by Zee Irwin
The sound of someone entering the stairwell from below took my attention away briefly, and Cassidy pulled her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield. She stood straight up, resting squarely on her two boot-heeled feet. A power move I taught her long ago, and a sexy one.
She shrugged. “So we’ll be working together at the office. I’m a professional. I can handle working around an ex-boyfriend.”
The ex part stabbed my heart. “Maybe there’s more I need to say about the past.”
Her eye-rolling told me she didn’t agree. “I have zero desire to rehash the past. I’ve moved forward.”
We heard footsteps moving up the stairs. Cassidy turned and completed her ascent to the landing. She put her hand on the door handle to enter the third-floor marketing department and, in a flat, professional voice, said, “Congratulations, by the way, and welcome back.”
I didn’t follow her, needing time and a strategy. I leaned over the railing for a minute, catching my breath, contemplating my choices. My parents could not find out about her working here. Absolutely not. I could take her at her word, keep things professional between us. I could avoid her and move on with my life. None of it sounded appealing.
More steps came from below, and then I heard Matilda’s voice. “Bron? Your father is waiting. Everyone wants to welcome the new CEO.”
“Um, yeah, give me a moment,” I pushed back.
I couldn’t forget Cassidy Masters as the only woman I ever loved. When we first met, she became my adorable college girlfriend who, besides baseball, my entire life revolved around. Tonight, I saw her as a woman, filled out in all the right places, but with the same knock-me-off-my-feet adorable face and crystal blue eyes which sent my pulse racing higher than Boston’s John Hancock Tower.
My head swarmed with thoughts I had no right to, not after the way I left her back then, not after all this time had elapsed. But I hung on the handrail of a stairwell and regulated my heartbeat, because it was more than the stairs that got it pumping.
5
Vodka Required
Cassidy
Walking home from the subway, I hoped the cold Boston air would chill my brain and stop it from thinking about Bronson Maxwell. It didn’t work, but I knew what would. When I got into the apartment, I slammed the door, shrugged my winter coat down to the floor, not caring where it landed. I unzipped and kicked off my boots, and went straight for the freezer. I pulled out the bottle of fancy vodka with a foreign label. As a gift from our Russian apartment manager after we moved in, my roommates and I didn’t know why he gave it to us. It simply appeared one day on our doorstep wrapped with a bow and his name on it. Who were we to argue with him? We kept it, but avoided him like the plague.
I grabbed a glass that had been drying upside down on the counter and poured myself a sizable helping of the clear liquid. Before I could take a sip, both my roommates glared at me from the kitchen doorway.
Maddie took the bottle and screwed the cap on while chastising me. “You know we save vodka for emergencies only?” I could always count on her to recall all the rules. The gray area didn’t exist in her world. With a high IQ, as in top of her class in Harvard Law School smart, paired with supermodel looks, she could make a pair of sweats look like high fashion while outwitting the nerdiest person. She analyzed everything, and boy, I couldn’t wait to tell her about my situation with Bronson; there was a lot to unpack there.
Lily pushed her glasses up her nose, looking adorable in her twelfth Christmas dress in as many days. This one combined a gingerbread man-themed green smock over a red skater dress with green patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Bless her heart. There was no way I would ever change someone as beautifully quirky as Lily. She glared at me. “You know the rules. You must tell us the emergency before you drink.”
I sighed. That was all I had for them—one enormous sigh. With my hand around the glass on the counter, I readied, preparing for the burn of the clear liquid before it reached my throat, but Lily lurched forward and slapped her hand over the rim. She raised her eyebrows. “Tell us.”
“Fine, shit. Bronson Maxwell is back in town and showed up at our Christmas party. Can I drink now?” I thought nothing else needed saying. Hadn’t we spent enough nights in the past six months getting drunk and telling each other our sorrows, i.e., past boyfriend horror stories? The mere mention of Bronson’s name had EMERGENCY written all over it.
Lily’s eyes doubled in size. “Ooh, Bronson? Is he as dreamy now as he was from our college days?” Leave it to Lily, bookworm and owner of a women’s themed bookstore, taking the romantic route.
“Yes, Lily, he looked hot as hell, but that’s hardly the point. Now, if you don’t mind, let me have this drink, and then I might fill in the practical, non-romantically inclined details.”
She removed her hand and . . . the cool liquid roamed its way down my throat, taking every bit of my shaky nerves down with it. The burning after effect reminded me of the hurt when Bron and I broke up, inch by inch, down my esophagus, shattering my defenses and letting the tears roll in.
Maddie threw her arms around me. “Oh Cass, come here. I know it must hurt, even if you put up a good front. But you don’t have to be strong with us. We got your back.” Lily joined in the group hug, and I relished the feel of how close the three of us had become, not only as roommates but as best friends.
“Okay, you’ve had your drink. Now what’s the emergency level?” Asked Maddie.
Like a code we lived by as roommates and friends, we had developed this emergency level stuff as we helped each other navigate our twenty-something lives. A level one emergency included simple things, like embarrassingly walking out of the bathroom at work with your skirt tucked into the back of your tights. Vodka wasn’t necessary for level one stuff.
Level two involved doing something stupid, like flubbing your first marketing presentation at work. At least a drink was the typical protocol, sometimes vodka. Level three we saved for situations like getting stood up on a date. And we reserved level four for extremes. I’d call my ex suddenly appearing back in my life level four, requiring vodka and even more.
“Level four,” I squeaked out between sobs. My roommates flew into action.
“I’ll run and buy Ben & Jerry’s,” Lily said, throwing on her red wool coat and her green scarf around her neck as if bundling up for battle on the cold Boston streets in a Christmas war.
Maddie flew to the bathroom. “I’ll draw the bath. I bought a new jar of the best calming bath fizzies.”
“Oh, I love you guys!” I blew my nose and dabbed my face. Moving in with Lily and Maddie last summer was the best decision I’d made in my adult life. They were the perfect roommates ever.
Two hours later, pampered with the bath, soothed with chamomile tea, satiated with a mixed pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie and Cherry Garcia, and after one more swig of vodka, I could finally talk. The girls left me alone to process my thoughts, except for when they brought me tea, or a spoon and the pint. Now, I snuggled under blankets on the couch in between them.
“So, let’s review the facts.” Maddie’s logical brain kicked in after I’d given them details and answered questions about the work party. “You and Bron met in college, fell in love—”
Lily interrupted. “Madly in love, like the only two people in this universe meant for each other kind of love.”
“Thank you, Lily. Seriously, could you get your nose out of the romance books for tonight, please?” Maddie rolled her eyes. “Okay, madly in love. But then you both almost died in a car accident—”
“Ugh, thanks for reminding me.” Five years of moving on hadn’t reduced how raw my memories were.
“Sorry, Cass.” She squeezed my hand but continued torturing me with the rehash. “He lost his ability to play ball, which ended his baseball career. His parents, who didn’t like you, turned him against you, and you broke up. Then he moved across the world. Meanwhile, you’ve been working at his parent’s large-ass corporation.
And today, he returned, and you’ll be working side by side for the foreseeable future.”
I smacked my lips. “Yep, that about sums up my life right now. Thanks.” Another spoonful of Cherry Garcia did nothing toward making me feel better.
Putting down her empty pint on the side table, Lily stood up, now looking even more silly in her pink-footed, fuzzy pajamas and her hair up in ponytails. Bless her heart. She twirled before us. “Cass, I know what this is. It’s Fate. The universe is telling the two of you to take another chance. Oh, I love second chance romances!” She stared off to a dreamy location somewhere on the ceiling.
I was even more irritated when Maddie chimed in. “She’s right. I think this could be a sign you’re supposed to give this another try with Bronson.”
What the hell was happening right now? Even Maddie took on romantic notions? Aren’t roommates supposed to side with me? Here they were, practically pushing me into Bronson’s arms again.
“No. This isn’t a second chance or Fate or whatever. This cannot happen. The man already broke my heart once, I don’t need him doing it again.”
I kicked off the blanket, getting all hot and bothered. Not because of Bronson. Not because I still felt all kinds of electricity moving through my body from when he grabbed my elbow on the street. And not because his blue eyes had penetrated me on the stairwell like they had Xray vision and could see me naked again. I was just hot, okay?
I needed a change of subjects fast. I had no more desire for the past or to say his name. Nope. It was almost the New Year, and it was time for the new with this babe. “You know what we need? A girls’ night out. Let’s go!”
Both roommates moaned. “Ugh, I don’t feel like getting all dressed up,” Lily said, snuggling back down onto the couch.
“Yeah, I’m ready for bed. I have a four-hour drive to New York tomorrow to visit my Grandmother in the nursing home for Christmas Eve.” Maddie let me down for the second time tonight.
Well, I didn’t need them, and screw Fate. I grabbed my phone in defiance of them all. “Fine. As it happens, I met someone new tonight. I’ll bet he’d like to go out.” My heart could not believe I dared text some random guy when it probably needed closure before starting something new. My roommates stared at me in disbelief, but I defied them all with one text.
Me: Hi Hank! It’s Cass. We met at the Chick In Bun party? Are you done working tonight? Want to grab a drink?
By the time I took our spoons and empty ice cream containers to the kitchen, Hank texted back.
Hank: Sure! Finished up now. Where can we meet?
And like that, I gave the middle finger to Fate.
6
In Need of a Distraction
Bronson
Chick In Bun’s party finished by seven. I had made my obligatory rounds among the executives, shaking hands and making plans for meetings and more meetings. With Buck by my side, the introductions went well, and I even believed for a moment the possibility of him passing the power to me might be a smooth transition. It should have been exhilarating to take the helm, but all I could think about was Cassidy. I didn’t need the added guilt riddling through me caused by seeing her.
I leaned my head back on the car seat and took a deep breath. I only had to endure one car ride home to the mansion with my family, and then I’d be free to figure out what I was going to do about Cassidy Masters appearing in my life again.
My sister had other plans, dead set on making my life difficult. “So, Cass is working for Chick In Bun? How did we not know this?” She kindly blurted out the news in front of our parents. I knew she said it to hurt me, like the manipulative little bitch she could be.
Mom snapped, “What do you mean?”
Kelly smirked and said, “Oh yes, Mother, I checked with Brandon in HR after seeing Cass at the party tonight. She’s been a member of our marketing department for two years, right, Bron?”
Nice, real mature. I reminded myself how Kelly and I had gotten along until we were preteens, when our father insisted there be healthy competition between us. Who will take over the family business? Buck frequently asked us, like his favorite game to play. I excelled at sports and academics. Kelly did not. It didn’t stop her from trying to win Buck’s favor. Once she figured out she could be the first to provide grandchildren, she found a page-perfect husband and created the future generation of Maxwell’s who could take over the family business. Until I found a wife, I let her win on that one technicality.
Mom winced. “The girl who caused your accident came to work for us? How dare she!” She leaned back on the seat and put a hand to her forehead in dramatic fashion.
“She’s hardly a girl anymore. She’s a grown woman with a degree in marketing. And it’s not a big deal.” My attempts to soften the situation went ignored.
“Buck, you must do something about this.”
Dad’s eyes trained on me as his face reddened, his silent fury ominous. The weight of his stare pounded me like a jackhammer until I shrunk about three sizes smaller. I knew him well enough to know that while silent now, I’d hear an earful about it soon enough when he had me alone.
Mom couldn’t drop the subject yet. “Bron, honey, you know she’s no good for you. She’s not the type of woman a man in your position should date, and besides, you can’t have forgotten the hurt she caused you from the accident. Oh, and darling, the matchmaker scheduled your first get-together for Tuesday night. Keep the night open.”
I crossed my arms against being trapped in the car, besieged by my parents and sister. And it had only been two days since I returned. To avoid any more conversation, I distracted myself with scenes of Boston blowing by our car window, but each one contained all my best memories with Cassidy. How in the world did I think I could come back to Boston without dredging up the past?
As the car pulled up to the mansion, a text came in from Tony. I had texted my old college buddy a few days ago, letting him know about my move back to Boston.
Tony: Back in town yet?
Me: Yep. I need a distraction.
Tony: I’ll round up the guys and meet you at the bar.
I knew I could count on my old friends and teammates to give me a way out of this drama tonight.
7
Night With Hank, Part One
Cassidy
I waited for my roommates to talk me out of it, but they didn’t. Now going out with Hank made me nervous, but I had to follow through. Telling myself that a little fun with him might help me forget Bronson also did nothing toward calming my nerves.
I did a quick thirty-minute touch-up of my hair and makeup, getting braver by the minute and even going live on my Instagram, showing off getting ready. And, yes, I may have shared a sappy monologue live with a thousand strangers about the disaster of my love life, but their well-wishes in the chat bolstered my bruised ego.
You look hot, girl! Go out and get hammered.
Have fun with Hank, but not too much fun.
A girl like you should dance the night away.
I bid my roommates goodbye, pulling the door closed on their protests against me going out. An Uber waited for me outside, and I settled into the backseat, reading the well-wishes of my best Instagram friends.
The courageous feeling I entered the car with soon dissipated as we drove further away from the comfort of the apartment. Hank insisted we meet up on a street filled with bars near Boston University when I told him I wanted to meet in public. I knew the street all too well, as in I spent most of my time there with Bronson too well. But since I was being a defiant little bitch for the moment, I decided showing my face on this street would tell Fate she could take her second chance romance idea and shove it.
The moment I stepped from the car, I almost turned around and told the driver Haul me home. Seeing the neon lights of the pubs and eateries had me second-guessing my plan. The entire street opened before me like one big scrapbook of my former life with Bronson, containing pages and pag
es of memories. If it weren’t for Hank coming up to me, I would have walked off in the opposite direction.
“Hey, Cass! You look hot.” Hank’s opening line didn’t reassure me. My plan against Fate stunk. He took my hand and looked me up and down again. “Damn, my buddies are going to be so jealous. On second thought, maybe I should take you back to my place.”
I put my hand up against his chest. I needed to set the boundaries.
“Whoa, buddy, slow down. I’m here for drinks, dancing, and fun, nothing more. If you think you can handle this, then take me to the nearest pub.”
Hank’s face registered disappointment for a split second. “Well, I guess showing you off to my friends will have to do. I can handle it if you can. Come on.”
He took my hand and led me away. I normally wouldn’t take the guy’s hand on a first date either, but I let this one slide because my red heels were already killing me as I tried not to stumble between the cracks of the sidewalk. Why didn’t I remember these cracked sidewalks when selecting my footwear for the evening?
Hank stopped in front of a bar, and I was so wrapped up in trying to walk without falling in the cracks I didn’t notice where we were until he said, “Here we are. The Boston Ball Pub.”
Oh. My. God. The red neon of the Ball Pub blinked before me, and my heart palpitated, with my defiance against Fate obliterated. “Um, Hank? You don’t play baseball for Boston U, do you?” Please say no. Please say no.
“Yep. I’m the shortstop. Come on, the team’s here celebrating the return of one of our former players.” He pulled me inside, and as soon as my eyes adjusted to the pub lighting, I looked up. The balcony had been the place where seniors and alumni often gathered. No way did I expect to see the baseball star I dated all those years ago. No way did I expect to see him twice in one day. But there he was. Bronson Maxwell—standing at the railing in the middle of a group of players.