Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  Friday. Shit. I’d already agreed to a date with Jared. Whose lips felt like rubber, hands like wooden tongs.

  “Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”

  Brandon exhaled with relief, then kissed me lightly, this time only on the cheek.

  “Eight o’clock, then. I’ll pick you up here,” he said and turned to leave.

  I watched him walk out to the street, and it wasn’t until he was about to duck into the Mercedes that I remembered something.

  “Wait! Brandon!” I called as I pushed open the glass door.

  He turned, alarmed.

  “Your, um, present. You left it downstairs. I’ll run and grab it for you.”

  Brandon shrugged and waved my offer away. “Keep it. Sell it and pay your rent if you want, or leave it for someone else to find. You were right about it anyway.”

  Was he serious? He wanted me to forget about a gift that likely cost thousands of dollars?

  “Red,” he called softly. I refocused on him.

  “The next time I give you a gift, you can bet it’ll be for you,” he said. “I’d prefer it if that’s the first one you get.”

  And with that, he slid into the car, leaving me to wonder what kind of gift that special might be in my future.

  18

  On Wednesday, I arrived at the FLS offices with an extra bounce in my step that I tried to tell myself was because I had a check for twenty-eight thousand dollars to donate and not because my second “first real date” with Brandon was in two days.

  “Wow.” Kieran peered at the check with both of her finely tweezed eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline. “Are you sure about this? I know you’re not one of these Harvard brats, Skylar. You could just put this toward your student loans.”

  I shrugged. Kieran knew where I was from, but not about my small trust fund. “I’m sure. I got it for a piece of jewelry that was…well, let’s just say I got it under false pretenses. The person who gave it to me doesn’t want it back, and I’d prefer not to keep it.”

  I ventured a small smile, though the knowing look on Kieran’s face caused a flush to rise on mine. She looked back at the check, then set it down and pulled a pad of paper out from a drawer. After scribbling, she ripped off the top sheet and handed it across the desk to me.

  “You’ll want that receipt for your taxes,” she said. “You’ll save more from the exemption than you would not declaring the jewelry.”

  I nodded and tucked the receipt into my purse before going to my small desk. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text message from a number I didn’t recognize.

  310-555-2368: I forgot to say you looked gorgeous on Sunday.

  I grinned. I had been dressed in a crappy sweater.

  Me: Who is this?

  310-555-2368: You don’t know?

  I turned to face my desk, biting back another telltale grin in case Kieran was watching. I still had a few minutes before my shift started, but she didn’t need to see me all worked up like a smitten schoolgirl. I decided to have some fun.

  Me: Ooohhh, Andy, you need to stop using those online text services, baby.

  310-555-2368: WHO IS ANDY?

  I sucked in a giggle, but Kieran didn’t seem to notice.

  Me: Oh, just this other hotshot tycoon I’m seeing. He likes to give me consolation jewelry too.

  310-555-2368: Hilarious. I’m rolling over here.

  Me: I know. It’s part of my charm. How did you get my number?

  310-555-2368: I offered Ana a raise to get it from your friend. She really took advantage of me.

  Me: Oh? I thought you were going to stop spying.

  310-555-2368: I paid for it. She makes more than me now. Last time, I promise.

  This time I couldn’t quite hide the giggle.

  Kieran looked up irritably from her work. “Something funny?”

  I shook my head. “No, sorry. Just a friend’s text.”

  She looked at the clock. “I see.”

  Turning around so I wouldn’t disturb Kieran, I punched in another quick message.

  Me: Why do you have a California number? I thought you were from Boston.

  310-555-2368: This is a Google Voice number, just like yours. I should be working, but you’re distracting me.

  Before I could come up with a pithy reply that would somehow request his actual number, my phone buzzed again.

  310-555-2368: Anyway, just wanted to say I can’t wait to see you on Friday. Thanks for the third chance. Later, Red.

  The affectionate nickname wasn’t anything I (and every other redhead) hadn’t heard before, but somehow the familiar way he used it, the way it sounded like he’d called me that for years, made me smile. I typed a quick farewell and tucked my phone into my bag. I needed to get to work.

  “I know someone who gives expensive jewelry like that to women he dates.”

  I looked up to find Kieran peering at me, wry amusement playing across her sharp features.

  She pointed a pen at me as she spoke. “Usually before he even knows them very well.” She shrugged. “I always tell him that will make the good ones feel like prostitutes, but he never listens. He was planning to do it again last week.”

  I gulped and set my file on the desk so I could face her. “Who’s that?”

  “Something tells me you know,” she said, holding up the check.

  I blinked, not entirely sure what to say. I liked Kieran, but I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea about Brandon and me.

  She sat back in her chair and set the check on the table. “Relax, Skylar. He’s not your boss anymore. And FLS has never been too good for his money anyway.”

  I found Kieran’s command difficult to obey. She was already intimidating, and I couldn’t tell if she approved or not that I was dating her friend. I still remembered her laser-like disdain at his house that first night; I had also seen her in action when she went after particularly nasty opponents in court. Kieran’s wrath was scary.

  “Look, I really couldn’t care less about your personal life, Skylar. But Brandon is a different story. He’s like a brother to me. A good guy, but…complicated. And he doesn’t need anyone who will add to that in his life. So be careful.”

  Her dark eyes pinned me to my chair. It was obvious why Kieran was so successful in court; I couldn’t imagine anyone lying to her under her interrogation.

  “We clear?” she asked.

  Wordlessly, I nodded, although I couldn’t be less clear. Was she warning me off him? Was she trying to help? She’s even more inscrutable than usual, red mouth set in an impassive line.

  “Of…of course,” I finally managed to croak.

  Her lips quirked up at the sides, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Well, this was a good start,” she said, holding up the check again.

  I smiled back, although I still wasn’t sure what she meant. Kieran turned back to her computer, and it was as if our awkward conversation hadn’t happened.

  “What about this one?”

  Jane held up a bright blue dress so short it looked more like a skirt. She held it up against her slim body and swished it playfully from side to side.

  My face immediately torqued up in disgust. “Are you kidding? That’s not a dress. It’s lingerie.”

  “It’s hot, and you’d look hot in it. Didn’t he tell you he liked your legs?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well, one look at you in this, and he’ll fuck you on the piano this time. Or maybe in the back seat of his car. Is his driver a perv? Do you think he’d watch?”

  “I really need to stop telling you everything about my sex life.”

  I blushed, glancing around the small boutique to see if anyone had heard her. Luckily it was almost closing time, so the small shop was nearly empty. If the girl at the register had heard us, she was doing a really good job of acting like she hadn’t.

  I grabbed the dress—if you could even call it that—from Jane and put it back on the rack. “He promised nothing fancy. Less call girl, more girl
next door.”

  “Who are you, his kid sister? Why did you ask me here?” Jane grabbed back at the long gray cardigan currently hanging from my arm and tossed it over another rack of clothes.

  “Hey, I liked that!”

  “I don’t care if he’s taking you out to a taco truck, lady!” Jane said, blocking my reach. “It’s a date, not tea with my great-aunt Meg. If you want to go cazh, that’s fine, but I’m not letting you go on this date without sexing it up a little bit. No cardigans!”

  “Fine, fine. No, not that. Jesus, Jane, this isn’t Vegas! It’s twenty-eight degrees outside.”

  Before I could finish vetoing her next choice—an indecently low-cut halter-top littered with sequins—my handbag interrupted our sparring with a loud vibration. I answered my cell phone without checking who it was, shaking my head violently at Jane. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Skylar. It’s Jared.”

  I froze. “Oh...hi, Jared. What’s up?”

  Immediately Jane’s lips rounded in a silent “Oh!” of recognition, and she tiptoed away to another rack.

  “I was just wondering if you’d gotten any of my texts this week,” Jared said. “Are we still on for our date tomorrow?”

  Shit. I’d completely forgotten, and now here I was out shopping for a date with someone else. I’d been dodging Jared’s texts all week, sending noncommittal promises to get back to him later.

  “Oh, yeah, um, about that…” I mumbled, failing to come up with a reasonable excuse that wouldn’t make me into a massive liar. Jared was a nice guy. He didn’t deserve to have the wool pulled over his eyes, although I didn’t think he deserved the absolute truth either. No one really needs to be told they’re just not that interesting.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled as I flipped through a sale rack of t-shirts before moving to another area of the store. Jane meandered closer to eavesdrop. Excuse, excuse, I needed a decent excuse not to see him again. “I’m just really busy these days. I still don’t have a job offer, so I’ve been doing some networking stuff and working extra hours at the clinic…”

  From the other side of a tall rack of jumpsuits came a pronounced snort.

  “Tell him his kissing was like making out with a block of tofu,” Jane whispered loudly, suddenly beside me again. She held up a black silk blouse with a drawstring collar. I waved her away, but pointed at the shirt and gave a thumbs-up.

  “Who was that?” Jared asked.

  “Ah, no one. TV. But, yeah, I was saying that, um…I just don’t think I’m going to be able to make it out any time soon.”

  “Really? You can’t even get dinner? Everyone has to eat, don’t they?”

  His tone was friendly, but I thought I caught a hint of irritation.

  “I’m sorry, Jared,” I said, trying and failing to keep my voice from tightening. “I’m just swamped. Maybe another time.”

  “Yeah, another lifetime,” Jane commented to a rack of wrap dresses.

  “Okay, I guess,” Jared said. To his credit, he was trying to be nice. “I hope you get everything done. Let me know when your schedule frees up, okay?”

  “Will do,” I said. “Bye.” I tucked my phone back in my purse and then turned to Jane. “What is with you? I thought you liked him.” I swatted playfully at her with my purse, which she neatly dodged.

  “I liked the idea of you going on a date,” she corrected me. “Our toaster was getting more action than you. And we don’t even eat that much toast.” She handed me three more shirts. Since none of them were cut to my navel, I draped them over my arm.

  “And now?” I couldn’t help the sly grin creeping across my face.

  “Well, now you’ve got Mr. Tall, Blond, and Eat Me Out for Breakfast. Why would you keep a guy with the soggy oatmeal personality when you’ve got a giant plate of sizzling bacon ready for you?” She shook her head. “Didn’t you say kissing him was like kissing a cold fish?”

  I shrugged, unwilling to meet her gaze as we walked to the small dressing room in the corner of the shop. “I think it was cold cuts, not cold fish.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Making out with a bologna sandwich sounds so much better.”

  I chuckled as I brought my things inside a dressing room and pulled the curtain closed while Jane stood outside.

  “He doesn’t deserve to be told off or anything. What would you have had me say?” I asked while tugging on one of the tops. The purple shade washed me out. Nope.

  “Well, if it were me,” Jane said, “I probably would have said something along the lines of, sorry, Jared, I can’t go out tomorrow because you have the personality of a Dodge Minivan.”

  I burst out laughing in spite of myself. “Well, I already turned him down, didn’t I?”

  “Or sorry, Jared, I’d rather take the LSAT four more times in the same day than kiss you again.”

  I pulled on another top and immediately discarded it, although it was hard to get it off while laughing. “You’re mean,” I chided my friend before trying the last shirt, the black one.

  “You want me to keep going?” Jane asked. “I have so many more. I’d rather wear head-to-toe beige. Have lunch with a room of insurance salesmen. Attend a mayonnaise convention.”

  “Stop!” I cried. Tears were starting to stream down my face. “I…can’t…you…stop!”

  Jane tugged the flimsy curtain aside to find me squatting on the floor, holding my sides while I heaved with laughter. She grinned and grabbed my arm to pull me up. “You know it’s true.”

  “Come on, he’s better than that,” I gasped. “I mean, he’s cute, and he’s nice. That’s got to make him better than an ugly family car.”

  Jane tipped her head from side to side, considering the metaphor more carefully. “Okay, but just because he’s objectively handsome in a Gap ad kind of way, and also because he’s objectively loaded. So…maybe he’s a Saab. A nice, well made, sensible Saab. God, even the car name sounds boring, doesn’t it?”

  I giggled again. “Don’t start again, Jane.” It was one of the things I loved about living with her—she could always, always make me laugh.

  “Saaaaaaab,” she droned, but shut the curtain again to let me finish getting dressed. I quickly put on my clothes and gathered the black shirt and hanger to bring up to the front.

  “Ooh, I’m glad you went with that one, even if it means your closet stays monochromatic,” Jane said as we walked up to the cash register.

  “Like you’re one to talk,” I retorted. When she wasn’t dressing professionally, Jane’s look consisted of torn skinny jeans and a rotating series of black concert tees.

  “Did you find something you like?” asked the salesgirl.

  I handed her the silk blouse and a pair of earrings I snagged at the counter. “I think so. I hope so.”

  “This blouse is super sexy,” she said with a sly wink. “I’m sure he’ll love it. The, um, bacon, not the oatmeal.”

  19

  Between my class work and the clinic, the rest of the week flew by. Brandon and I traded a few more flirtatious texts (always via Google, much to my irritation—I was fairly certain it was punishment for not providing my number on my original application), and solidified our plans together. On Friday evening, I raced into the apartment with just under an hour to get ready. I had stayed late at the clinic helping Kieran with a particularly challenging client, and the T had been delayed on top of that.

  Jared had called two more times on Thursday, but I hadn’t found the time to call him back, instead opting to send a quick text about having a busy weekend of studying. I didn’t normally like to lie, but something told me he would be the kind of guy who’d want to turn a “Dear John” conversation into a big long thing. I had other things on my mind.

  I dropped my messenger bag by the door, kicked off the sensible black pumps that were suitable for walking through the fog that settled over Boston that day, and raced to my bedroom. After I tore off my black suit and tossed the separates on the bed, I wrapped my rob
e around myself and padded back to the bathroom, only to find it locked, with the shower running. Jane was in there, and clearly not alone.

  A telltale peal of laugher slipped out from the bathroom door, followed by a grunt that couldn’t possibly be female. I frowned. I glanced at the hallway mirror at my reflection, which was about as frazzled as I felt. My hair was falling out of its bun, and about a million frizzy flyaways created a red-orange mane all around my face. Mascara was smudged beneath one eye. A light sheen of sweat glistened across my brow.

  I banged on the door. “Jane! I need to get in there.”

  A deep male voice murmured something in response to Jane’s higher voice. The door opened, and Jane stuck out her very wet head, water running down her neck to where she held a towel around the rest of her body.

  “Dude!” she growled. “I’m a little occupied here. Do you think it could wait?”

  “Dude yourself!” I hissed back. “I have a date tonight. An important date. You know this. And he’s coming in”—I glanced down at my watch—“forty-seven minutes, and I look like I just got dragged through a gutter!”

  Her eyes blinked wide with sudden recognition. “Oh shit, I’m sorry! I totally forgot. We’ll be out in two seconds.”

  She shut the door in my face, and I heard her muffled voice speaking to her obviously disappointed partner. Within a minute, the water shut off, and Jane shuffled out, still clad in her towel, followed by a tall, thin guy with shaggy blond hair who held my green bath towel around his waist. Gross.

  “Uh, Sky, this is Greg,” Jane said sheepishly. “Greg, Skylar.” She tossed her wet head in his direction. “MBA program.”

  Greg pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and tipped his chin at me. “What’s up, roommate?”

  I glared. “That’s my towel.”