Gigi stepped aside allowing Briar to shimmy past. Thankfully, the kitchen was nearby. The bags she hooked dug into the flesh of her fingers. She dropped the bags and lowered the tray of drinks onto the kitchen counter. She stood massaging the blood back into her abused fingers as Gigi swept into the tiny space.
Briar caught the concerned look that flitted across the typically difficult to read face of the raven-haired temptress that had been a fixture in her life since college—darkness to Briar’s own warm sunshine, and perfect. Everything Briar wanted to be. Not because her friend was beautiful, but because she was secure in herself—knew her own mind. Gigi caught Briar watching and the look was gone, locked away behind the neutral smile she wore when she hid her thoughts.
Pulling her drink from the caddy, Gigi inhaled the steam wafting up through the tiny opening in the cup. “Mhmm—thanks for this, but I have to say you’re having sex with the wrong people if that’s how you feel.”
“Please. You met my husband. Mom can have his sorry ass.”
Gigi held her cup out and nodded as if to say touché. “Ex-husband, honey. Get used to saying it.”
To curb that line of conversation, Briar freed her own cup and turned to survey the room beyond the kitchen. Artwork covered the walls, creating trails of color, like vivid flowers scaling the white placid surface. It should have been distracting, especially with the variety of themes failing to form anything cohesive. Instead, she found it calming. Each new work became a different oasis to escape and lord knew she needed an escape. The art also succeeded—at least for a moment—in distracting the eye from the green velvet sofa and hot pink club chairs that dominated the room. Like the woman it belonged to, the room screamed bold.
Could she borrow that for herself, like she had borrowed this apartment? Fuck—she hoped so because she couldn’t continue the way she’d been. “I still can’t wrap my head around you letting me stay here. This place is gorgeous.”
Not to mention, fully furnished. An important bonus since Briar had driven here with nothing but her clothes, books, and a box of the few memories she hadn’t burned before liquidating everything else. Frankly, she would rather not live with the reminders after the way her marriage ended. It made a great bonfire, but now she was ready for the fresh start she’d driven six hours to get.
Gigi twirled the keys on one manicured finger. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, I’m staying at Roman’s place. I would have been breaking the lease.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.” The keys slipped from her friend’s finger and Briar caught them before they hit the counter. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you having a fiancé is still tripping me out. I mean—wow.”
Gigi’s smile softened, her eyes going round and dreamy. Had Todd ever made her swoon like that? No, but then no one ever did that for Briar. She had yet to feel the kind of joy that appeared to radiate from Gigi.
“Yeah, well it trips me out too, but he’s not like anyone else. He gets me.”
Hard to be bitter when you hear something like that. It helps to know who you are, something that felt insurmountable to Briar after years of fitting herself into other people’s unattainable molds. She swiped at the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand and took a sip of the creamy spice goodness of her coffee.
“How are you holding up?” There was that concern again, laced through Gigi’s tone.
It’s what brought Briar here. She had a lot to thank her former college roommate for. When Gigi called to ask her to be a bridesmaid—she’d been thrilled for her friend of course and honored to be asked—but in that first moment, Briar did the unthinkable and burst into tears. Finding your husband cheated and left after clearing out your bank account will do that to a girl.
When she answered Gigi’s call, Briar had already eaten half a pint of Java Chip ice cream with more waiting in the freezer. Gigi didn’t take offense to the emotional outburst. Instead, several cosmopolitans shared over Skype later, Briar had a place to stay and a job interview courtesy of a favor from the maid of honor. It was the first right step she’d taken.
As it turned out, the money could be recovered—sort of. After her very cathartic bonfire, Craigslist and eBay had served her well for selling off the possessions Todd left behind, along with anything that reminded her of her marriage. In other words everything. And she closed on the sale of her house Friday. Financially, she would recover from this mess. Personally, that was another matter entirely, but Gigi and her new friend, Ann, had her covered there too. So yeah, she could answer her friend with what she wanted to hear without it being total shit.
“I’m doing fine right now. You really don’t need to worry.” Briar plastered on a smile and turned her back. “Besides, once the private detective finds my ex, I can finally finish the divorce. The whole thing is nearly behind me.”
Switching to busy mode, she put down her coffee to start unloading the new kitchen and grocery items from the bags she brought with her. Gigi leaned against the counter, one arm across her breast, hip cocked and eyebrows lifted as if they could say bullshit for her.
Briar peered sideways at Gigi. “What?”
“Do you actually expect me to believe that?”
“I’m fine, really, Gigi. I know I was a mess at first, but even I have to admit my marriage was dead for a long time.”
“Honey, your marriage was dead before it started. I told you something was wrong with that guy right out of the gate.”
Briar shrugged. Gigi did warn her at the party where she met her ex and every time Todd picked her up after. Briar never took her seriously because Gigi didn’t trust any man. Instead of crying wolf it was the party girl who cried cheater. This one time she happened to call it right. The burn still itched like a newly formed scab over an open wound—so easy to scratch loose to bleed again. She imagined that was just how divorce felt. Hers shouldn’t be an exception even if the details were the stuff of tabloids.
“So then let’s go out. After the guys get here and haul up your boxes, you can hit our spot with us. It’s laid back, walking distance, and the drinks are cheap because we know the owner.”
“Sounds nice but I’m going to need a rain check. Wouldn’t look good to be hung over on my first day at the new job.”
“Ah—you’ll be fine. Maybe the guys even have a friend. Declan is not attached but I have it on good authority there’s history with him and Ann, otherwise I’d set the two of you up.”
“No way am I dating my tattoo artist. I’m glad it worked out for you but that doesn’t mean I need a replacement. I’m okay with being alone. No offense.”
“None taken—besides I’m not saying you should get back in a relationship, just get back in the saddle. When’s the last time you enjoyed a good round of reverse cowgirl?”
Wrong moment to sip her latte—because she had just spewed it on the kitchen island in a burst of laughter. “How the hell do you do that?”
“Oh wow—I’m so glad you’re getting divorced if you have to ask me that question.”
“No. No. No,” Briar stammered through her nervous laughter. “I’ve done that—that wasn’t what I meant.” Of course it had been before Todd, who had no imagination past missionary where their marriage bed was concerned. However, he did allow her mother to do that, which scarred her for life for having walked in on it.
A knock on the front door broke the awkward moment. Gigi wagged her eyebrows in a suggestive dance and then glided back to the front door. This time when she opened it, she didn’t flatten herself. Instead, she stood half blocking it, so when Roman came through, he had no choice but to rub up against her. He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her with him as he strode into the kitchen, leaving the door to swing closed. At least it would have if a second tattooed Adonis hadn’t hip-checked it on his way in and then mule kicked it closed behind him—the aforementioned friend, Declan.
Briar was familiar with both men. Each time she made the road trip for
the next job interview, she also made a stop to spend a little time under Declan’s tattoo machine. These men were different in every way from the slick frat boys and the corporate set that she and Gigi associated with back in the day. They were the new breed of modern hipster—Roman, with his plain white t-shirts and cuffed jeans, working alongside Declan, his best friend and business partner sporting his on-trend beard, fedora and dark sunglasses. They were serious artists, who turned their passion into a thriving business in an up-and-coming neighborhood, one she was now a part. It had changed Gigi for the better. Briar couldn’t help but hope it might do her the same good in its own way.
Roman clapped his hands together. “I hear there’s a truck to unload. Where is it? I didn’t see a U-Haul.”
“I don’t actually have a whole lot.” Briar’s cheeks flushed with her embarrassment. “I sold or burned most of our stuff. I just have some tote boxes in my car. I told Gigi not to call you. I could have handled it.”
Great guy that he is, Roman held out his hand with a grin. “Don’t sweat it. Hand over the keys and we’ll take care of it. You just buy us a drink after. Fair?”
She just told Gigi no, but how could she say no to that deal? Guys like this gave her hope. Todd would have left and been pissed at his wasted time. She’d been so busy trying to be perfect that she’d overlooked his shallowness. It was only now, held up in comparison with such a stark contrast, that she could see it. The friend who wanted nothing to do with love had chosen better for herself than Briar, the girl who would once have given anything for someone to notice and love her.
Briar dangled keys over his waiting hand. “Settle for pizza and beer?”
Roman smiled and took the keys. “Come on, Declan. Let’s get this knocked out. I’m feeling the need for some Chicago style.”
Yep, this is what she had been missing—friends. For once she might really be fine, even as imperfect as she stood.
* * *
Thwap, thwap, thwap. The bowl of the spoon tapped against hardwood and linen. “Are you listening to me, CJ?” The grizzled voice of his grandfather brought Ciaran back into focus.
Instead of the sleek offices of downtown, Ciaran sat in the dining room of his grandfather’s turn of the century mansion. People forgot these stately mansions exist in their city, a byproduct of the industrialization his family capitalized on. People remembered Brucemore, a tourist site now. Blocks away, a stone’s throw from the American foursquare homes popularized by Sears and Roebuck—another smart investment their family once profited from—these mansions full of the best architecture of the era thrived. The dark stained wood panel wainscoting and navy wallpaper in the dining room they now sat in probably hadn’t changed since the place was built. Insulated behind heavy velvet drapes, time seemed to stand still in this room, right along with his grandfather’s archaic values.
“Yes, the employee handbook. Update it. Team building event between departments. Got it. I will see that those items are addressed.”
Per usual, Ciaran had only listened enough to answer when addressed. His mind was too full of properties and deals. Especially with his father and brother dangling one hell of a property development deal right under his nose. It was the kind of project he’d always hoped they could do together under the Rand Enterprises banner.
“I don’t appreciate your tone young man. If you expect to run this company one day I suggest you make an adjustment.”
Had they been discussing something a CFO should be concerned about rather than something more fitting of his new HR director—who, by the way, his assistant had scheduled to start tomorrow—perhaps Ciaran could have reigned in his tone and frankly, his attention may not have gone astray. Of course, that would require Jamison Rand Senior to acknowledge that Ciaran had attained a master’s degree in business finance and an MBA in marketing or that he was twenty-eight, not eighteen.
“My apologies. I was considering the opportunity this gives me to get to know my new HR director.” He kept his smile neutral, or at least he thought so. The scowl growing on his grandfather’s withered face pointed to failure.
“The policies that govern your employees are your concern. Don’t pass the buck.” The old man coughed, a brittle sounding hack, and then pushed away his untouched meal.
Leaning towards his grandfather, Ciaran scrutinized the octogenarian more thoroughly. The CEO of Rand Enterprises might seem invincible to those watching from a casual distance but to Ciaran, who’d grown up at the man’s knee being groomed for a legacy that never should have been his, he could see the toll it took on his health. His skin had taken on a waxy sheen and a gray tinge. Hell—it hung from the man’s frame, making Ciaran wonder for the first time just how much weight the once robust man lost. He wanted the family patriarch to retire in good health, to live long enough to make him proud and more than that, Ciaran wanted to reunite the broken bonds of his family. Business was his best means—possibly his only means—of bringing his disinherited father and brother back into the fold.
“You’re right—I’ll see to it.” Ciaran answered directly so that he could steer the conversation toward his concerns. “Have you seen your doctor recently, grandfather?”
He beat the bowl of the spoon on the table once, like a judge declaring some kind of verdict. “You won’t get this company by declaring me incompetent, young man.”
“Not everything is about business. Is it too much to believe I care because we’re family?” Ciaran pushed away from the table and stood, hands braced in front of him, palms flat on the smooth walnut finish. “Do you really think I want to lose you too? I had no idea that I came off so damn cold.”
Jamison stared up at him unblinking and firm. If he had a shred of regret for his accusation, his poker face held firm. The man was a shark wearing the skin of a modern day robber baron—progress be damned. “Regardless of your feelings my health is none of your concern.” The crisp staccato of each word clearly brooked no argument. “But I will remind you of other concerns: your position as CFO of this company, your current assignment, and your dinner with Monica Fitch, the advertising manager of Fitch and Klaussner. As I understand, she stands to inherit quite a sum herself. Think of what a merger through family connection could do for the company, CJ. ”
“I really wish you wouldn’t call me that. I’m not a ten-year-old boy.” Irritation made his polite words clipped as if he bit off each one as it came out.
“Your name isn’t proper.” Ciaran opened his mouth to speak but the old man was on a roll now. “That Irish woman your father insisted on marrying had to be different. Had to show you belonged to her.”
“My mother’s name was Maureen.”
“Irrelevant—she was too proud to let you be Jamison Rand III. Son, promise you’ll leave those Irish ones alone. If this Fitch girl doesn’t work out, get yourself a stalwart English girl or German. The German girls are good stock.”
“Who I date is not your prerogative, Grandfather.” Ciaran balled his fists up. It was all he could do not to say how he really felt—he’d avoid marriage or anything more than casual until he was free to marry the way he wanted—until he earned the keys to the kingdom.
To be clear, Ciaran agreed with the actions his father took. Ciaran may not be able to make the same choice and walk away himself, but he respected his father all the more for having done it, for having made his own way in the world without the money and influence from the Rand family fortune. Jamison Rand Junior started a company from nothing with a young wife and child. He succeeded alone. As far as Ciaran was concerned, it was his father who proved his rightful place as CFO and future CEO—not Ciaran. He lived in that shadow every day and kept his silence.
“Yes—well. I can’t wait forever.” The hall clock struck the hour. “That’s enough for one day. I’ve had your assistant put the dinner meeting on your schedule. He’ll brief you of the details.”
Yes—and his assistant already cancelled those plans at Ciaran’s standing orders. A fact he was sure t
o hear about later.
The chair feet dragged across the floor, a deeper version of nails on a chalkboard. Just like that, the matter closed. Jamison stood tossing his napkin on his plate while Ciaran himself stood fixed in the same position staring at the now empty seat. He blinked and rolled his shoulders back as he straightened. This was not the old man’s first casual reminder that he expected Ciaran to marry advantageously—something Ciaran’s father failed to do when he married Ciaran’s mother heavily pregnant with another man’s child—his brother Hamish.
For all his grandfather’s fine family ideals, he didn’t have an ounce of familial feeling. This was not poison teaching from his mother, as Jamison would have people believe. His mother—God rest her—had never uttered a cross word regarding her father-in-law, no matter what he might be persuaded. Ciaran didn’t need her to tell him what he could see for himself. It made him glad that his father insisted Ciaran keep the possible purchase of the vacant factory and their plans for renovation to themselves. The senior member of their splintered clan would have been in no mood to hear it, just as Ciaran’s mood to deal with it had soured.
Another lonely weekend wasted and ruined by work. All he could do was hope for a better Monday.
About the Author
CASSIE LEIGH writes contemporary and paranormal romance that is more than skin deep. Before she could write, she began dreaming up stories. Cassie has since moved on from recorded conversations for her dolls on a Fisher-Price cassette player, to novels that draw on her plethora of eccentric passions including Monsters, MMA fighting and Pinup style. Every new obsession seems to find its way into her romance world! She aspires to create character driven drama that have nothing to do with reality. Want more? You can connect with Cassie Leigh online.
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Until Death Do Us Part: Haunted Romance Series Book 1 Page 10