by Lauren Layne
Even as she said it, she saw the flaw in her own logic. She had plenty of friends. But none of them had protected her from Brayden. Not even Clarke West, her best friend since childhood, had been able to stop the hurt, and she knew he’d do anything for her. Audrey winced, belatedly realizing that poor Clarke was waiting for her in the church, probably worried about where the hell she was.
Naomi was still pushing her plan. “Because who knows better how to spot another woman getting scammed than three women who just experienced it?”
Damn. It was a good point. A really good point. And the truth was, Audrey didn’t know if she could survive the past week for a second time. She bit her lip and looked at Claire. “You know, I don’t hate this plan?”
Claire wasn’t as sure. Audrey could see it in the way her eyes remained wary, the way she fiddled with her watch as though biding her time until she could politely excuse herself from the situation.
Naomi’s gaze was also locked on Claire’s watch. “Cartier.”
Audrey hadn’t been paying much attention to the watch itself, but she jolted at that. She wasn’t in the accessory business like Naomi, but she knew a Cartier watch.
She knew because she had one at home. Her gaze dropped to the watch. She knew what she’d find, but her heart twisted all the same. They didn’t just both have Cartier watches. They had the same Cartier watch.
Claire looked up at Naomi, her confused gaze indicating she was a step behind Audrey’s realization. Or perhaps, deeper in denial. “Yes. How’d you know?”
Naomi didn’t look away from Claire. “I know designers. I also know that I have the exact same watch at home.”
Claire sucked in a startled breath. “Brayden…?”
Naomi nodded.
“Me, too,” Audrey said, almost inaudibly.
Claire stared down at the watch on her left wrist, and Audrey could feel her caving—understanding what Audrey and Naomi already understood. They needed each other.
Naomi extended her hand. “Hands in, girls, we’re making a pact, high school–style. May neither of you ever fall victim to a cheating bastard again. Not on my watch.”
Audrey didn’t even hesitate in placing her palm on top of Naomi’s hand. “And to helping each other find the right man. That’s on my watch.”
And she meant it. She might not be worthy of a happily ever after, but she was determined that these women would find it. It was the least she could do.
Claire hesitated for a moment longer before slowly resting her hand atop Audrey’s. “Oh, what the hell. I’m in. To no more assholes.”
Audrey felt something click in that moment, feeling a connection that went beyond friendship, a sense that this was a pivotal point of her life. Not Brayden’s death, but what came after.
As they slowly pulled their hands back, Audrey let out a long sigh before glancing across the park in the general direction of the church they’d all ditched. “I guess we should make an appearance, huh?”
Naomi let out a derisive snort and, standing, flicked her sunglasses back onto her nose with a finger. “Screw it. Let’s go shopping.”
“I’m in,” Claire said, also standing. “Let’s stop by Sugarfina on the way and get some ridiculously priced but fabulous gummy candies. Brayden hated gummy candies.”
“Did he?” Naomi said. “I didn’t know that, but hell, let’s buy the whole shop.”
Audrey stood as well, but slower. She’d known. She’d known Brayden hadn’t liked gummy candies. Just like she’d known they’d both loved chocolate. And she knew his smile had been higher on the right than the left and that he didn’t really like black pepper but always asked servers to add it to his food anyway, as though saying no would be an affront to his manhood. She knew his favorite cocktail was a Tito’s martini with a blue cheese olive and that he liked to sleep on the right side of the bed.
She knew everything a wife would know. But she would never be his wife. Or anyone else’s. Not because she’d turned cynical. Audrey still believed in happy endings. She believed in them with her whole heart. She believed that a man and a woman could get married and live happily ever after so long as someone else didn’t come along and ruin that happiness.
Which was exactly what Audrey had done.
She’d thought she’d been living her own fairy tale, but really she’d been the villain in Claire’s. In her quest to find her own Price Charming, she’d been borrowing someone else’s. Maybe even two someone else’s, she realized, with a glance at Naomi.
Audrey silently made another pact, this time with herself. She’d help these other women find a second chance at happiness. She still believed in love. Just not for herself. She wasn’t at all sure she deserved it.
Chapter One
ONE AND A HALF YEARS LATER
SUNDAY, JANUARY 5
Naomi Powell looked at the glass of brownish-green sludge in front of her face, then glanced up at Audrey. “Why is this happening to me?”
Audrey gave the glass a little waggle. “You haven’t even tried it.”
Reluctantly, Naomi took the glass and sniffed. “It smells like farts and dirt.”
“That’s the brussels sprouts and kale,” Audrey said, handing a second glass to Claire, who took it with almost as much reluctance.
“Cheers!” Audrey said, lifting her own glass and taking a sip of the smoothie.
Naomi took the tiniest of sips, following it with an immediate gagging noise, and Claire merely shook her head without trying it, setting the glass back on the table with a firm nope.
“Yeah, all right,” Audrey acknowledged, giving the glass a swirl, noting that the thick sludge barely moved. “It’s not great.”
“Why do you even have that gunk?” Naomi asked, setting the glass as far away from her as her arm would reach.
“Why is that stuff even in existence?” Claire added.
Audrey walked back into her kitchen and held up the powdered mix. “Super Fuel. It’s got approximately nine million vitamins and antioxidants and like a year’s worth of fiber. I told them I’d try it and, if it was any good, mention it to my followers.”
Such was the life of an influencer. It wasn’t a traditional job. Heck, as far as most people were concerned, it probably wasn’t a job at all. Getting free stuff, evaluating it, and then sharing the good parts with her massive Instagram following wasn’t exactly a hardship. But it was hard work. Whenever Audrey encountered a derisive snort after the requisite what do you do introductions, she merely smiled. Yes, she got free stuff. Yes, she made a rather staggering amount of money from endorsements and partnerships. Yes, from the outside her job looked as simple as taking a picture of herself with the newest it shade of matte lipstick.
But what people didn’t see were the hours she spent managing her email, her Instagram DMs, and her Facebook messages. They didn’t see the hundreds of queries she received in a single day. They didn’t see the time she spent updating her blog, setting up her tripod, editing her photos, speaking at panels, staying active in her Facebook groups, monitoring comments, deleting spam and trolls, etc.
Audrey loved her job, but it was a job—a full-time one.
Naomi was wrinkling her nose. “Unless you hate your followers, put that down the garbage disposal and never speak of it again.”
“No, don’t!” Claire protested. “That stuff will probably turn into a brick and destroy the garbage disposal and this gorgeous kitchen.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Naomi said, patting Claire’s hand. “Garbage disposals? You’re such a contractor’s wife.”
Claire’s smile was adorable and smug at the same time. “I am, aren’t I?”
Audrey gave a smile of her own as she dumped the unappealing smoothie down the sink. Few things brought her more joy in life than seeing her friends happy, and Claire was definitely happy. Newly married to the gruff, flannel-wearing, bighearted Scott Turner, Claire’s in-love glow was rivaled only by Naomi’s, whose live-in boyfriend, Oliver Cunningham, was everything Bray
den Hayes had not been. Loyal, loving, and good.
At the fridge, Audrey pulled out a carafe of orange juice and champagne.
“Yes!” Naomi said, in eager agreement, leaping out of her chair. “Where are the champagne flutes? I knew you didn’t invite us over here just for dirt smoothies.”
“Hmm.” Audrey scanned the cupboards of the kitchen she was not yet familiar with. “No idea on the champagne flutes. You’ll have to hunt.”
“On it.” Naomi set out opening and closing cupboards until she discovered where the movers Audrey hired had unpacked the stemware.
“I love the new place,” Claire said as Audrey set the OJ and champagne on the table before cleaning away the abandoned smoothies.
“Me, too,” Audrey said, glancing around and admiring her new kitchen.
“Do you miss the palace?” Naomi asked, returning to the table with three of Audrey’s personal-favorite champagne flutes in hand. An Anthropologie find, the gold-rimmed and rose-tinted glasses had been featured in one of Audrey’s most popular posts to date.
Audrey rolled her eyes at Naomi’s reference to the family home where she had lived until just a couple of weeks ago. Though, to be fair… the primary Tate residence was sort of a palace, albeit a Manhattan version of one. A towering penthouse with marble floors, a staggering view of the entire city, and more space than Audrey had known what to do with once her parents had moved to California to be near her sister and her sister’s family.
“Creeping up on the big 3-0 while still living in my parents’ house started to feel a little lame,” Audrey admitted as Claire poured the mimosas. “Even though they didn’t live there anymore, I was hyperaware of the pampered-princess vibe while living in the, as you put it, palace.”
“As opposed to this hovel,” Naomi said sarcastically, gesturing at the spacious, sparkling brownstone just down the street from her family’s Madison Avenue penthouse.
“Yes, but I bought this place on my own,” Audrey said a little tartly. “Big difference.”
“Big difference,” Naomi agreed, lifting her glass in a toast. “To fresh starts.”
The three of them clinked glasses, and Claire smiled. “Did you know… I just realized that in the year and a half since we met in the park, we’ve all had a new home? Naomi moved into the Park Ave. place and then again to Tribeca. And mine wasn’t technically a move, but the renovation made it feel like a new place. And now Audrey.”
“And,” Naomi chimed in, “shortly after moving, I found Oliver. You found Scott with your renovation. Which means…” She darted her eyes over to Audrey.
“Mmmmm, yes,” Audrey said, taking a sip of her drink. “Clearly you must be referring to my romantic success with Randy.”
“In our defense,” Claire said, “we did tell you not to date a guy named Randy.”
“And you were right,” Audrey said with a wince, horrified that she had to date Randy Weaver for nearly three weeks before realizing what a creep he was. Granted that was three weeks longer than she’d dated anyone else since Brayden, but that was also three weeks too long, considering.
“At least you found out about the video cameras before you actually starred in one of his, um, films,” Claire said.
“Yeah, well, the cameras were sort of hard to miss, what with the bedroom being made of wall-to-wall-to-ceiling mirrors and all.”
Naomi started cracking up. “It’s seriously too good. To know that guys like that actually exist.”
Audrey gave her a mock glare, but she couldn’t stop her own grin. In hindsight, it was funny. Things had been going well enough with Randy up until that point. He hadn’t exactly swept her off her feet, and there hadn’t been any butterflies. But he had been kind. Considerate. A gentleman. Audrey had decided he was as good a guy as any to break her dry spell.
And then, she’d walked into his bedroom, which really and truly had been made of mirror, walls and ceiling. As if that weren’t unnerving enough, then she’d seen the cameras. Plural. Along with a hidden big-screen TV built into one of the mirrors.
Not only did Randy only make love for the cameras, he enjoyed watching himself in past performances while in the midst of the current performance. He’d assured her it would be a turn-on if she’d give it a chance. She’d assured him he should lose her phone number forever.
Audrey sighed and decided it was time to get to the real reason she’d invited her friends over and was plying them with boozy beverages at 11 a.m.
“I need to tell you girls something.”
Seeing she had their attention, she got right to it. “So, I told Randy about Brayden. Not everything, but… enough. I told him I dated Brayden knowing he was married but believing him when he said he was separated and the divorce was nearly final. I told him about the shock of learning upon his death that the ‘separation’ was news to his wife. I told him about both of you,” she said, with an apologetic look at her friends.
“Okay…?” Claire prompted, frowning a little in confusion.
“I trusted him,” Audrey said quietly, reaching for her phone. “And… it turns out that trust was misplaced.”
Knowing it would be clearer to show them, rather than tell them, Audrey pulled up Instagram and slid the phone between them.
Claire’s head tilted down next to Naomi’s red one as they read the Instagram post together.
“Who’s Scandal Boy?” Claire asked.
“Knockoff of Gossip Girl,” Naomi answered for Audrey, still scanning the phone. “Some little anonymous bitch who gets his jollies spreading rumors about the Manhattan elite. I’ve been mentioned at least a dozen times, none of it good, most of it untrue.”
“Me, too,” Audrey said. “The guy’s always seemed to hate me, but it’s never been this bad.”
She nibbled nervously at the nail of her ring finger until her friends looked up. Her heart sank when she saw the furious expression on both of their faces. “I am so sorry, I had no idea Randy would betray me and tell the world about Brayden, or that Scandal Boy would hear about it.”
“Can’t you sue?” Claire demanded. “For slander, or something?”
“Slander only applies if it’s untrue,” Naomi said as she picked up the phone and read an excerpt from Scandal Boy’s post. “ ‘Everyone’s favorite Upper East Side princess has a dirty little secret. The rumor mill’s long been buzzing about Audrey Tate’s involvement with the late Brayden Hayes, but this Boy’s just learned that the Madison Avenue princess was no victim—she knew her prince was married the entire time and bagged him anyway.’ ”
Naomi lowered the phone with a disgusted look. “ ‘Bagged’? Who is this guy?”
“A little twerp, that’s who,” Claire said, pulling the iPhone out of Naomi’s hand, locking the screen, and setting it facedown in front of Audrey. “Forget about him. He doesn’t deserve a second more of your time.”
“Hear, hear,” Naomi said in agreement.
Audrey looked between the two of them. “Wait. That’s it? Aren’t you mad?”
“Oh, furious,” Claire said. “If I knew who he was, I’d put his nuts in a vise—”
“No, mad at me,” Audrey clarified in exasperation.
They stared at her. “Why would we be mad at you?”
“For telling Randy about our… history.”
“I told Oliver,” Naomi pointed out.
Claire nodded. “And I told Scott. Well, granted, he already knew from Oliver and Naomi. But I never made any effort to hide it.”
“Yeah, but those are good guys,” Audrey said. “They can be trusted.”
Naomi gave her a coy smile. “Yes, darling. And your guy was not one of the good ones. Now, if only we’d made a pact where the two of us could have told you that Randy was a shit… oh wait…”
“Naomi,” Claire said in warning. “Do you really want us to bring up Dylan?”
“Oof,” Naomi said, blowing out a breath at the memory of the guy she’d flirted with briefly before realizing Oliver was the one. “
Touché.”
“Wait, you’re really not mad?” Audrey asked her friends, still baffled.
“No, but we will be if you don’t quit acting like this,” Naomi said. “Look, it sucks. Neither of us likes knowing that this asshole’s talking about you like this. But in terms of how it affects us?” She shrugged. “I’m good.”
“Me, too,” Claire said. “It’s been a long time.”
A year and a half. It had been a year and a half since Brayden had died, and her friends had moved on.
That was the crucial difference, Audrey realized. They didn’t care about this dirt with Brayden coming to the surface because it couldn’t hurt them anymore. They had new men, new loves. And Audrey was…
Fine. She was just fine.
Naomi had turned her attention to her own phone, and now her mimosa was frozen halfway to her mouth and she suddenly looked far more horrified at whatever she was reading on her own phone than what she’d read on Audrey’s. “Um. Audrey.”
“Hmm?” she asked, adding a bit more champagne to her glass.
Naomi’s blue eyes met hers. “You’ve been paying attention to the Internet besides the Scandal Boy thing, right?”
Audrey gave an indelicate grunt. “Not really. I’ve been mostly offline since his shady post. I needed a break from the fake pity and the nosy questions. I figure tomorrow’s soon enough to deal with it all.”
“Yeeeeah, I think you have something new to deal with. Something… bigger.”
She handed Audrey the phone. “Read Deena’s message, then click the link.”
Audrey skimmed the text from Naomi’s assistant.
OMG, is it true?! Squee!
Audrey’s thumb tapped the URL below the message, her gaze only needing to take in the headline to understand Naomi’s concern.
Socialite Audrey Tate engaged to longtime companion Clarke West.
“Oh hell,” Audrey muttered with a sigh, handing the phone back to Naomi. “Not this again.”
Chapter Two
SUNDAY, JANUARY 5