“She couldn’t make it, but don’t worry. I gave her hell about needing some fun in her life. She’s so serious sometimes. I worry about her,” Aubrey said. “The same way I worry about you all alone on that mountain.”
“She just needs to meet someone who inspires her to break out of her shell. Beau’s serious like that, but he’s less serious when he’s with me, and believe it or not, I actually leave the house every day for more than just collecting eggs.”
Her friends crossed their arms and feigned seriousness with narrowed eyes and pinched expressions.
“Uh-oh.” She looked down at her green pencil skirt and off-white blouse. The skirt was a little tight, but not slutty.
“It’s not your clothes,” Presley said. “You look like a million bucks, and that blouse makes your boobs look amazing.” That was a huge compliment coming from her fashionista friend.
“Thank you. Then what did I do? Wait. Don’t tell me yet.” Charlotte guzzled her wine cooler and tossed the empty bottle in the trash can. “Okay, give it to me.”
“You didn’t tell us that your big distraction was the new face of Shack to Chic,” Aubrey said.
“He hasn’t officially taken the job yet, but how did you know? I haven’t told anyone. I’ve been too busy to think.”
“We’re putting together a competing reality show, and the Shack to Chic producers have kept their intended hire a secret,” Aubrey explained as she grabbed her purse and handed Presley her bag. “But my source at the station found out the guy’s name this afternoon. The one and only Beau Braden, contractor extraordinaire from rinky-dink Pleasant Hill, Maryland.”
“Becca tracked down the goods on him.” Presley grabbed Charlotte’s arm, and they headed for the elevator. “He’s got quite the résumé. He makes huge profits, and from what Becca said, the guy never stops working. She followed his trail. So, if by busy you meant you were on your back with Beau hot and hard on top of you, then you’re forgiven.”
“Or on your knees,” Aubrey said. “Hard to talk with your mouth full.”
“Have I told you lately how much I love your trash mouths?” Charlotte sighed and put her arms around them. “I miss my contractor extraordinaire. I had a shit meeting with Chelsea, and Becca said Aubrey’s been stressed, so let’s go drown our sorrows.”
“I’m always a bitch,” Aubrey said.
“Yes, but a likable one,” Charlotte added.
“What about me?” Presley complained. “I need a reason to drink, and my life’s been pretty good lately.”
“You’re our support system,” Charlotte said as they rode the elevator down to the lobby. “Besides, when I tell you how my meeting with Chelsea went, you might need that drink.” As they headed out to the street, she asked, “Can we go to Quarters, please? I’m in need of cheese fries.”
As they walked the five blocks to Quarters, a classy pub that served amazing food at the corner of High Street and Mighty Avenue, they reminisced about their college years. Port Hudson was a small college town located fifty miles north of Manhattan on the Hudson River, with rolling hills, babbling brooks, coffee shops, and a wealth of wonderful memories. The house they’d rented in college was just a few blocks away from Quarters and was now owned by LWW Enterprises.
“Carter Banks bought this bar,” Aubrey said as they walked in. “Do you remember him? He was a year ahead of us, super competitive, insanely hot?”
“How can I forget? He was your first kiss,” Charlotte said.
Presley raced off to find a table, and they followed. They settled in and ordered drinks and dinner. After the waiter brought their drinks, Charlotte toed off her heels.
“What are you doing?” Presley asked as she peered under the table.
“Taking off my heels. I have no idea how you can wear those things every day.”
“Charlotte,” Presley said in a hushed, firm voice. “You don’t know what’s on the floor in this place. You can’t just take off your shoes.”
Aubrey stifled a giggle.
Charlotte picked up her drink and said, “I just did, Mama Bear.”
“Don’t give her a hard time, Pres, or she’ll never leave the inn again.” Aubrey winked and said, “Now tell me all about Beau and why he hasn’t taken the contract yet.”
“How about I cover the reality show job first, because there’s going to be a lot of swooning to do when I tell you about him.” Charlotte explained that he was leaving Thursday afternoon for L.A. and would be signing the contract Friday morning.
“You know that position will keep him on the road for the length of his contract, right?” Aubrey asked.
“I know. But if he wants to do it, who am I to stand in his way? He loves to travel, and you already know how good he is at his job. You should see how much he’s done at the inn. There were a million little things and he not only fixed them all, but he found problems I didn’t know about and fixed those, too.”
“I like a man who’s good with his hands.” Presley took off her designer blazer and hung it on the back of her chair.
“Trust me, he’s good with everything.” Charlotte waggled her brows. “And he’s careful and smart and loving. He worries about me in ways no one has for a very long time. You know how I sometimes leave my doors open?”
“Sometimes?” Audrey scoffed. “When do you ever lock them?”
Charlotte gave her a deadpan look. “He put up the prettiest security screen doors on my bedroom and painted the decorative swirly things pink. He’s the most thoughtful man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t mind that I don’t cook, and he doesn’t get jealous of my writing time, which is crazy considering how many hours I worked to get the chapters to Chelsea, which we also have to discuss.”
“Beau first, work second,” Aubrey said.
The waiter brought their meals, and Charlotte waited for him to leave before saying, “He’s just…” She tried to think of the right words, but none seemed big enough for how he fulfilled her. “We click on every level. He even helps me brainstorm ideas and work through scenes.”
“Thank God. I was starting to worry that your blow-up dolls were going to become a fetish,” Presley teased.
“Ha ha.” Charlotte ate a few fries. “Talking about him makes me miss him even more than I already do.” She and Beau had texted earlier, and she’d called him between meetings. He sounded stressed, and she wondered if his brothers were pushing him about going home, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t want to bring it up if they weren’t. He could have just been missing her, like she was missing him.
“You’re really falling for him,” Aubrey said incredulously. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I am,” she said a little giddily. “He makes me happy. Truly, deeply, insanely happy. And it’s not just what he does. It’s the things he says, the way he looks at me. And this sounds dumb, but it’s what he doesn’t say, too. He doesn’t bullshit, you know? I can feel the truth like his words are bathed in it. He’s romantic in a broody kind of way, and he’s got this big, loving, funny family, and they welcomed me with open arms.” She ate another fry, smiling. “Did I tell you he fixed up the barn and brought in horses for us to ride one weekend? It was like something right out of a—”
“Fairy tale,” they said in unison.
Aubrey and Presley exchanged a concerned glance.
“He sounds incredible, Char. You deserve a guy like that.”
“Agreed, but what are you not telling us?” Aubrey asked. “Nobody is perfect. Give us the dirt on the guy or I’ll have Becca dig deeper.”
“There’s just a little dirt,” she said uneasily. “If I had the right broom I could clean it up, but I don’t, so I probably need your help.” She hadn’t stopped thinking about Beau’s guilt over Tory, and she still wasn’t sure how to handle it. But she knew if they really wanted to make this work, it could be a problem. She looked at her friends and hoped they might have some solid advice.
“He had a long-term girlfriend who he really loved, and
she was killed in a car accident about ten years ago. He seems to be over the rough stuff, but he wears his guilt on his sleeve, and I know it’s eating him alive.”
“Why?” Presley asked. “Why does he feel guilty? Was it his fault?”
Charlotte shook her head and relayed what Beau had told her about missing Tory’s texts. She told them how he’d changed since then and said, “He grew up in a small town, and he thinks everyone blames him. The anniversary of her death is this Saturday and, from what he says, like every year, he’s made sure he’s not going to be there. He’s leaving for L.A. Thursday.”
“How convenient,” Presley said.
“Pres, please don’t. I know you’re right. It’s convenient and he doesn’t deny that. He’s been nothing but honest with me about this, so please don’t be sarcastic. I’m pretty sure that’s why he’s taking the job in L.A., so he won’t have to think about when to travel or where. It’ll all be planned for him. But the whole reality-show thing makes no sense. He’s such a private person, and hosting something like that is the equivalent of standing on a street corner naked.”
“Oh, Char.” Aubrey sat back with an empathetic expression. “This breaks my heart for both of you.”
“I know. That’s why I need some advice.” She swallowed hard and said, “I know life is not a fairy tale, so don’t worry. I’m not romanticizing what’s going to happen. If anyone knows how hard it can be, it’s me. But I love him, you guys. Everything is so good and feels right, but I think his guilt is like a mountain between him and true happiness. It’s like he wants to be happy, and he is right there with me when we’re together, but I can’t ignore the truth. His guilt interferes with other parts of his life. He went to her funeral, but from what he says, he hasn’t talked about it since, until he told me, of course. I keep wondering what that must feel like. They grew up together in a small town, saw each other’s families every day, and after the funeral, he never had another conversation with them. He didn’t just lose her. He lost a whole part of his world. That’s why he travels all the time and works his fingers to the bone.”
“To outrun his demons,” Aubrey said. “How weird that you wanted to surround yourself with memories and he can’t even be near them.”
“I know.” She felt the burn of tears and took a drink, willing them away. “What am I going to do? I know what he’s going through. I want to help him to the other side, and I can’t figure out how.”
Presley touched Charlotte’s arm and said, “You can’t play second fiddle to a ghost. That’s not fair to you.”
“I know, and I’m not,” she assured them. “I never feel like Tory’s there with us, or between us. This isn’t about her. It’s about the guilt he carries from the night it happened. I honestly believe him when he says he’s moved past missing her. Well, as much as anyone can be expected to. If you saw the way he looked at me, felt the way he touched me, you would believe it, too.”
“That’d also make us pervs, but we won’t go there,” Aubrey said.
Charlotte laughed softly. “Thank you. I needed that. Now please help me figure out how to help him.”
“He needs to deal with the guilt. That’s the only way.” Aubrey pushed her salad around on her plate, then set her fork down. “When you wrote your grandparents’ story, it was cathartic. It helped.”
“Tremendously,” Charlotte said.
“He needs that kind of closure. He should talk to her family,” Presley suggested. “Otherwise, what are you going to do? How will you see his ‘big, loving, funny family’ that welcomed you with open arms’? Schedule your visits around this time of year? That’ll get old quick.”
Charlotte’s gaze swept over the busy bar. They were telling her everything she already knew. “Thanks, you guys. I’ll figure something out.”
“Have you two talked about the future?” Aubrey asked carefully.
Charlotte nodded. “We both want to make it work. We’ll see each other as his schedule allows. And I can write anywhere, so I’m sure at some point I’ll visit him when he’s filming.” She knew she had to try to talk to Beau about this again.
They finished their drinks and ordered another round, which Charlotte skipped since Beau wasn’t there to love her through a hangover.
“Do you want to talk about your meeting with Chelsea?” Presley asked.
“No, but yes,” Charlotte said. “You’re her boss’s boss. I’m sure you already know what she told me, right? That I’m probably working too hard, blah, blah, blah.”
“More importantly, I’m your friend,” Presley said. “She told me, and I read the chapters you gave her. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think Chelsea is right. The love story is awesome, and the sex? Hot as fuck. Especially that scene in her office? Damn, if men like that existed in real life, we’d all be happy women.”
Charlotte bit her tongue. She didn’t need them to know Beau had played out that scene touch by scorching-hot touch.
The waiter brought their drinks, and Aubrey held up her glass. “To well-hung men and happy women.” She lowered her voice and said, “I read it, too. I might have taken it to bed with me.”
Charlotte happily clinked glasses with her. “TMI, babe.”
“Me and Mr. Buzz.” Aubrey snort-laughed.
“Ew.” Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “How can I delete that visual?”
“You write that stuff,” Aubrey reminded her.
“But not about my friends. Anyway, Chelsea told me the story wasn’t raw enough. She thinks I’ve lost my edge because I’m working too hard. But I love the story so much. It feels right for the characters, and every character is different. They’re not all going to want to be handcuffed, or have anal sex, or be taken against a brick wall.”
Aubrey raised her hand. “I’ll take it. All of it. Who can I work the scenes with?”
Presley glared at her. Then she shifted her attention to Charlotte and lowered her chin, looking very serious, every bit the powerful executive. “For the record, I don’t agree with Chelsea’s reasons about why your story isn’t raw enough. I don’t think you’ve lost your edge. But I have seen this happen many times. A writer gets married and she writes about marital bliss. She gets divorced and suddenly all men are scum. She has a midlife crisis, and her characters are cougars. It’s natural, Char. Before this afternoon, I didn’t know that you and Beau were together. I only knew that you had a hot contractor at your house with a big cock and a chip on his shoulder.”
“Thanks, Aub,” Charlotte said.
Aubrey winked. “I aim to please.”
Presley leaned toward Charlotte, the way she did when she wanted someone to really listen to her, and said, “The reason your writing isn’t as raw as your other books is because you wrote the others when you had stuff still bottled up inside you—sexual urges, fantasies, anger over being alone even though you chose to be. And based on the look in your eyes, you hate hearing it. But I think that was part of it. You were pouring your heart and soul into each and every word. You still are. That’s the good news. But this is the book you’re writing while you’re falling in love. You don’t feel raw. You feel warm and mushy inside, and that translates onto the page.”
“Great!” Charlotte threw her hands up. “So now my relationship with Beau is ruining my writing?”
“No, Char. Your writing is impeccable,” Presley assured her. “But it has a contemporary romance feel rather than erotic romance.”
“But I like it this way. They’re my characters, my voices. I can’t just tell them to be another way. It’ll feel forced.”
“She’s right,” Aubrey said. “But if you make it into a trilogy—show a wedding, babies, tone down the awesome sex, it’d be perfect to turn into a script for our new Me Time channel.” She sat up straighter. “Hey…”
“No,” Presley said. “She has a publishing contract for erotic romance.”
“Wait, what?” Charlotte’s gaze moved between them, trying to follow their cryptic conversation.
“Aubrey,” Presley warned. “It’s not that easy.”
“What are you saying?” Charlotte asked.
“Bullshit it’s not that easy,” Aubrey said sharply. “We own the company. You run the publishing division. You control this, Presley. The book isn’t even up for preorder yet.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure she was following, but she was getting excited at what she thought they were saying.
Presley glared at Aubrey. “The contract is legally binding. Can you imagine if other writers got wind of this and thought they could write whatever floats their boats despite their contracts?”
“I hope you know I didn’t do that, Pres,” Charlotte insisted.
“I know you didn’t,” Presley said with a kinder tone. “That’s not what I meant. The contract is legally binding. I need to tread carefully if we go in this direction. I’m not saying it’s a bad direction. Aubrey is right, and she heads up the media department, so if she didn’t think it would work, she’d never have said it. It’s just that this is a bigger issue than friends making concession for each other.”
“You’re right,” Aubrey agreed. “We need more information. Charlotte, can you write two more in this series? Not erotic but contemporary?”
“Yes! I know I can. I’ve already dreamed about it. My characters, Roman and Shayna, have a beautiful outdoor wedding. They have two babies, twins, I think, and a dog…” She hadn’t realized how much she’d thought about their future. And now she wasn’t sure if she was thinking about Roman and Shayna, or her and Beau.
Aubrey smirked at Presley, then said to Charlotte, “And do you think with your new stud muffin in your life, or if it doesn’t work out, without him in your life, you will be able to write edgy, erotic romance? The type your fans expect from you?”
“With him in my life, with different characters, yes. I think so. I know what you were saying about it being harder if I’m in a happy relationship, and I know that’s true on some level. But I really enjoy writing erotic romance, and I love the grittiness of it.” And after yesterday morning’s incredible sex, she knew she and Beau would be pushing even more boundaries in the future. “I’ve already thought up a new BDSM story that is super edgy and just dark enough, and I have been taking notes about it. Roman and Shayna’s story has me hung up because it feels personal, like my grandparents’ story did.”
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