See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1)

by Tiffany Costa

  See you monday

  Tiffany Costa

  See You Monday

  Copyright © 2021 Tiffany Costa

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9798778928305

  Published: Tiffany Costa 2021

  No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written consent from the author. Except brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a piece of fiction. Any names, characters, businesses, places, or events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events or locations is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people in either its print or digital format. If you are reading and have not purchased it for your use only, then you should return it to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  The legal terminology and themes presented in this fictional book are written to illustrate the non-profit sector, government body, and international relations to the best of the author’s ability. Please note that she has taken authorial license over these ideas and actions for storytelling purposes.

  Dedication

  For Gaby.

  May your lattes always be foamy.

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Author

  This book is strictly for those over the age of legal adulthood. It contains explicit sexual content, adult language, and adult themes. There is mention of human trafficking. While it is a subplot, and does not happen on page, some may find this triggering and should proceed with caution.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank you, dear reader, from the bottom of my heart. I hope that you take Celeste and Isaac's journey and enjoy every minute, as I have enjoyed writing it. I want to thank all my friends on the clock app that encouraged me from day one, when I didn’t even have a penname. It’s very possible you’re reading this right now because you’ve watched me write thid and poke fun at myself on there, so thank you. You make my days brighter and my procrastination so much more fun. Thank you to all the authors I’ve met on there, who have encouraged me to go Indie. You’re all such an inspiration, thank you.

  A special thanks to E.A. Buckingham-Young, Morrigan Gaines, and the Mother Clucking Chat for all of your support and read-throughs.

  This book would not exist if it weren’t for my best friend and soul mate, Gaby. You’ve been with me from the beginning, long before I set my fingers to typing, and this story is as much yours as it is mine. Thank you for the never-ending phone calls, my obsessive texts at all hours, and the millions of unnecessary updates. Thank you for reading every single version of this as it grew from a tiny idea to my first finished work. Thank you for encouraging me, reigning me in, and always being honest when I asked if the spice was too risky for my first work. You are my cheerleader, my rock, the coffee to my scone. Without you, I would be lost; I would be boring; I would be incomplete.

  And of course, an enormous thank you to my husband. Without you, I’d never follow my dreams.

  CHAPTER 1

  Celeste

  If I had a dollar for every time I said, “what the fuck,” in a church, in front of the whole congregation, in my wedding dress… I’d have exactly one dollar too many.

  “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” he said.

  Ha!

  I scrubbed the memory from my jet-lagged eyes and tossed the cabbie my credit card. I’d uprooted my whole life and suddenly, as I watched him pull the contents of said life out of the back of his van, I started to panic.

  “Are you staying long?” He asked politely, grunting at the weight of my luggage.

  The question was enough to snap me out of my head and stamp down the growing tidal wave of panic in my gut. I smiled at him, my expression feeling tighter and more forced than I hoped, “I’m moving for work.” I really, really didn’t want to small talk with him. I just wanted to make it upstairs and meet my new roommate.

  I wanted to shower and unpack. To sleep…

  Preferably for the rest of eternity.

  I thanked him before he could ask any more questions and turned my back. I pretended to check my phone, the politest way to say leave me alone. In reality, I disconnected my number a week ago. I couldn’t stand the barrage of calls and texts flooding the aftermath of my failed wedding.

  Fuck you, Anthony Porter.

  I looked up from my phone as a cheery red head with wild curls down to her waist bounced down the steps. She was dressed simply, a pair of dark blue jeans and a tie-dye tee that was faded from years of washing. “She’s here! Welcome, Celeste.” She squeezed me in her arms. I returned her embrace as if we’d known each other for decades.

  Kieran was even more beautiful in person than on screen. She possessed an otherworldly magnetism that I had felt even through FaceTime. Our boss had connected us to meet several nights ago while my move was being finalized. The call had been awkward and my gut was in knots at how easy it seemed for her to talk to me. Meanwhile, I couldn’t bring myself to make any sort of impression, saying almost nothing the whole time. But Kieran's chatty nature filled the pauses of our conversation, her smile wide, eyes understanding and kind. We tip-toed around the fact that she had volunteered to house me while I fled the States. So, I let my gratitude be the first thing I said to her. “Thanks for letting me stay with you,” I started, “it’s so good to meet you in person.”

  She chuckled. “Don’t mention it. It’s my parent’s flat. I don’t even pay rent. When I heard you were coming, it just made sense to have you stay here.”

  “Oh, did you grow up here?”

  “Yeah. My parents live in our country home now. But growing up we lived here so that I could go to school down the road.” She pointed, but as far as I could see there was nothing but neatly divided homes, doors equidistant and orderly. Not a crumb of litter in sight. Just perfectly proportioned trees and a nosey stranger who watched us a little too closely.

  I felt a little bit like an adopted puppy. Grateful for my new person, yet unsure how to f
orm a bond.

  I started to grab some of my bags when a handsome man came to meet us on the curb. His gorgeous ebony skin and easy sway to his confident stride made him irresistible to look at. He pulled a blue university hoodie over his well-groomed waves. Kieran looked up at him with an impish grin and then to me. “This is my boyfriend, Jackson. I figured you’d have loads of stuff with you. He helped me put up your new bed in the spare room!”

  Her excitable energy was refreshing. I decided right then that I liked her. There was a kindness in her voice that comforted me.

  Jackson’s hand dwarfed my own as he shook it gently. “Nice to meet you,” his voice was alarmingly deep, the kind of voice that deserved a piano ballad. “Which one first?” He pointed at the heaps of luggage at my feet.

  I scrambled to grab a suitcase. “Oh, you don’t have to help me,” I started feeling like I was taking up too much room. Inconveniencing too many people. I started piling bags on my shoulder and over my largest suitcase. Jackson cut me off and stripped me of the hefty weight, mumbling something about nonsense and women. He raised his voice at the top of the stoop. There was pizza in the kitchen and something else. I couldn’t make out what he said over Kieran’s chattering. Or the roaring of the tempest building inside of me.

  “I didn’t decorate, really, because it’s your room.” She heaved a duffle bag full of shoes over her shoulder.

  My wedding shoes were in there. White satin that was worth almost as much used as new. It became increasingly difficult to breathe.

  “You can paint it. Oh, we can paint it! It’s all white right now,” she flittered up the stairs ahead of me, heaving my luggage through the doorway and bounding back down the stairs.

  Anthony painted our room—my room. Anthony was nothing now. He was a tainted memory. A flash of his laughter, a smudge of paint across his cheek. I had kissed it, then. Cupped his face in my hands and kissed the paint and thanked him with an open innocence that I couldn’t even fake now if I tried. My stomach turned. A tidal wave of rage crashed into me as my legs struggled to make the first step towards my new home. The weight of an ocean full of doubt, anger, resentment, and hurt dragged me under and swallowed me whole. A babe caught in the undertow.

  Tears threatened to make an appearance. My heartbeat was a painful throb in my throat. I swallowed it down. Swallowed again and again. I willed the thoughts to stop. Willed Anthony’s memory into submission and cast him away as he’d done to me. I took a shaky breath and met Kieran’s curious gaze.

  I must have taken too long to smile because I felt the chill of her fingertips wrap around my own. “I’m sorry about… I talk a lot sometimes. I know you probably just want to be alone. Michael and Isaac, our bosses, told me a little bit about,” her voice trailed. Her brows knit together, her blue eyes glossy and compassionate. The quiet street around us faded away as I focused on those eyes, hoping that the connection to her would tether me to shore and reel me in, away from him. Away from myself.

  She frowned.

  Kieran’s freckled face blurred as I burst into tears. “My wedding?” I finished for her. It was my wedding, after all. I just hadn’t left married.

  She nodded.

  “Does everyone know?” I used my free hand to wipe away the tempestuous rivers pouring down my cheeks.

  “I’m afraid so.” Her fingers squeezed mine firmly.

  “Awesome,” I squeaked. The fat tears kept flowing, hot and fast. If I listened hard enough I might have heard them splash onto the sidewalk. This is great, I thought. Everyone knew before my first day in the office that my fiancé’s aunt had not forever held her peace. Therefore damning me to an embarrassment and shame so deep that I flew across an ocean to escape it. I was glad that she did…. But damn I wish she hadn’t spoken so loudly that the words traveled faster than I did from New York to London. Or maybe she could have spoken up before I made it to the altar.

  You know, perhaps when she’d caught them fucking in the bathroom the night before the rehearsal dinner.

  Just a thought. A little suggestion. For next time.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kieran repeated.

  I sobbed pathetically. “No. It’s okay. Actually, I’m kind of relieved that I won’t have to play the Do-They-All-Know game at work on Monday.” I laughed at that and wiped my tears with my sleeve. I could not—would not—cry on the streets of London. Enough New York pavement was stained with them as it was.

  “Listen, this is a fresh start for you. Feel free to pretend it never even happened, us Brits will all play along.” Kieran’s blue eyes were sincere and comforting. She and Jackson hauled up the last suitcase and I grabbed my carry-on.

  I crossed the threshold into the three-story apartment. The entire space had been gutted and remodeled. Everything was swanky and modern. It was furnished in shades of grey and a glittering marble kitchen that opened to the living space. To the right of the entryway was a formal dining room. Kieran showed me my room on the second floor. It was the perfect size. Big enough to house all my things, and give me some room to practice yoga.

  Namaste. I thought with a bitter twinge outlining the ball of hope in my chest.

  In New York, I rented a tiny studio apartment for an exorbitant amount of money and maybe two feet of counter space. My bedroom was just big enough to house my bed, a nightstand, and a closet bursting at the seams with my clothes. For a split second, as I compared my old apartment to this one, I daydreamed about New York. Fantasized about burrowing myself away and hiding as I had for the past two weeks.

  Hide, but for all eternity. And beyond.

  No. I shook away the thought. New city. New start.

  The cliché that had rattled around in my head for a week was painfully annoying at this point. However, that’s what this was for me. A new start. A step in a direction Anthony would have never, ever, approved of. A stroll down a path I’d fantasized about over and over but never acted on because, well, I met Anthony and we were going to be married.

  Disgust had my nose scrunching. How had I even gotten to that point?

  I gave myself the same little pep talk I had hundreds of times since I begged my company to transfer me to oblivion a week ago. I was young and smart and capable. Anthony didn’t deserve me, and I would make sure never to make the same mistake again.

  I began unpacking immediately to quiet my mind… focus on anything but that manipulative jerk. I could hear Jackson and Kieran talking quietly downstairs. Jackson called up a quick goodbye and I heard the front door click shut behind him.

  Kieran called up, asking if I needed help. Her voice was unsure and I could hear the way her steps hesitated halfway up the staircase.

  “No, it won’t take long,” I answered, not wanting to admit that I just needed to be alone. She must have anticipated that because she left towels and a robe on the bed for me. On the nightstand, she left toiletries. Tiny bottles of shampoo, body lotion, toothpaste. And a little note that said, “Welcome home!” with a tiny smiley face at the end. I half-smiled back, touched by her thoughtfulness.

  I turned to my suitcases with a sigh of relief. I had too many clothes. Too many shoes. My mind quieted as I took on the task of unpacking my former self. A small walk-in closet quickly filled with dresses, pantsuits, skirts, and frilly girly things that I hung up in rainbow order. I loved this, taking the disorderly and giving it a place. Organizing, cleaning, and tidying brought me peace since I was a young child. It was easy to forget my worries when I was focused on something monotonous.

  I lined the top shelf with my shoe collection, separating by heel type and occasion. Anthony always made a rude comment about my heels, saying they were too much for a casual date, or that they didn’t match my clothes. Out of spite, I’d thrown every last one away. At the bottom of my last duffle bag, the one I was avoiding, my wedding shoes glared up at me. I’d spent a fortune on these, I thought as I grazed the silky satin with the tips of my fingers.

  ≈

  Anthony Porter. Fiancé extraordina
ire.

  Six years of red flags I ignored.

  I would like to say that I had been completely blindsided. Standing there. My hands in his, the two-carat engagement ring glittering, veil brushing the tip of my nose. I was wide-eyed and heart racing looking up at him. Completely, hopelessly, in love.

  But I wasn’t blindsided. Not really.

  Somewhere in my subconscious, a negative energy had me losing my appetite for a week. Had me in a panic the night before, when my mother had to calm me down and say every woman feels a sense of dread the night before. Cold feet and all that jazz. I trusted her, and I chalked it up to pre-marital jitters. In hindsight, it was my intuition clawing at the chords of hope I’d used to tether myself to Anthony… I was well versed in the dark art of chaining down any emotion that contradicted the pretty little daydream I had of myself and Anthony.

  Even as I stood at the altar, my heart pounded, the blood swishing in my ears. Stating my vows had felt robotic, panic drumming beneath the surface. But I loved him. And we were fated to be together since high school. So, I smiled up at him as he removed my veil, willing the bile in my throat to stay down, and reasoned with myself that I simply didn’t like being the center of attention.

  When the pastor recited, “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” it was supposed to be a formality. It was supposed to be stated and the crowd barely even register it… waiting instead for the couple to kiss and finally go to the party. Nobody truly likes the church ceremony. Not in our circles, anyway. So that statement is everyone’s warning bell to stop dozing off and pay attention. To wait with bated breath for the “You may kiss the bride.”

  And the crowd goes wild.

  Huzzah! They’re hitched! Booze for all!

  That is not how my wedding went.

  His aunt, Eliza, wasn’t present at the start of the ceremony. She was noticeably missing from her place next to Anthony’s parents in the front row. Eliza lived with them in their eight bedroom home a few blocks away from my parent’s house, so I remember spending a split second questioning where she was when I took my place at the altar. We’d all grown up together, and his aunt was notorious for moving across the country on a whim for a job, only to hate it and quit, returning to daddy’s money, and the comfort of Anthony’s parent’s home. I always liked her, and I’d always been her favorite in Anthony’s friend group. So, when she was missing, something felt off.