million dollars just to own the parking spot his sedan was sitting in five stories below, let alone the entire campus that housed the thousands of employees who worked for him.
But it had all been to get to this point.
His crowning achievement, to be one of the big players, to see his company’s name on the stock exchange. A dream, a fantasy . . . and now a reality.
So, why then did he feel so . . . empty?
Nerves because his life was about to change, and it wasn’t a small one, because there would be new responsibilities and more people relying on him.
That was it.
The stocks would go live, and he’d feel normal again.
Simple enough.
A knock on his office door heralded his assistants—yes, plural, yes three of them—and then Ben was drawn away from the window, from the thoughts of dreams and fantasies and back into the one thing that had always made sense.
Work.
“Mr. Bradford,” Baine said, even though Ben had told him hundreds of times before to just call him Ben. “I’ve got your schedule for the day.”
Ben’s eyes drifted to Spence who said, “I have those files you requested.”
Now Ben’s stare moved to Claire, who grimaced. “And I, unfortunately, have a problem for you.”
No surprise there.
Baine spoke before Ben could. “Meetings are pushed until one. Should give you enough time to deal with this problem and any others that creep up.”
“Don’t worry,” Ben told him. “I’m the only one on Sweetheart duty.”
Relief flashed across Spence’s face. “O-okay. Well, I mean, if you need help with her then—”
“Don’t finish that statement,” Ben said, stifling a smile. “I know you don’t mean it.”
Baine, proving once again that Ben hadn’t made a mistake in hiring the ex-felon, wove his arm through Spence’s and tugged the younger man toward the door. “He doesn’t mean it,” Baine confirmed, drawing him from the office.
Spence glanced back. “I—”
The door clicked closed.
Claire smiled, shaking her head. “Should I ask about the dog?”
“You already know the answer to that question.”
“Right,” she said, tapping at the screen of the tablet she carried. “So, I’ll just get right down to the newest crisis?”
Ben plunked down into his desk chair, ignoring the rumble beneath his knees.
“Hit me with it.”
She did.
And just as all the ones before, it was fucking brutal.
Chapter Three
Stef
Friday evening brought her friends, wine, and a throbbing ankle.
At her house for a change.
Oh, and margaritas. Somewhere along the way, Heidi had thought it was a good idea to bust out Stef’s rarely used blender, bring up the Drizly app on her phone, and bring in some tequila.
They were celebrating.
Finally, they’d managed to get a clean picture.
Which, Stef got, probably didn’t seem like a big deal. But to them—they were molecular physicists, and right now their research was focused on trying to quantify the space between atoms—it was a huge deal.
Difficult because they were trying to quantify something that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, a bit of matter that was surrounded by other bits of matter, including electrons that were whirling around and generally making nuisances of themselves. Flying off in all directions, crashing into each other, joining other atoms and fucking everything up.
But today had gone well.
They’d gotten their photograph, and it was clear, and it was a big freaking deal!
Hence, wine and margaritas, even though at thirty-five, she knew better than to mix her liquors.
The only thing that would make her hangover not horrendous, she knew, was that it was Friday, which meant that tomorrow was Saturday. She didn’t do an early morning walk with Fred. Saturday had become beach day, and they did their walk late in the day because she liked to walk the beach at sunset.
The blender whirred, and Stef glanced down at her glass, finding it empty, unsure how that had happened.
Which was fine because Heidi was refilling it, demanding they clink cups and declare, “Cheers!”
“Brad is going to have to pour her out of here,” Cora said, her dark brown eyes sparkling with humor . . . and also a bit glazed because she, too, had been partaking in wine and margaritas.
“I thought your brothers were in town,” Kels said, draining her own glass then holding it up for Heidi to top it off.
“They left this morning,” Cora said, slugging back her margarita.
Cora had six brothers, and they’d descended on her small house ten days ago without warning—though probably she should have known they were coming since she’d mentioned to her mom that she’d gone on three dates with a man.
Her brothers were . . . protective.
And that was an understatement.
They were six feet plus, built, and could be scary as shit if they wanted. Not that they used those scary vibes with Cora, Heidi, Kels, Tammy, Kate, and Stef. With women, they were gentle, were sweet and kind and chivalrous.
And single.
Every one of them.
The humanity.
“Fuckers ate me out of house and home,” Cora grumbled. “And left me with a mountain of laundry, footprints on the floor, and a new video game system.”
Kate’s lips twitched, her red hair tumbling over her shoulders. “And that would be any different from the state of your house normally?”
Cora wrinkled her nose. “Shut it, you.” Her gaze drifted to Tammy, Heidi’s soon-to-be sister-in-law, who had recently moved to town. “Don’t keep your childhood friends around. They know too much about you.”
Tammy snorted, though she’d wisely just kept to margaritas—although that was mostly because she’d arrived after when the wine had already been consumed.
Kate, on the other hand, gasped and swatted Cora’s arm. “Rude!”
“Children,” Heidi warned.
“Make another blender full,” Kels called. “We’re gonna need it.”
Heidi set the blender on the counter, picked up her own glass. “Someone else is on blender duty,” she said, sinking down on the couch. “I’m done for the evening.” She glanced at her watch. “Plus, the boys are going to be here soon, and we all know that Kels—”
“Don’t say it,” Kels warned.
Cora grinned, stage-whispered, “Is primed for Pound Town when the booze goes down.”
They froze.
“Pound Town?” Kels asked. “Seriously?”
Gazes collided. Lips twitched. Then they all broke into peals of laughter—or maybe it was cackling. Either way, all Stef knew was that by the time she gained control of herself, her face ached from smiling, her stomach hurt from laughing, and she was once again so damned happy to have found these women.
They could talk about absolutely everything and absolutely nothing. They could tease each other until they were sick with laughter, and they would infallibly be there for each other.
No matter what.
Friends. True friends, and not like the ones who’d taken Jeremy’s side in the breakup, who’d left her alone in a new state, even though they understood that she’d moved here for him, that her family was back in Florida, and that she knew no one outside of their circle.
Thank God she’d gotten the job with Heidi.
Otherwise she didn’t know what she’d have done.
Go back home? Admit that moving to California and quitting her job without a plan, believing in the promise of a man who’d been incapable of fulfilling it, had been a mistake?
Ah. The joy of relationships.
At least her friends had good ones. Heidi’s Brad and Kate’s Jaime were both amazing. Of course, they were also brothers, so that was probably a big part of it. One family made good men, and it was all the rest of them that—
Tanner was nice, too.
He belonged to Kels.
So, maybe it was that all the good ones were taken?
Or maybe . . . she swore she had a thought there, swirling around her brain, but it flitted away into a fog of alcohol and pleasant sensations as she reclined on her couch listening to her friends babble on about their newest reality show obsession—this one about first dates.
It was sweet and cringy and . . . just the thing they loved watching.
“Oh, no,” Kate cried, the nicest one of all of them. “He’s not going to pick her.”
No, the man on the TV didn’t appear to be interested in the sweet, nerdy, cute blond girl he’d been paired with. Instead, his eyes were focused over her shoulder, and when the camera kindly cut in that direction, they could all see exactly what had drawn his attention.
A gorgeous, buxom brunette, who was smiling shyly at him.
And yup, now the man actually got up, crossed over to the woman and began chatting her up instead of his own date.
“What a fucking douche canoe,” Cora muttered.
“Seriously,” Kels said.
“Jeremy did that to me,” Stef whispered.
There might as well have been a record scratch for how quiet it went. In an instant, all eyes were on her, and Heidi grabbed the remote, pausing the show. “Excuse me?” she asked, her tone deadly.
“
I—um . . .” Stef shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said.
“That doesn’t sound like nothing,” Tammy murmured.
Stef whirled and glared at her. That was so not helpful.
Tammy lifted her hands. “Just saying.”
“What she’s just saying is right,” Cora said. “Jeremy is an asshole, and you’re lucky to be rid of him.”
“I am,” Stef agreed.
“It’s just . . .” Kate began, seemingly plucking the words out of Stef’s brain.
Stef winced, decided to not admit to that aloud, and set about glugging down her latest margarita, embracing the burn, grasping tightly to the swirling feeling of her mind.
“It can be hard to start over,” Kate continued, thankfully not plucking the second part of Stef’s inner thoughts out of her brain.
Because what Stef had been thinking was that it can be hard to be alone.
She shouldn’t be feeling lonely.
She had her friends—real, true friends. She had her job. She had Fred, who was currently snoozing in the corner after having exhausted himself and everyone’s arms from the copious belly rubs he’d received.
“Yeah,” Cora murmured, “it can be.”
“Well,” Tammy said. “I didn’t know the fucker, but if he did that to you on a date, then he was a dumbass. You’re beautiful and smart and a total catch.”
Stef winced again. “First date.”
Heidi’s brows rose. Kelsey scowled.
“What a bastard,” Kate snapped. She slammed her fist on the table. “The next time I see him, I’m going to take this glass and shove it up his ass!”
There went that fictional record scratch again, the room falling silent for a second time.
Mostly because Kate didn’t get mad at anyone, least of all threaten to shove things up other people’s derrières, whether or not any of the rest of them thought her target was a worthwhile one.
“One could say I was an idiot for giving him a second date,” Stef said. God knew, she’d certainly said it to herself more than enough times.
“Idiot or not, he is more of a douche canoe than the fucker on TV,” Cora muttered.