Finding Mr. Happily Ever After_Edwin

by Melissa McClone

  She’d wanted to celebrate her new job with Xavier, not have him dis her boyfriend, but she would stick up for Win. The way she knew he’d stick up for her. “Win said everything would be fine. I believe him.”

  “Oh, darling.” For the first time, Xavier sounded more patronizing than caring. “I hope for your sake you’re correct.”

  Jazz was. She had no reason to doubt Win.

  And wouldn’t.

  Nineteen

  The next Saturday, a helicopter whisked Jazz and Win to his parents’ estate in Westchester County. She saw a large building with a vast lawn that stretched like a sea of green. It was dotted with trees and shrubbery. As they landed, Jazz’s heart lodged in her throat.

  She got out, staring in awe. “This looks like a palace.”

  Win smiled. “It’s showy enough for royalty, but my mother thinks ten thousand square feet is too small a house for her and my father.”

  Jazz knew he was an only child like her. She didn’t know what to say other than she couldn’t imagine anyone, not even a family of twelve, needing that much space to live, so she kept her mouth closed.

  She kept looking around. “This is where you grew up?”

  He nodded.

  As they walked to the door, no one came out to meet them. Her mom always had the door open as Jazz walked up to the front porch to visit. Maybe his parents were busy.

  Win led her into the house where silence and a lemon scent greeted them. The home was a palace inside. She tried not to let her jaw drop, but it wasn’t easy.

  The interior reminded Jazz of a museum with tapestries, paintings, and sculptures everywhere. The expensive furniture and décor didn’t appear kid-friendly.

  “Where did you play?” she asked Win in a near whisper. It felt as if she shouldn’t speak, like in a mausoleum.

  “The east wing. That’s where I spent my time.” He spoke as if most of his home being off-limits to him was no big deal. “I had a playroom besides my bedroom.”

  She tried to imagine living that way. Tried and failed. “Did you have a nanny?”

  “I had two, and an extra on the weekends, so my mother never had to take care of me.” There was an edge to his voice Jazz hadn’t heard before. “That worked out well for her.”

  “Yet, you’re close to your parents.”

  “Close is a relative term, but they are family, so I’m stuck with them.” No regret, only resignation.

  “I couldn’t imagine not being close to my mom.” Feeling out of her element caused Jazz’s voice to shake. She thought she’d gotten over her lack of confidence about fitting in after attending more events with Win, but maybe not.

  He held her hand, and Jazz clung to him. “My parents must be in the library. That’s where they hide out.”

  She almost giggled. “You make them sound like children.”

  “They can be occasionally.” He laughed. “I hope they behave today.”

  That didn’t ease her tense muscles. She walked through room after room—she lost count of how many—full of elegant furnishings and artwork.

  Win stopped in an arched doorway. This room contained floor-to-ceiling shelves laden with books and a fresco with chubby, smiling cherubs painted on the ceiling. She gasped, imagining Belle from Beauty and the Beast in here.

  “Wow,” she whispered. This was her favorite room in the house. No wonder his parents hid in here. She would, too.

  Win squeezed her hands. “I’ll add books to my list.”

  “What list?”

  He smiled. “My Jazz likes list.”

  She grinned at that, love filling her.

  Someone cleared their throat. “You’re late.”

  The woman’s voice was harsh and didn’t match her rail-thin build. She wore black pants and a white turtleneck. Her dark hair was pulled off her face in a chignon. The style stressed her tight features. She had the same green eyes as Win, but hers were cold, not in the least bit warm like his.

  His fingers tightened around Jazz’s. “Sorry, Mother. The pilot was running behind. I texted we’d be delayed.”

  “Fire the pilot. You need one who is more reliable, so you remain punctual.” Mrs. Forrester’s assessing gaze ran the length of Jazz. “This must be the reason you’ve been neglecting your responsibilities.”

  Jazz’s stomach churned. A good thing she hadn’t eaten a big breakfast. She forced herself to walk forward. She was not only Win’s girlfriend but also an employee of the Heart of Forrester Foundation—and his mother sat on the board.

  “I’m Jazz. Jasmine Michaels.” Ignoring her nerves, she extended her arm. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Forrester.”

  The woman barely touched Jazz’s hand, as if she were afraid of being exposed to germs or cooties. “Where are your people from… What did you say your name was again? Jasmine, was it?”

  She’d just introduced herself, and people? What did his mother mean by that? Jazz glanced at Win, who mouthed, Your mom.

  “Oh, um, my mom lives in Nassau County. We moved there from Queens when I was five. And you can call me Jazz if you like.”

  Mrs. Forrester sneered as if that were the wrong answer. “Jazz is a type of music, not a name. I prefer Jasmine. Who is your father?”

  “He’s no longer a part of my life,” Jazz answered, feeling small. She liked her name, and she’d explained her family life to Win, but he must not have mentioned anything to his mom. “My parents divorced when I was eight, and my mom received full custody.”

  His mother studied Jazz as if she were a lab rat carrying an infectious disease. “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “I’m an only child.” Sweat beaded at the back of Jazz’s neck. She used breathing techniques learned during therapy after her assault to keep her anxiety under control.

  “Your father is reading in his study, Win. Go and find him while I talk to Jasmine.”

  Jazz didn’t need to see her reflection in a mirror to know the blood had rushed from her face. She didn’t want to be left alone with Win’s mother.

  Win gripped her hand harder. “Father will be along.”

  “Go now.” His mother waved imperiously, and he gave a resigned sigh.

  He released her hand reluctantly. Kissing her cheek, he murmured, “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

  The endearment made his mother cringe. She pointed to a chair across from the loveseat where she sat. “Join me.”

  Jazz was too frightened not to do as she was told. Emily had given her a crash course in etiquette—well, the Southern kind—so she crossed her ankles and clasped her hands on her lap. She hoped her legs weren’t visibly shaking.

  Win was important to her, so she needed to get through this. The only question was how?

  Follow your heart.

  Her mom’s advice echoed through her head. Jazz would do that and hope for the best. For her sake and for Win’s.

  Twenty

  “Do you have other questions for me, Mrs. Forrester?” Jazz asked in a steady tone that belied the way her insides twisted.

  “Win tells me you used to be the human resources director at a company he owned.”

  Not trusting her voice, Jazz nodded.

  “I’m a graduate of Burton College,” Mrs. Forrester said proudly. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  Jazz nearly laughed. She’d been offered a full ride to Burton. That was where her friend Bethany had gone. “I have. It’s a top school.”

  “Where did you go to college?” Mrs. Forrester asked.

  Jazz recited her background from her undergrad studies at Queens College to getting her MBA in Northern California.

  A smile creased Mrs. Forrester’s tight face, but she still gave off an evil stepmother vibe. “Getting into one of the top programs in the country straight from college is an impressive feat.”

  “Thank you.” Jazz had thought nothing would impress Win’s mother. This felt more like a job interview than a meet-the-parents visit. “I did community service during my undergrad years. B
esides my hands-on volunteering activities, I also worked for non-profits. I believe that helped set my business school application apart from others.”

  “Have you always enjoyed non-profit work?”

  Jazz smiled. This one wasn’t forced. “Yes, it’s my passion. I love helping others. Thanks to Win, it’s now my career. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and I can’t wait to do more with the Heart of Forrester Foundation.”

  “I take it you’re not pregnant then?”

  Jazz’s muscles tensed into rock-hard knots. Her jaw dropped. She closed it with enough force her upper teeth hit her lower ones.

  Mrs. Forrester’s expectant gaze, however, told Jazz she had to say something. “Win and I have only been dating since May.”

  That seemed like the best non-answer to an inappropriate question that was also an invasion of privacy.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of my son’s reputation. I’d go as far to say how long he’s known a woman has never stopped him from taking her to bed.”

  The words pierced Jazz’s skin like flaming arrows, but she remained in control. She couldn’t afford not to. “I’m not like other women.”

  “Excellent answers, my dear. Your poise surprises me, but in a good way.” The woman’s smile seemed less menacing, but it was still far from genuine. “I knew you weren’t carrying my first grandchild, but you’ll be asked these questions if you’re dating Win.”

  This hadn’t been an interview but a test. Anger burned deep. Jazz pressed her lips together to keep from saying something she shouldn’t.

  “You’ll find yourself in the public eye whether you like it or not,” Mrs. Forrester continued. “There are certain expectations. Given your upbringing, you will need to play an unfamiliar role.”

  Talk about a slam. Jazz tried to remember this woman gave birth to Win. She might not have money, but she had love. She’d take her mother over Mrs. Forrester any day. “What expectations?”

  “To always be and look your best will be your priority. That means hair, makeup, clothes, and weight must be perfect at all times. No running errands in yoga pants or leggings and a hoodie. Messy buns are a no-no. You must dress to impress and always in accordance with the latest fashions,” Win’s mom said as if everyone but Jazz understood this. “Appearances matter when you’re with a Forrester. There’s an image to uphold. People look up to us, and we must not disappoint by being too…”

  After what happened at the art gallery, she knew what his mother meant. “Middle class?”

  “Bourgeois,” his mother said at the same time and laughed. “If this fling with Win turns into more, I’ll teach you what you need to know. But don’t get your hopes up. My son is fickle when it comes to females.”

  Fling? Fickle? Jazz’s temper spiraled. She couldn’t wait to leave this estate and never come back.

  Mrs. Forrester wasn’t being nice by offering help. The woman’s underlying message was clear. Jazz wasn’t good enough to date a Forrester.

  As the day went on, her unease increased. Win’s father had a dry wit, but backhanded compliments and putdowns seemed to be the norm, and they weren’t just aimed at her. Both parents targeted Win too, but the jabs bounced off him. He didn’t even seem to notice. Jazz, however, took every dig to heart. His mother and father made her feel unworthy of their son. She also wondered how Win had grown up to be so normal—well, for a billionaire—with parents like them.

  The only bright spot had been dinner. The chef, a smiling, happy man named Lou, prepared a delicious meal of duck a l’orange. He was not only proud of Win, but he was also fond of him.

  By the time Jazz and Win returned to the city, it was ten. All she wanted to do was go to bed. Being with his parents exhausted her.

  As they sat in Jazz’s apartment, she cuddled against him. “Your parents don’t like me.”

  “My parents don’t like anyone. You’ll learn how to tune them out like I do,” Win joked. “Don’t worry about it. I like you, and that’s what matters.”

  Jazz wanted to believe him, but she was worried. While her mom supported her, his mother had looked for faults and torn Jazz down. Neither of his parents approved of her. She wondered if they ever would because the differences between Win’s world and hers had never been clearer.

  “Will it be a problem if I don’t fit into your world?”

  “You fit perfectly.” He pulled her onto his lap. “See?”

  She laughed. “I’m trying to be serious.”

  “So am I.” He snuck a kiss. “I like you exactly how you are, so don’t get any ideas in your head. We fit. That’s all that matters.”

  She hoped that was true, but she kept seeing the condescending looks from his mom and hearing the woman say words like fling and fickle.

  Not that Jazz believed those things, but she hated how she’d gone from being overflowing with happiness to being filled with doubts.

  “Did you know the InstaLove algorithm said we weren’t compatible?” she asked, her insecurities getting the better of her.

  Win’s eyes darkened. “In what way?”

  “All ways,” she admitted. “We weren’t a match. We’re complete opposites.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I sold the company because their calculations are completely wrong. Opposites attract. We match.” He tightened his arms around her and dropped kisses along her neck. “Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

  Twenty-One

  As Win kept showering her with attention that week, Jazz brushed aside her doubts. Easy to do with him stopping by almost daily to snag a kiss. They went on more dates. Her work at the foundation drew praise from her supervisor. Maybe Win was correct. His parents’ opinion of her didn’t matter.

  On Saturday night, a cancer organization held a black-tie benefit. The Heart of Forrester Foundation was a sponsor. Jazz found herself surrounded by Win’s friends and parents. His mother complimented Jazz on her new dress—a splurge but worth it for that alone.

  She made the rounds to visit with attendees while Win spoke to his friends. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo, and she pictured him standing at the altar on his wedding day.

  Her wedding day.

  The image grabbed hold of her heart.

  Jazz was in love with Win, though she hadn’t said the words yet. Tonight, though, she saw him in her future and needed to be at his side. She wanted to say the words I love you.

  As a well-known philanthropist congratulated her on the event, Jazz heard Win’s laughter drift overhead. The sound was coming from around the corner, in an alcove away from the main ballroom. She said goodbye and headed in that direction.

  “A toast,” a man whose voice she didn’t recognize said. “Another successful tax write-off and photo op for the Heart of Forrester Foundation.”

  Razor-sharp pricks of doubt tore into Jazz. Surely Win would set this man straight. She couldn’t see him, but his contented laugh implied otherwise. A chime like glasses tapping together sounded.

  “Just wait until you see the slate of events Jazz has planned for the rest of the year.” Win’s words took away some of the sting from before. “The publicity will be amazing. The Forrester name will be everywhere from society pages to community event recaps. I predict a boon for the corporation with the increased goodwill.”

  “And lower taxes for you,” a man joked.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Win said.

  More laughter sounded.

  What? Win usually just donated money, but she thought the foundation mattered more to him than being a write-off or to help his other business.

  Okay, she wasn’t naïve. She understood business needs had to be balanced with personal ones. That was something she was learning daily in her new job, but she’d believed Win when he said he wanted to do more hands-on volunteering. She’d thought he’d been talking about doing more himself, not his foundation, because helping others was a way of life for her.

  Had he been telling the truth? Or had they just been mere words?


  Jazz told her feet to move so she could confront Win face-to-face, but she stood frozen in place. Memories rushed forward. Waiting for Chase to arrive at a hotel ballroom in San Antonio had made her feel so alone, but she felt more lonely tonight even though she’d come with Win.

  “Let’s not forget the beautiful Jazz,” another man, whose voice she recognized as the CEO of one of the Forrester companies, said. He was older and seemed so dignified when she’d met him with Win at a dinner. “She seems to have done what no woman has done before and tamed Edwin the IV.”

  “What does Jazz bring to the table, Win?” another guy asked. “She’s beautiful, I’ll give you that, but she has no money or connections.”

  “Non-profit work is necessary for our bottom line,” someone else said. “But it’s not the sexiest of industries.”

  “Neither is HR.”

  As Jazz listened—well, eavesdropped—she felt like a punching bag. She’d been assaulted the night Chase hadn’t showed up, yet Win was here. She kept waiting for him to speak up, as he had with Deidre at the art gallery, to stop them from saying the words that hit at the heart of Jazz’s insecurities.

  “I know what it is.” A man snickered. “Bet she’s a wildcat between the sheets.”

  Others murmured their agreement.

  “I never kiss and tell,” Win said. “But I’ll drink to that.”

  The implication incensed Jazz, so did the guffaws that followed. Seeing red, she stalked around the corner. She was surprised to find Win surrounded by his father and older men, not his own friends. Their ruddy faces and bloodshot eyes suggested they’d had more than enough to drink. That changed nothing.

  She glared at Win, whose face paled to an ashen white. “Jazz…”

  “Uh-oh,” a man she recognized as a friend of his father’s and who was on Forrester’s board of directors said. “Someone won’t be getting any tonight.”

  With that, Jazz turned and hurried away as fast as she could in heels.

  “Jazz,” Win called out. “Stop.”