Big brown eyes cut to mine, and Nikki frowns. “I heard that sigh. You’re still miserable.”
“Only a little.” I miss Jason. I miss the way I felt when we were together. And I miss that brief sense I had that I’d found my spot in the world. “It’s stupid. We were only together for a few weeks.”
“It’s not stupid. And it wasn’t a few weeks. This thing between the two of you has been going on for two years. Which is why when you two finally happened, it got serious fast. Your heart had been waiting years for that fucker.”
I laugh, but it hurts and now I’m crying again.
If anyone could relate to a runaway heart, it’s Nikki. She and Matt are solid now—so sickeningly in love, you can’t be around them without smiling so hard your cheeks hurt—but it wasn’t always like that. They’d been friends. Best friends for years. And Matt had no idea that she’d been in love with him. To say they’d had a rough start would be an understatement.
But she’s right about my heart waiting for him. All those months when he’d been pushing me away and I’d been trying to build a wall between us, my heart had still given a little lunge every time he entered the room.
And when we finally got together, I tried to play it cool, but my heart just couldn’t hold back, dashing right past the defenses I’d been putting up. Because it wanted him.
Resting my head on Nikki’s shoulder, I take a shuddering breath. “He’s not a fucker.”
If we’re name-calling, asshole has been my go-to, but that doesn’t feel right either. Nothing does. Maybe because I still haven’t totally gotten my head around what happened. How we could have gone from everything being so right, Jason and I on the brink of love, to the news about the groom dropping like a bomb. And then one awful conversation after another.
“Maybe my marriage would have been better if I hadn’t known.”
“Stay through the wedding, but then you’re done.”
I’d barely been holding it together after the ceremony, counting down the seconds until Jason got back. All I wanted was to bury my face in his chest and feel his arms around me. All I needed was two minutes of him giving me the benefit of the doubt, a shred of understanding.
But just like the last time I’d made myself vulnerable to him, all he had for me was a cold, disapproving stare as he let the doors close between us, shutting me out.
And then he ran through the garden, chasing down my cab and begging me to talk to him.
But only because he didn’t understand how I could do it.
I’d trusted in Jason. He just couldn’t trust in me.
Saturday, July 11th
Jason
The week since Laine slipped out of my life has been torture. At first, I tried asking myself if maybe this was better. If I’d somehow managed to dodge a second bullet and watching her drive away without an explanation was the wake-up call I needed.
But every minute that passes without her only increases my certainty that, no, nothing is better without her.
Laine isn’t Sophia. She isn’t selfish or manipulative or mercenary.
She’s kind and generous. And she always tries to do the right thing.
But I hadn’t trusted in her enough to accept that no matter what she chose to do with the information, she must have believed it was the right thing.
So I texted. I called. I stalked appointments she didn’t make.
I told myself she needed some time. Fine. I was a dick. But it wasn’t like she could avoid me indefinitely. The hotel might be big, but it’s mine, and my people are team Laine-and-Jason-kissing-in-a-tree. Whenever she finally showed up, I knew she wouldn’t make it a foot past the door without someone clueing me in to the fact that she was here.
Only no one called because she never came.
Now it’s Saturday and we’ve got a wedding booked for the rooftop rose garden at ten with a reception following in the ballroom at noon. Blissful Brides Inc. is listed as the contact for arrangements. Which is why I’ve been staking out the lobby since six. Now, at eight thirty-six, the wedding planner finally stomps in, arms laden with a confusion of papers, looking almost put together.
Connie Bliss is only in her late fifties, but smoking and sun have added more years than any plastic surgeon could remove, and with her over-processed helmet of hair, she looks like the nasty grandmother no one wants to snuggle.
Lead fills my gut. Laine would never miss a wedding.
“We have a contract,” I say striding up to her. “Laine Malone handles all the Henley weddings, and I refer all inquiries to BB.”
“There you are, Jason. Nice to see you again,” she says, stopping to squint at me. “You look like hell.”
Great. “Late night.” Or a week of them. “Where is she?”
“Who? Laine?” Connie gives a shrug that has my bullshit meter spiking. “Sick. Nasty flu. She’ll be back next week.”
“Sick.” In the two years I’ve known her she’s never taken a sick day. She’s still avoiding me. She’s missing a wedding to avoid me.
Damn it, how am I going to fix this?
Friday, July 17th
Laine
One door closes and another opens. It’s always proved true, but the timing in this case is remarkable, even by the standards of a professional in an industry known for serendipity.
I’m moving on, moving forward.
But come on, is it absolutely necessary to rip my heart out while I do it, because that’s what Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” pouring out of the overhead speakers is doing. I smooth my hand over the polished oak table between us in the back corner of this bar, grounding myself in the moment, in the man seated across from me, and the proposal he’s offering.
Jason Henley has no place here. It’s been two weeks. Two brutal weeks, and maybe I’ll cry later. Who am I kidding, I definitely will. But right now? No tears.
I suck a deep breath and pull it together.
Max Johnson is watching me intently, waiting for my response.
Refocusing my attention, I let my gaze run the length of his body, taking in the details. This guy is a catch, if ever I saw one. Clean-cut good looks, nice dresser, a smooth smile, and trusting eyes that stay focused on me, proving I’m the center of his attention—an essential skill. The body is a plus, no doubt about it—talk about a strong back. He’s old enough to have some experience and young enough he’s still eager to learn.
And he’s been pursuing me for months. Looking at him now, I recognize this is exactly what I need.
Deliberation over, I smile and offer my hand. “Okay, Max. You’ve got me. Let’s do this.”
Jason
The crowd in the Henley bar is still thin, but as Dil pointed out when I asked what the story was, it’s only six. Granted, I’ve been sitting on my stool at the end of the bar for about three hours, which explains why it felt later.
I’m not getting blind drunk tonight. I mean, yeah, I’d like to numb up and put the fact that Laine won’t take my calls and hasn’t been back to the hotel in nearly two weeks behind me—but it won’t help, so I’ll be done after one more.
“How you doing?” Dil asks, polishing the bar with a rag.
Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I shrug. “Good. Great.”
Dil lets out a dry laugh, but nods. He’s got a good sense about when to press and when to leave it. And maybe I need that more than I need another drink.
“Hey, man. Any chance you can get someone to cover?”
He raises a brow. “You want to watch a game or something?”
“Yeah. How about it?” I want company… only partly because I don’t want to call Laine again. It sucks when she doesn’t answer. And even worse, when she doesn’t call back.
He’s up for it. I toss down the rest of my drink and leave him to sort out the details. Back in the lobby, there’s a cluster of staff huddled around a phone. If they’ve got another video of baby goats springing around during yoga, I want to see it too.
Walking up to the g
roup, I lean in to see the screen. “What’s this?”
Bev shrieks, jumping back a good three feet, clutching her phone to her chest, panic in her eyes as the rest of the group starts backing away.
Whoa. Something is definitely up. “Bev?”
“I’m sorry, Jason. We weren’t gossiping, but… Kristi from housekeeping was out with her boyfriend and—” her uneasy pause has the muscles along my spine ratcheting tight, “—she saw Ms. Malone.”
Laine.
I nod, schooling my expression. “How is she?”
Blanching, she turns her phone around and shows me the snapshot not dark or blurry enough to leave any doubt that it was Laine. “Not alone.”
She’s with that guy from last month in the lobby, and he’s got his hand at the small of her back, looking like he’s never going to let go.
There’s a buzzing in my head, too loud to hear what I say as I turn back to the bar. I don’t stop at my still-vacant stool, instead heading around to the end and cutting back to the service side. Pulling out a clean glass, I give myself a generous pour that’s tossed back before Dil stops on the customer side of the bar.
His brow is furrowed, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Look man, I just heard, but you’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow if you don’t slow down.”
“Don’t have to wait for tomorrow.”
The writing is on the wall. She’s not taking my calls and now she’s out with another guy. She’s going to walk in here tomorrow morning, and we’re going to be over.
“Okay, boss, here’s how it’s gonna go,” Dil drawls, leaning further over the bar until he’s close enough to shift out of focus. “You’re getting back on the horse. And you’re doing it tonight.”
I shake my head. “Fuck the horse.”
He shrugs. “Whatever you’re into, I guess.”
An hour later, I’m sitting in the Henley’s five-star restaurant, wondering how the hell I let Dil talk me into this.
“Oops,” Pammy titters, pulling the scrap of her dress back over her nipple. Peering up from beneath a thick mane of bleached blond hair, she bites into her bottom lip and winks.
I smile and raise my glass, draining the last drop before returning it to the table with a thunk. Glancing around the restaurant, I can’t miss the unusual number of staff lingering at the perimeter of the room, each looking away with obvious embarrassment as my gaze lands on them. The hotel had been a poor choice for dinner, one of many. Well, at least with this many prying eyes, I won’t have to wait on the refill. Holding up my glass, I clink the ice around and raise a brow for a taker.
I’ve got a fresh drink on the table within ninety seconds.
“Five-star service,” I comment, daring a glance at Pammy. The suggestive manner in which she’s running her fingers up and down the stem of her wine glass has me on edge, and I pull at my collar. She’s eyeing me like a piece of meat.
“How’s the risotto tonight?” I sound like her waiter, not a man about to rock her world. Two years ago, she would have been perfect. We would have been playing footsy under the table, whispering conversation thick with innuendo. Hell, two years ago, I would have been fingering her panties in my suit pocket by now.
The pointed toe of a stiletto jabs into my shin, making me jump back.
“Sorry.” Her nose wrinkles up, and she starts to lick the tines of her fork. “I’ll have to kiss that owie for you later.”
Her mouth going anywhere near what’s promising to be a swollen purple bruise is decidedly unappealing. This date isn’t working. I don’t feel better. I’m not distracted from the flesh-rending pain of my heart being broken. All I can think about is Laine, and all I want is to stop.
My phone vibrates, but it’s Dil, not Laine.
Dil: You really going to let your life go back to a revolving door of Pammys or you going to get off your ass and fix this?
Like I said, the guy has a knack for knowing what you need.
Downing half the contents of my freshly filled glass, I lean forward and take Pammy’s hand. Truth time. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
I’m getting Laine back.
Forty minutes later, Dil is behind the wheel of the Henley limo, wearing a look of utter amusement. Dick. “Look, I didn’t mean tonight, Jay.”
Slumped in the front passenger seat, I nod then shake my head and finally just shrug. The booze is catching up with me. “I’ve already waited too long. It’s go time.”
Dil turns a slow, skeptical eye in my direction, and then through the passenger window to the apartment building beyond. “You sure you don’t want to try calling her instead? I’ve got the phone right here. Or better yet, wait until tomorrow?”
“No. It can’t wait. I fucked everything up and a romantic gesture’s in order. I’m gonna do it.” Pocketing the coins off the dash, I shoulder into the limo door. “Fuck.” On the second try it opens and I start toward the darkened side of the brick building. Most of the lights are out and I briefly wonder what time it is, but whatever.
Dil comes up beside me, his phone in front of him.
I lean forward. “You filming this?”
He grins. “Fuck yeah, I am.”
“Dickhead.” But then I’m laughing with him, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I love you, man.”
“I know. So, Jay, tell me again why we can’t use dimes or pennies?”
I let out a snort. Amateur. “She’s special.” I throw the first silver dollar at the window.
Obscenities run out of Dil in a steady stream as the first coin rustles through the leafy branches well to the side of us and finally drops to the ground. “That wasn’t even toward the building, man.”
“Don’t start with me.” I point a finger at him, sternly. “Practice throw.”
“Don’t lie to yourself. It was a pussy throw.”
“Fuck, Dil. Language. People live here. This is a romantic gesture.”
“Yeah, yeah, boss. Sorry.”
“And now with the boss business.” Emotion clogs my throat as I turn to him. “I thought we were friends.”
“Why do you think I’m driving your ass around tonight. Now throw.”
Tottering over to where reflected light gleams off the surface, I pick up the coin and then focus on the building again.
“Which window are you aiming at?”
I ignore him. Dil isn’t a romantic; he doesn’t understand about fate.
“Which window?” he asks again, and the phone is back up.
“The one this hits.”
“You don’t know?” He’s totally laughing now. “Is this even her building?”
I’ve only been to her place twice, and I wasn’t driving. But I’m pretty sure this is it.
Using all the strength and coordination I can muster, I launch the coin and stagger a few feet forward.
Laine is going to love this. She’ll come to the window, her hair falling down around her shoulders, maybe a tissue in her hand—because she’s still upset about going out with that loser. She’ll see me and wipe away her last tear.
“Jesus, that went straight up— Watch it!” Dil barks.
I blink, my face still tilted skyward. There’s no one at the window. But what the hell is that coming at me— “Fuck!”
I’m on the ground, blinking at the warm goo oozing into my eye where the heavy coin struck.
Dil’s face pops into my line of vision. “For crissakes, you’re a bleeder too? That’s it. Night’s over, Romeo. We’re going back to the hotel.”
Wiping at my eye, the back of my hand comes away wet and sticky.
“Is she going to take me back?”
“Sure, she is. And I’m going to play this video at your wedding.” Dil’s voice softens as he holds out his hand and hefts me off the ground. “But it’s not happening tonight.”
Chapter 10
Saturday, July 18th
Jason
I’m nursing the mother of all hangovers, but I’ve been up and showered for hours because it�
��s Saturday morning, and there is no way Laine’s going to miss a second wedding. I’m not going to fuck things up by jumping into her path the second she clears the lobby doors, demanding to know if she’s into this guy. If it’s really over with us. If she misses me the way I miss her.
No. Definitely not.
I just want to see her.
The serious groveling can wait until after the wedding.
I’m on my third coffee when Connie shows up. She takes one look at what I’m guessing is a pretty thunderous expression and the starch leaves her spine completely.
“It’s a shame about Laine,” she starts warily. “But some people just don’t have what it takes for this business.”
Agreed, but I’m more of the mind that Connie is the one out of her depth. For now, the only thing that matters to me is where the hell Laine is.
“Explain.”
Clucking her tongue, she shuffles a binder overflowing with papers. “She wasn’t up for the job. She flat-out refused to follow my direct order about some rather unpleasant business with that wedding a few weeks back. You’d think she’d have some respect for the years I’ve put into this business, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. Ran off and spilled to the bride against my express orders. What did it get her? Nothing but a sad girl in a white dress going through with the wedding anyway. Knowing her man was swapping spit with a groomsman instead of her. Hmph. I’ve seen everything. If I’d been the one meeting with those two, I would have known he swung the other way, and… I would have known the bride knew about it too.”
Laine told the bride after all. No wonder she looked so sad when I came back. And I’d just blown past her. She’d risked her job—wait. “Did you fire her?”
Connie stiffens, her eyes going hard. “Okay, technically, yes.” Her hand flies up. “But I didn’t mean for it to stick, so back off, big boy. I had a point to make. Figured I’d let her squirm overnight then give her another chance to get in line the next day. You and I had a deal, after all, and the girl knew weddings and brought in business. Got it done, all right.” Connie sighs, shaking her head. “She turned me down. Told me she didn’t respect my business practices. Fed me a bunch of malarkey about having a responsibility to our clients. I told you she was soft. This business eats the soft ones for lunch.”
All In: A Moira McTark Re-release (Coming Around Again Book 2) Page 8