One Crazy Week

by Claire Kingsley

  And he wants me.

  His brow creases with worry.

  Yeah, I’ll let him sweat it for a few more seconds.

  I hold his eyes and lift my left hand.

  With a gentle touch, Jackson takes the ring from the box and slides it onto my finger.

  “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  Melissa

  “Ooh, that’s mine,” I say, grabbing a piece of steak from Jackson’s plate with my chop sticks.

  We’re stretched out across the bed in the penthouse in the nicest hotel in Jetty Beach. We usually stay at my place when we’re in town, but the septic tank backed up and I literally can’t go anywhere near it. The smell makes me instantly nauseated. Besides, staying at a hotel isn’t so bad. I don’t mind not having to clean up after myself, and the sheets are spectacular.

  We haven’t quite figured out the logistics of where we live. Do we live in Seattle? In Jetty Beach? I’m not sure anymore, but it doesn’t seem to matter. We spend time in both places and I kind of like our back-and-forth life.

  The school year started, but I’m taking a sabbatical from work. Between the controversy, and my pregnancy, I decided to take the year off. I’m not sure if I’ll return to teaching. At this point, I’m content to focus on the baby. And, to be fair, money isn’t an issue. I figure I’m going to be a mom and I can take some time to figure out what my future will look like. It won’t be long, and everything is going to change.

  I rub the swell of my belly through my white t-shirt. I’m visibly pregnant, although I still have almost four months to go. People usually assume I’m further along—apparently the baby has nowhere else to go but out. Nicole can’t stop talking about how cute I am, and she gives Ryan a lot of longing looks. I think I’m making him very, very nervous.

  My ring sparkles in the light. I still love looking at it. We got married in Vegas a month ago, although we haven’t told anyone. We sneaked into a chapel with sunglasses and hoods over our heads to avoid anyone with a stray camera, and an Elvis impersonator did the honors. It was completely fucking perfect. I love having such a big secret that only Jackson and I share. Dennis is planning a real wedding for us late next year. I don’t want mine to overshadow Nicole’s, and I’d kind of like to have wedding pictures where I’m not hugely pregnant. Of course, there will be a baby in those pictures, but it isn’t like the kid won’t be able to do the math someday and figure it out.

  “Hey, you wanted the chicken,” Jackson says, frowning at me when I take another piece of steak from his plate. He plucks a bit of meat from mine.

  “Oh, hell no,” I say. “You do not take food from a pregnant woman.”

  He grins at me and puts the chicken back. The takeout boxes are set on a wooden tray, along with bottled iced teas. He moves everything down to the floor and scoots closer to me.

  “Is lunch what you wanted?” he asks, brushing my hair back. He leans in and kisses his way down my collar bone, his hand lingering on my breast.

  “Mm, you need to stop that,” I say. “I’m starving.”

  The only thing stronger than my appetite for food is my appetite for sex. My hormones are on fire, and Jackson has no qualms about my changing body. If anything, he enjoys it in new ways. He particularly loves my boobs—but let’s be honest, they look amazing. If my belly has to get huge, at least I get bigger boobs out of the deal.

  He gently takes the plate from my hands and sets it aside, his mouth never far from mine. I’m hungry, but what the hell, the food will be here later.

  I let him press me back onto the bed. He slides his hand beneath my skirt. I moan as he nudges my legs apart, his fingers working their magic.

  “I guess you’re not freaked out,” I say.

  He nuzzles against my neck, nibbling my skin.

  We had our first ultrasound this morning. Seeing that tiny little figure moving around on the screen was one of the most intense moments of my life. I already feel such a bond to this little person; I can’t explain it. I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl, but I already love this baby with a fierceness that kind of takes my breath away.

  “Of course I’m not freaked out,” he says. He pushes his fingers in harder, rubbing up and down. I fumble for his pants, trying to free his cock.

  Jackson is as attached as I am. He caresses my belly constantly. He leans down and talks to the baby, insisting he needs to make sure he or she knows his voice. I even caught him reading a parenting book when he thought I wasn’t looking. Whatever fears I had that Jackson would spook and leave me are gone. He positively dotes on me, even when I don’t want him to. I had to convince him I don’t need the fucking secret service when I go places by myself. But I have to admit, his protective side is sexy as hell.

  He stops before I can get his pants down and props himself up next to me. “Were you worried I’d freak out?”

  I take a deep breath, my whole body tingling. “I don’t know, not really. But why did you stop?”

  He smiles and trails a finger down my leg. I feel a little flutter as the baby shifts. It is the weirdest thing, to feel something moving in my belly and realize it’s a person. This pregnancy is so out of the blue, and so very unplanned—I never contemplated what it would be like to have a baby growing inside me. It’s strange and surprising and wonderful, and often very emotional, all at once. I’ve never laughed and cried so much—often at the same time.

  “Do you regret not finding out the sex?” he asks.

  We debated whether we wanted to know if it’s a boy or a girl. I think we were both on the fence and at the last minute decided to wait until the baby’s born.

  “Do you regret it?” I ask.

  Jackson gives me that gorgeous devil smile of his. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” I say. “I thought we were in this together.”

  “Do you regret it?” he asks again.

  He definitely has something up his sleeve. “Maybe,” I say.

  He gets up from the bed and pulls an envelope from his jacket.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  He sits down next to me and doesn’t say anything, just puts the envelope on the bed between us.

  “Jackson.” I try to sound stern, but I’m smiling too much. I scoot so I’m sitting up—it isn’t easy—and pull the sheets over my lap.

  “I have not looked at this,” he says. “You can see it’s still sealed.”

  “But?”

  “But I asked the doctor to write us a little note that we can either open, or not.”

  I groan. “That is so mean! I was all set to wait, and now you have the answer sitting there in front of me? How am I supposed to resist that?”

  “Let’s not resist,” he says.

  I lick my lips, staring at the envelope. Should we? “Fuck it. I’m in.”

  He tucks his finger underneath the flap and runs it along the edge, taking his damn time about it. My heart thumps with excitement, and the baby does a little roll. I put my hand on my belly. He makes a show of pulling out the folded piece of paper, a positively evil glint in his eyes.

  “Damn it, let me see,” I say.

  With maddening slowness, he unfolds the paper, smirking at me the whole time.

  Suddenly his face falls, the smile disappearing. His eyes get wide and he swallows hard.

  “What?” I ask, suddenly afraid. “What is it?”

  He stares at the paper, blinking his eyes. He looks up, meeting my gaze, and passes the paper to me. Are there tears in his eyes? There can’t be.

  I take the note and smooth it out. In messy script, but plain as day, is a single word, and suddenly I know why Jackson looks like he’s about to cry.

  Girl.

  Want more Jetty Beach? Turn the page for a preview of Messy Perfect Love.

  Messy Perfect Love: Chapter 1

  Clover

  The line is practically out the door, and I can’t make espresso fast enough.

  My mass of curly blond hair keeps trying to break free of my hair t
ie while I work. I blow a curl out of my eye while I steam a pitcher of two percent. That’s right, isn’t it? The customer wants two percent? Or was that the customer before? Crap, I can’t remember. The café has been slammed for the last hour and my head is spinning.

  I finish up the drink and put a lid on the cup. I hate working in a place that uses paper cups, but what are you gonna do? I need to make rent.

  “Mark,” I call out, reading the name on the cup. “Twelve-ounce double shot vanilla latte.”

  A man in a button-down shirt and tie comes forward. I flash him my friendliest smile. He looks annoyed.

  “Thanks for coming in,” I say, my voice cheery.

  His face softens as he grabs his coffee, and he gives me a closed-mouth smile. I feel my grin grow larger. He had to wait for his coffee, but I broke through his grumpy exterior. I call that a victory.

  I take a deep breath, and go to work on the next drink. One of my coworkers brushes past me and I freeze. I don’t want to spill anything. I’m on thin ice with Dean, my boss, already; screwing up in the middle of a rush will probably get me fired.

  I cannot afford to get fired.

  “Clover, can you work the register for a second?” Dean asks as he walks by me.

  I run the back of my arm over my forehead and nod. “Sure.” My feet are killing me, but my shift is almost over. I just have to get through this line, and I can go home.

  “What can I get for you?” I ask the next customer in line.

  “Are you guys short-staffed or something?” he asks.

  “Oh, you know, unexpected rush,” I say. “Sorry for the wait. We’ll make sure the coffee is worth it.”

  He orders his drink and I write it down on the side of the cup. I break out my smile again for the next customer. Her order is so complicated I have to ask her to repeat it three times before I get it right. Seriously, why can’t people just order a cup of coffee? Why all this sixteen-ounce quad shot two pump mocha with nonfat milk in a twenty-ounce cup with a lid and two straws nonsense?

  “Hey Clover, can you take this out to the table by the window?” Dean asks, handing me a ceramic mug of black drip coffee. Most customers take theirs to go, but once in a while someone wants to sit with a regular mug. “I’ll take the register.”

  I glance at the guy sitting by the window, and my heart flutters. He’s really good-looking. And sitting alone. His dirty-blond hair is kind of messy, and he’s wearing these adorable nerd glasses. He’s sitting with his headphones hooked to his laptop, his eyes intent on the screen.

  “You bet,” I say, with slightly more enthusiasm than necessary. I take the cup and hold it with as much care as I can possibly muster. It’s hot, but the tips of my fingers are pretty impervious to heat at this point. I’ve worked in a lot of coffee shops—it tends to happen.

  I navigate my way past the never-ending line of customers toward his table, trying not to let the coffee slosh out. He looks up as I approach, and I give him my friendliest smile.

  “Here you go,” I say. I slide the mug onto the table, breathing out a sigh of relief. Oh thank God, I didn’t spill. He doesn’t bother removing his headphones, just gives me a little nod and turns back to his screen.

  Well, that’s disappointing. But at least I didn’t drop his coffee. I managed to break a blender yesterday, and last week I dropped a whole tray of mugs, shattering four of them. I don’t know why these things happen to me. I swear, sometimes I’m sure the universe is out to get me.

  I turn around to go back behind the counter, and crash into a customer. My eyes widen as most of the iced blended green tea latte he’s carrying slides down my front, drenching my boobs.

  “Oh my god,” I say. “I am so sorry.”

  The cup is smashed between us and green slush covers his white shirt. His mouth is wide open and he stares at me.

  I cringe. “Please, let me fix this.” I run over to the counter and grab a handful of napkins. He stands in one spot, as if the drink froze him solid. The ice in my bra burns my skin, and I’m keenly aware of everyone in the café staring at me—even Mr. Good-Looking Headphones Guy. I try to mop up the damage, but the customer glares at me and steps away.

  “Just, don’t,” he says.

  Dean comes out, a fresh drink already in his hand. “Sir, I am so sorry. Here, we’ll of course pay for dry cleaning. And have a gift card as well.” He hands the customer the drink and the gift card, shooting me a glare in the process.

  Tears sting my eyes, and I back away. I want to go hide. A guy in line snickers, putting a hand to his mouth. The woman behind him gives me a look of pity. I sniff, forcing down the lump in my throat, and go to the back to clean up.

  I grab a roll of paper towels and shove one down my shirt. I have blended green tea shit everywhere. This bra is a goner. Hopefully Dean will let me go a little bit early. My shirt is soaked, clinging to my skin. Even with my apron on, I can’t face customers like this.

  “Clover,” Dean says. “Can I see you in my office?”

  My tummy rolls over. That does not sound good.

  “Yeah,” I say. I pat my shirt with another paper towel, but at this point it’s pretty much futile.

  Dean has a little office at the back of the store, not much more than a closet. There’s enough space for a small computer desk and one chair in front of it. I’ve been in this office several times—the first, when I interviewed, was a nice experience. I’m awesome at interviews. They’re usually really fun. The other times, not so much. The blender. The broken mugs. There was another mishap, but I can’t remember now what it was. I’ve only been working here for about three months, and already I’ve had more than my share of in-the-boss’s-office meetings. I sit down across from him, chewing on my lower lip. I was so sure this café is where I’m supposed to be. The signs were all there. Why did it go so wrong?

  “Clover, you’re a sweet girl,” he says.

  Oh great, here we go.

  “But you’re … well, you’re accident prone,” he says. “I don’t know if you’re just careless, or if you don’t have a good sense of the space around you. But we’re a little shop, we don’t have a lot of room. Our baristas have to be able to navigate around each other without constantly running into things. And people.”

  I do not constantly run into things. Just … once in a while.

  “This is the second time you’ve spilled on a customer,” he continues.

  Is this the second time? It can’t be. No, wait. It is the second time. Damn it. “Dean, I’m so sorry. I was being so careful with the other guy’s coffee, and that dude was right there behind me.”

  “Yes, but this isn’t the first time we’ve had problems with you,” he says. “I hate to do this, but I don’t think our café is a good fit for you.”

  I slump back in my seat and look at the floor. Fuck. Fired.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “I’ll work on it, I swear. Dean, I really need this job.”

  Dean sighs. “I’ll give you a week’s pay, but that’s the best I can do.”

  I bite my lip so my eyes stop tearing up. “Okay, well, thanks for the opportunity.”

  I get up and don’t look back to see Dean’s face. I don’t want to see him feeling sorry for me. I leave his office, grab my things, and go out the back door.

  Keep reading Messy Perfect Love

  Afterword

  Dear reader,

  I’m just going to be honest. I love the shit out of this book.

  Melissa was a natural choice for the next heroine in the Jetty Beach series and it was the title that came to me first. Must Be Crazy. What would be crazy? What would be something that would totally throw Melissa off her game?

  Aha! Jackson Bennett. A rich playboy who presents her with an offer she can’t refuse. A week with him. And as she tells herself, she’s single, and she could use a little crazy in her life. Why not? What could possibly go wrong?

  She might say a lot went wrong, but of course a lot more went right.

  Mel
issa is a firecracker. I loved her combination of spunk and I-don't-give-a-fuck-ness. I got to indulge in my sailor mouth a little more than usual with her, and I won't lie, that was fun. Her commercial fisherman daddy, John Simon, was inspired by my in-laws, who have been fishermen for countless generations. John's comment about 'old fisherman and bold fisherman' is a direct quote from my wonderful father-in-law.

  Jackson will always hold a special place in my heart. I feel like I took a risk writing him. Billionaire romances are such a THING, and they’re tons of fun. But Jackson, despite being the sort of rich that begins with a B, is not typical for that role. He’s not brooding and dark. He doesn’t have a weird fetish. He doesn’t need her to sign a contract.

  He is confident, bold, and totally crazy for Melissa from the first time they meet. And that was what made him so utterly delightful to write. Here is this shark of a businessman (I know we don’t get to see him work very much, because that wasn’t what this story was about, but there’s a reason he has so much money), who goes all soft and sweet for a woman. His appeal isn’t in the cold, hard exterior. It’s in the way he’s completely taken with her. I loved writing a man who is flat out nuts for his woman, and has no idea he’s actually in love.

  These two were crazy fun to write (see what I did there?). Although I always intended to write the Jetty Beach books as stand-alones, I was tempted to draw this one out. I enjoyed both of these characters so much. I’m going to miss them!

  Thanks for reading!

  CK

  Also by Claire Kingsley

  For a full and up-to-date listing of Claire Kingsley books visit www.clairekingsleybooks.com

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