I don’t know if I should be scared or worried as she rushes toward us, leaving a blazing trail of anxiety in her wake. Her expression is one I’d imagine a death row inmate having right before they stick the needle in.
Without a word, she grabs my arm and yanks me away from West, picking up Sloane and Quinn on her way to the far corner of the roof.
I turn on her, my concern growing. “What’s going on, Gretch?”
I know the other two are thinking the same thing I am.
In six years, we’ve never seen her this out of sorts before.
“I slept with my boss.”
Crickets.
“What?” Sloane snaps. “Gretch, that’s so not you to mix business with pleasure. What the hell happened?”
Gretchen swipes her hand through her hair. “I didn’t know he was my boss. It was before I started working at the ad firm. I didn’t know who he was at the time.”
“And that’s why things have been weird between you two?” I ask cautiously. “Because you slept together?”
She scowls. “No. I’d hate the bastard regardless because he’s a dick. But he doesn’t even remember that night.” Then her face changes, growing more and more distressed. “At least, I thought he didn’t remember it. He never acknowledged that he even knew who I was whenever I started working at the firm.”
Yeah, that would definitely grate on a girl’s pride, especially Gretchen’s. I can understand why her defenses would be up around him. What’s curious, though, is that despite her obvious annoyance with the man, I’ve sensed some level of affection there. Every time she talks about her boss, her words bite with derision, but the tone of her voice doesn’t. It’s like everything inside her unconsciously softens when she thinks about him, but she has to remind herself to hate him.
I think she actually likes to hate him.
“I’m confused,” Quinn says. “If he doesn’t remember, can’t you just act like it never happened? You don’t actually want to get involved with your boss. Right? It was just a one-time thing.”
Gretchen doesn’t nod or shake her head. She just stands there staring at nothing with wide eyes, looking like she’s seen a ghost.
“Gretch?” I prod.
“That’s just it,” she murmurs. “He doesn’t remember it because it wasn’t him.”
“What do you mean?” Sloane asks, shooting me a wary look.
“I never knew…” she whispers.
“Never knew what?”
She lifts her gaze to ours. “That he has a twin. And when I met him today at the office, he definitely remembered me.”
Sixteen months later
“Whose asinine idea was it to have your wedding only one week after Vampire Van Gordon’s?” Gretchen grumbles from her slumped over position in her chair. “As of an hour ago, I officially set the record for world’s longest hangover. Someone call Guinness.”
I smile as Sloane—a.k.a, Mrs. Van Gordon—and Quinn finish the final adjustments on my veil. “That was our evil plan all along.”
“I knew it was a conspiracy.” Gretchen lifts a bottle of water to her mouth and downs half of it in three gulps.
“Yep, and we were all in on it,” Sloane adds, giving her new wedding band a wistful glance.
“Hey, I tried to talk them into a double wedding,” Quinn interjects.
“Nah, it’s more fun to watch Gretch suffer.” I toss the other two a sly wink.
She groans. “I might have to break up the Fighting Vixens and find new friends.”
Quinn cringes. “That sounds like the mascot of a strip club.”
Gretchen quirks an eyebrow. “Your point?”
Sloane’s clap slices through the air, silencing them. “I think we’re ready.” She takes a step back. “Are you ready, Harp?”
I smooth my hands down my strapless, mermaid-style wedding dress with a slit up the middle. A near replica of my red gala dress. Despite the events that took place that night, that dress holds significant meaning for me. In a way, the night of the gala symbolized the moment when everything changed for me and West. And at least now I can say it was in a good way.
Not to mention, what took place between us while I was in that dress. In front of the mirror in my bedroom…his head between my thighs…
Wait until he gets a load of me in this.
The innocence of the white in contrast to the sultry red is going to drive him out of his mind. The thoughts and images that are going to bombard his mind the second he gets his first glimpse of me in this dress won’t exactly be of the church variety, I’m sure.
Good thing we’re getting married on the beach.
On the same stretch where he proposed eight months ago.
“I’m ready.”
Five minutes later, I’m being walked down the aisle by my three best friends.
Aside from West, no one else in my life has been there for me like these women have. My always absent father hasn’t been. Not my own flesh and blood sister or Shae. And certainly not my estranged mother. Even West’s parents and sisters have proven to be more family to me than the one I was born into. I belong to them more than I ever did to the St. Clair name.
Luckily, I’m about to leave that name behind and become Mrs. Harper Devereaux.
And double lucky for me, Mr. Devereaux is simply breathtaking. Standing at the end of the aisle, anxiously waiting for his soon-to-be-wife to reach him. Dressed in a white linen shirt and khakis, he’s every inch my laidback, anti-formalwearing pilot. I even told him to keep his aviator sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar.
When our eyes meet, his face goes slack.
His hands unclasp and swing limply to his sides, his body radiating pure astonishment. He looks as if he’s about to hightail it down the aisle to me any second. Like I’ll somehow evaporate into thin air if he doesn’t reach me in time. Thankfully, my girls get me to him before he loses his patience and mows them down until nothing else stands between me and him.
After giving me away, Gretchen leans in and whispers to West, “Just remember, I’ve got a complete list of everything you’re allergic to if you don’t make her the happiest woman on earth.” Then she winks.
West chuckles, unsurprised by her ever-present brazenness.
The wide-eyed preacher, however, warily watches her take her place to the left of the altar next to Sloane and Quinn with unbridled fear sparking in his eyes.
West inclines his head to me as the preacher starts speaking, saying under his breath, “Absolutely fucking stunning. There’s just one problem with that dress.”
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“My hands aren’t opening that slit wider for my mouth.”
“Yet.”
His groan is the last noise he makes until we’re saying our vows.
Oh, no. Here they come.
Those marital tears I swore to everyone would never fall. I designed a whole new bridal line of makeup in preparation for today, all of which I’m currently wearing. And I will not allow it to smear all over the place just because I can’t keep my emotions in check.
But my current happiness gauge is so off-the-charts high, it’s not even registering on the scale right now. Once upon a time not so long ago, I never imagined this level of joy was even possible for me.
And it’s all because of this man right here.
Aside from the girls who just gave me away, he’s my entire world.
West gave me the confidence to be something more than a pawn on someone else’s chessboard. I never would have taken those first steps toward my dream if it wasn’t for his encouragement and support. If he hadn’t pushed me to believe that I was capable of achieving greater heights than I’d planned for myself. He’s constantly reminding me to give myself more credit for all that I’ve accomplished.
Now, my life is brimming over with laughter, spontaneity, loyalty, excitement, and unconditional love.
And he deserves all the credit for that.
It’s because of him tha
t I finally tapped into my true potential. That I broke free of the chains of my upbringing and found my own freedom. None of this would have been possible without him.
Because he was always meant for me.
I tried to convince myself otherwise when doubt took the driver’s seat. But destiny always has a way of steering in the end.
The choice I made to move in with West after only three weeks was the biggest risk I’ve ever taken.
A risk that has yielded the greatest reward of my life.
“I’ve waited a long damn time to officially make you mine, princess,” West breathes against my lips after the preacher gives him the okay to kiss his bride. Not that he’d ever wait for permission.
“Don’t you think you should start calling me wife now?”
His eyes drift shut in pleasure. “Believe me, I’ll call you that as often as I can. But you’ve always been my princess, Harper. And you always will be. Always.”
The Mix-Up, Gretchen’s story, will be here Fall of 2020!
Stay tuned for more updates and teasers, coming soon!
Sneak Peek of Sweet Attraction
Chapter One
Dr. Phil could kiss her ass.
Jade Hollingsworth scowled at the road in front of her, her insides quivering with anxiety as she drove down the highway. What had the good doctor said during the one episode of his show she had ever watched?
“You can’t play the game of life with sweaty palms.”
Well, she was sure as hell playing the game of life now.
And her damn palms had never been sweatier.
But none of this was a game. And she should never have listened to a TV psychologist in the first place. It would have been a lot more helpful if the dude had shared what to do when your palms got so sweaty you could barely maintain your control on the steering wheel of life.
Buy a stronger antiperspirant?
The drive from Washington, D.C. to Shell Grove, South Carolina was over seven grueling hours. After driving five, she was on the verge of throwing up her greasy fast food dinner. Not because she was carsick or had the flu. No. She was ready to toss her cookies because of the huge, life-altering decision she was making.
Although, Dr. Phil never told her to open up her own swimsuit shop in a strange town where she didn’t know a single person.
But he’d implied it with the whole sweaty palms comment.
She would have been a coward if she didn’t do it, right? And she didn’t want to be a coward. So, she’d said sayonara to her bitchy boss at the swanky bakery where she’d worked in downtown D.C., flipped off all the asshole customers she would never have to deal with again, slammed the door on her hated stepmother and pig of a stepbrother, and packed up her car for greener pastures.
Actually, she didn’t know what the pastures were like in the coastal town of Shell Grove, because she had never seen the town in person before. Everything she knew about it was based on internet research. Her Realtor had found her a house there and a storefront for her swimsuit shop. But other than that, she might as well have been moving to Timbuktu.
Was it risky? Definitely.
Could she fail? Absolutely.
Was she terrified beyond all belief? You bet your ass.
It hadn’t been her intention to start this journey off on such a melancholy note. But hey, no one had ever accused her of being an optimist before. Maybe a realist. After all, failure was a real possibility, and she had to prepare herself for—
Oh God.
She had to pull over.
Thankfully, she spotted a decent-looking hotel chain at the next exit and whipped her five-year-old BMW convertible into the parking lot. After turning the ignition off, she fought to get herself back under control by taking deep, calming breaths.
She could do this. She had to do this.
She had taken far too many steps to get where she was, and she couldn’t turn back now.
She glanced over at the shoebox in her front seat. The meager cardboard box held all of her most prized possessions, which was why she hadn’t risked it to the fates of the rickety moving truck that had picked up her furniture the day before. The contents of the box haunted her, always making their presence known in her subconscious.
She had to pry her eyes away.
Focusing back on the hotel, she pushed out a heavy breath.
Time to sleep in the bed you made for yourself, sweetheart.
Having left D.C. much later than she’d planned to, night had already fallen, and besides, the moving truck wouldn’t be at the house she’d rented in Shell Grove until the next morning. So, she had some time to kill.
Two more hours on the road didn’t sound as appealing as drinking her worries away in a bottomless glass of wine. Or vodka.
She grabbed her luggage and purse, checked herself into a standard room with a queen-size bed, and trotted back down to the hotel’s restaurant-slash-bar. She didn’t bother changing out of her high-waist shorts and crop top because one, it was hot, and two, she didn’t give a rat’s ass what she looked like. Okay, so maybe she’d touched up her beehive ponytail just a little. And she may have reapplied her trademark plum lipstick. But so what?
If she was going to attend her own pity party tonight, she wanted to be dressed for the occasion. She wasn’t completely devoid of pride.
Dignity, maybe, but not pride.
She made a beeline for the bar and immediately flagged down the bartender. “Dry martini and a shot of the best stuff you have,” she told him. “I don’t care what it is.”
He tossed her a half grin. “The last woman who said that to me, I ended up marrying.”
Jade glanced down at his bare ring finger. “And that charming smile wasn’t enough to keep her around?”
He chuckled, the sound coming out gravelly, making him seem older than he was. She’d bet he was a smoker.
“No, the smile was fine with her. It was my rule of monogamy that wasn’t.”
“Sounds like you’re better off.”
He winked. “My thoughts exactly. Let me get those drinks for you.” He sauntered down to the other end of the bar where he pulled a bottle filled with amber liquid off a shelf.
She hoped he wouldn’t try to make conversation with her all night. He was cute, though she suspected there was too much manscaping going on down under for her liking. And although he seemed nice and looked to be about her age, she was going to spend the rest of her evening giving herself one hell of a pep talk. She simply had no time—or motivation—for polite chitchat or subtle innuendo.
The bartender dropped off her drinks. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.” She was relieved when he walked off without another word.
As she sipped her martini, letting the alcohol slowly slide down her throat, she took the opportunity to scan over the other patrons. There were a few couples scattered around the restaurant area, other individuals seated by themselves—traveling on business if she had to guess—and a table of three older gentlemen in the bar area. Surprisingly, she was the only one actually seated at the bar—
Except for him.
Her attention caught on the hulking figure who sat at the end corner of the bar, facing her direction.
Wow.
The guy was…big. Not, I pump iron three times a day and pop steroids like M&M’s big. More like I work my ass off for a living and this is the result big. And judging by his lack of suit and the beer bottle in front of him, she had a feeling he was not someone who pushed papers behind a desk all day.
He probably looked better in that fitted T-shirt than he would in a suit, anyway.
She was trying to get a better look at his face when his head suddenly turned and his eyes connected with hers. Flustered, she quickly averted her gaze and focused on the television in front of her.
Had he caught her staring?
Probably, because that’s how her day was going.
She hadn’t gotten a good look, but from what she’d seen,
the guy was well proportioned. His jaw had appeared as strong as the rest of his body, and she’d definitely noticed a five o’clock shadow peppering his cheeks. She tried peeking out of the corner of her eye to get another look, but he was just a dark, blurry mass. And she was too embarrassed to actually turn her whole head again.
But she could feel his eyes on her.
She didn’t have to get a good look at them to know they were glued to her, searing through her. It was strange. She hadn’t really seen his face to know what he actually looked like, and all he could see of her was her profile. But she knew his gaze was intense. She could feel the way he was studying her, and a thrill shot through her.
Whoa.
What are you doing, Jade?
She had just told herself she wasn’t there for conversation or flirting. She had to move to her new life tomorrow and, more than anything, she had to get her fears under control. At the reminder of what she had gotten herself into, she tipped her head back and downed the shot of…oh yeah, that was whiskey. Gah.
Her attention was once again drawn to the Incredible Hulk when the bartender went over and asked if he wanted another round. She took advantage and subtly watched their exchange.
“I’ll have another Bud,” the guy responded, the deep rumble of his voice easily reaching her ears.
She was already in love with the South.
If all men down here had an accent like that, well…conversing with the opposite sex certainly wouldn’t be a hardship.
As if he was as aware of her as she was of him, the Hulk’s gaze flew back to her the second the bartender walked away. Dammit. She had been too distracted by his voice to pay attention.
She knew he’d caught her that time.
And was he grinning at her?
She thought she’d detected a small quirk of his lips just before she darted her attention back to the TV.
She squirmed in her seat, feeling like an animal at the zoo, making her hyperaware of herself and everything around her. It was that feeling like when you wanted to check every five seconds to make sure your boob wasn’t popping out even though you knew it was impossible. Or make sure you didn’t have food in your teeth even though you hadn’t eaten anything. Or that your lipstick wasn’t smeared from cheek to cheek like the Joker.
The Six Month Lease (Southern Hearts Club Book 2) Page 25