by Nicki Elson
Her stomach clenched, and she had to tighten her throat to discourage the bile that rushed up. She cursed the rich crab dip she’d scarfed down earlier. Taking a slow inhale through her nose, she attempted to reinstate the quiet calm she’d felt with Kurt ever since they’d gotten back together. That calmness was security to her, a confirmation of her certainty that he was the one.
The two of them crossed over the threshold to find the winter garden uninhabited. While they moved over the square of hardened earth toward the dry stone fountain at its center, Trish slid gloved fingers over Kurt’s palm. Before she fully grasped onto him, he yanked his hand away and took a sharp step back.
“Trish—” He paused, and she watched a sickly pallor creep across his handsome features. His pupils darted back and forth over her face, carefully studying her reaction as he said, “I’ve met someone else.”
Not the four words she’d expected. Balling the fingers he’d left dangling, she felt hot tingles rush across her cheeks and throat.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear.”
“What, exactly, didn’t you mean to happen?” The iciness in her tone had nothing to do with the frigid Chicago temperature—maintaining this stoic posture was the only thing that kept her from screaming. He was supposed to be proposing right now. She was supposed to be falling into his arms, telling him yes.
The muscle at the corner of Kurt’s jaw bulged. “I’d give anything to not have to say this…” He stared hard at her, his beautiful eyes glassy as if pleading for her to make this easier for him.
“Say it,” she commanded in a harsh whisper. “Just say it.”
“I’m in love with someone else.”
Again, not the words she’d expected. “Love? Really? Are you sure cheating isn’t a better term?”
He stayed silent and turned his face to the side. With the moonlight capturing his full profile, Trish was struck by its familiarity. She knew every line of it, every curve, every blemish. This was a face she loved. Suddenly, she didn’t want to increase the tension. She only wanted to erase this hideous diversion and get them back on track toward where they should be.
“Look, I know I made things hell for you,” she said. “Right when you were ready to give me your forever, I took a giant step back.” Her eyes dropped to the pile of dried and frozen leaves that had gathered at the basin of the empty fountain, and she attempted to truly mean what she was about to say. “Even though I can’t quite forgive you right now, I understand. You took a massive emotional blow, and if this is what you needed to do in order to get over it so that we can move forward, I can learn to be okay with that.”
She dared a peek up and saw the pained crinkle at the corner of his eyes and the severe downward slope of his mouth. Even when she’d rejected his prior proposal he hadn’t looked so filled with dread.
“It’s not like that, Trish.” His voice was very soft. “I don’t want to move forward with you. I need to end this. Tonight.”
All the understanding and diplomacy she’d mustered moments ago popped and fizzled. “Because of that slutbag?”
“She’s not a slutbag.” He maintained steadiness in his voice, but she heard the quiver underneath.
“Look up the word in Urban Dictionary—I’m sure at least one definition involves sleeping with another woman’s boyfriend.”
“I haven’t slept with her.”
“You know I don’t mean literally slept.”
“I haven’t had sex with her.”
“Really, Bill Clinton?”
“Knock it off! This isn’t even about her. It’s about me and you.”
“Then why did you broach the subject with ‘I met someone else’?”
His rough exhale sent a dragon-worthy puff into the night. “Because meeting her is what opened my eyes to how unhappy I’ve been with you.”
Trish snorted. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. No matter how you explain this, the nasty truth is that you’re dumping me for that slutbag. I have no idea why you felt the need to make a big production out of breaking up with me. I mean, seriously, Kurt. Was dinner really necessary? And the carriage ride?”
“We never went on a carriage.”
She glared at him and continued, “And bringing me to one of my favorite spots in the whole city.” She gestured wide and then made the mistake of looking around the hidden garden and letting flashes of memories invade her. Memories with Kurt. The first time she’d brought him here. Holding his hand and laughing at some silly joke. Kissing him. Tossing coins into the fountain…telling each other their naughty wishes…going back to his place and granting them. “Do you hate me so much that you want to ruin this place for me? Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy?”
He bent to sit on the ledge of the fountain. “Bad choice of words. I wasn’t unhappy. I was…comfortable, I guess. But I realized I want more than that.”
Trish’s sigh was so heavy it hurt. The quiet calm she’d felt with him these last few months hadn’t been certainty and security, after all. It was boredom.
With his elbows resting on his knees, Kurt clasped his hands together and tilted his head, peering at her sideways. “Don’t you want more, too? Isn’t that why you turned me down when I proposed?”
Trish shook her head, her dark blond waves swishing beneath her knit hat. “We’ve been through all of this. You know that wasn’t it.”
“No, Trish, I don’t know that, actually. None of your explanations ever made any sense to me. Until I met Lauren.” One side of his mouth twitched up when he said the slutbag’s name. The tiny, inadvertent gesture crawled under Trish’s skin.
“How did she make this all clear to you?”
“I don’t know.” His lips morphed into a smile, as if he was completely oblivious to the raw emotions of the woman standing in front of him. “All this time the plan was to propose to you again at some point and make a life together. But she came along, and…I don’t know…now the idea of committing to you and giving up the chance to pursue things with her is…depressing.”
“Seriously? You think that’s okay to say to me? I mean, my God, if you’re going to be a dickhead, at least have the courtesy of doing it while I have a drink in my hand so I can throw it in your face! Is that why you wouldn’t go on the carriage? Because you didn’t want to give me the opportunity to shove your ass off?”
“Calm down.”
Trish felt somewhat vindicated that his smile had vanished. “No, Kurt, I won’t calm down. Because who does this? Who takes a girl out for a nice, romantic dinner, walks her to her most cherished site in the whole city—”
“Hardly the most cherished.”
She didn’t even hear him. “—and then tells her he’s trashing their whole relationship for some slutbag?”
“She’s not a slutbag!” He thrust up to standing and glared at her.
Trish glared back, not even sure what made her more angry—that he was breaking up with her or that he kept so vehemently defending this faceless woman. “You know what? I don’t need a full drink, Kurt.” Her eyes flashed around the courtyard and landed on the fountain bed.
Swooping her arms down into it, she scooped up fistfuls of crunchy leaves and tossed them into his face.
He swished them away with one hand, and she saw that the fury in his eyes had dampened to concern. How dare he be concerned for me? She lunged back toward the fountain and grabbed another load. This time she plunged her fists into the lapels of his wool jacket, smearing the dirt and crumbled leaves into it.
He grasped her forearms. “Sweetie, stop it.”
“No!” She stepped back and jerked her arms free. “You don’t get to call me sweetie anymore. You don’t get to call me anything.”
Spinning around, she stomped toward the archway, fending off thoughts of the false expectations she’d indulged in the last time she’d passed under it. The frigid crunch of his footsteps approached from behind.
“Don’t.” She didn’t turn but paused and held
her hand up beside her. “The very least you can do is allow me a dramatic exit.”
“We still need to talk about this.”
“Not tonight.”
She resumed walking, and this time no crunching footsteps pursued. The bastard was actually letting her walk away—at least he’d done one thing right by her tonight. She traversed several blocks in a haze of indignant fury. She didn’t deserve to be blindsided like this no matter how much she’d hurt him before.
As she descended the steps to the Red Line train, her temper waned, but she wouldn’t let the tears set in yet. Not in front of all these people. She’d wait until she was back in the solitude of her apartment. The solitude she’d apparently be living in from now on.
How had she not seen this coming? Surely Kurt had shown signs of being involved with this other woman. He’d never been a good liar. Scanning her memory for a clue while the L train rattled toward Lincoln Park, she came up empty. She’d been too busy steeling herself for what she’d expected to be his impending proposal that she’d completely overlooked any forewarning he may have given her. Now there would be no proposal.
It was only because she knew Kurt so well that she didn’t try to convince herself this other woman was nothing more than a passing fancy and that in the light of the morning, without Trish in his bed, he’d realize his mistake and come running back. Kurt didn’t have passing fancies. Kurt didn’t make mistakes, not such big ones. That was one reason he’d taken Trish’s earlier rejection so hard—he hadn’t been able to forgive himself for being wrong about the timing. If Kurt had deliberately based this whole evening around breaking up with her, then things were really and truly over between them.
The train jerked to a halt at her station and she got out. The shadowy sidewalks and streets in her neighborhood were quieter than the area of the city where she’d ditched Kurt. It was like stepping into a different world. It would be okay to cry here, but no tears came.
Entering the stairwell to her vintage apartment building, it struck her how very different her future looked from when she’d last set foot on these worn steps. She’d expected to start packing up her things soon to combine them with Kurt’s at his place. She’d expected to say goodbye to her independent life here. Turning the key in the lock and swinging open the door to look upon the main room of her small, decidedly feminine home, she settled on a new emotion—not sadness or loneliness or betrayal. In one word, what she felt above all else was freedom.
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When It Hits You
Coming January 2017
Electronic. That’s how my love life was supposed to stay. Just me and my B.O.B.s (battery-operated boyfriends, if you don’t know). I didn’t expect to get partnered at work with the Adonis in Ralph Lauren. And I certainly never thought he’d turn out to be anything but an arrogant jerk.
Lyssa Bates doesn’t need a man. The twenty-six-year-old financial analyst is more than fulfilled by her career, friends, and a ready supply of double-A batteries. Her relationship with Hayden King is purely professional—and that’s how she intends to keep it. But accidental kisses in Dallas, all-nighters in Chicago, and hot tub confessions in Baltimore mess with her head and shake her resistance. Especially when he turns his charms full on her.
Why is it that whenever you’re not looking for love, that’s exactly when it hits you? ~Lyssa
Chapter 1
LYSSA’S BACK ARCHED, and something between a gasp and a moan clambered up her throat and out into the darkened room. She laughed and let her head fall to the pillow, closing her eyes to exhilarate in the pleasure that had just commandeered her body for those few, luxurious moments.
“Having a good time?” Keith asked, stepping through the bathroom doorway and buttoning his jeans around his lean waist. “Y’might want to turn that off now.”
“Huh?” Confused as to how he’d managed to bring her to climax from way over there, Lyssa only now noticed that her hand was still vibrating. Flicking off the device, she reached for the tissues on the side table. “What’s going on? When did you leave?”
“Seriously?” He scowled as he rummaged around the collection of clothing on her floor and then straightened to pull his Star Wars T-shirt over his short, dirty blond hair and cover his skinny torso. “I left when you kicked me off the bed.”
“What?”
“When you grabbed that thing out of my hand and swatted me away every time I tried to kiss or touch you, and then you got your freakishly strong thigh between us and shoved me to the floor.”
Lyssa settled back into the pillow, listening and now remembering. She broke out into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry.”
“Glad you think it’s funny.” His mouth, slightly too wide for his narrow face, curved downward.
“Aw, don’t be mad. Come here. And take off those stupid clothes. I can’t snuggle with you with your jeans on. No more kicking, I promise.”
He gave her a teasing snarl, making a pretense of thinking about her request, and then stripped down to his navy blue boxer briefs before crawling across the futon bed and flopping onto his side. Brushing her dark brown hair off her shoulder, he nestled close, touching small kisses to her neck. “You don’t love it better than me, do you?” Keith had bought “it” two months earlier on the one-year anniversary of their first date.
“Of course not,” Lyssa said, even as she made a mental note to buy more batteries the next day.
“Did you really not notice I’d left the room?”
“What? Don’t be silly. Of course I did.” She hadn’t, actually, but she didn’t see how telling him that now would lead to falling asleep anytime soon, and she had an early meeting the next morning. The boss was going to announce the team for Project Pineapple.
“I don’t understand why they’ve got to make such a big deal out of this,” Carla said through a half-stifled yawn. “Why don’t they just pull the chosen ones into the manager’s office, plop the extra workload on them, and be done with it?”
Standing with Carla at a back corner of the conference room, Lyssa shook powdered creamer into her disposable cup of scalding coffee. “This project is on an entirely different scale than anything the firm has ever done before. Not only is the Pineapple fund huge, they want to revamp their entire retirement plan. It is a big deal.”
Nearly every seat in the large, glass-walled conference room was taken as Fox & Keaton Investment Consulting’s senior analysts gathered. Project Pineapple was what they’d all begun calling Delicious Hawaii, the firm’s big new account. The company dealt in canned fruits and vegetables of all kinds, but pineapple had been their first claim to fame, thus the nickname.
“So then…remind me why we’re all hoping to be picked,” Carla said. “Cuz you know nobody’s getting a raise out of this. Just extra work.” Her super-short, ebony hair, always perfectly styled when the girls went out to the bars, now flipped up on one side, where Lyssa guessed the pillow had pressed it to her head.
“High profile, baby. So we’ll look good when an associate position opens up.”
“Right. And why do we want to be associates, again?”
“Because that’s when the money kicks in.” Lyssa winked and tapped her Styrofoam to Carla’s cup.
They were distracted from their conversation when an associate from a different department strutted into the conference room. Though he wasn’t particularly tall, his confident smile made him seem ten feet high. Lyssa and he had never met, but she recognized him—any warm-blooded female who’d ever laid eyes on him would: piercing blue eyes and thick waves of nearly black hair, clipped short but with longer wisps arranged in purposeful carelessness across his forehead. His suit, no doubt expensive, hugged his honed physique, and his walk appeared more like a glide as he moved across the room to claim one of the vacant chairs near the head of the table. He had no need of the swill Lyssa and Carla poured down their throats because he carried a tall, lidded cup
from the gourmet coffee place in the building’s lobby.
“Shit!” Lyssa hissed as she burned her tongue on the corporate-issued coffee. Lifting an ice chip from the vat of orange juice cartons, she placed it on her stinging taste buds and slurred, “Why he here?”
“The Taft-hottie?”
“Translate.”
“Taft because he works in the Taft-Hartley department, and I think the hottie is self-evident.”
Lyssa’s eyes drifted back toward the Adonis in Ralph Lauren as the ice melted and slid in cold streams down the side of her tongue. “If he works in that division, why’s he at a meeting for a corporate account?”
When he shifted his attention in her direction, Lyssa flicked her eyes toward the clear glass wall and pretended to study the cluster of workspaces just beyond the conference room. Over the top of a high cubicle wall, she saw the slicked back, silvering hair of the vice president of her division as he made his way to the room. She nodded toward the long table, indicating to Carla that they should grab seats. They had to separate, with three other analysts between them.
“Good morning, everyone,” Henry Beecher said as he entered the room and moved to stand at the head of the table. Two managing consultants trailed in behind him and stood off to the side. “I appreciate you all coming in so early. I know the stir this new client has caused around here, and I understand that being given this assignment will be viewed as an honor—as it should be—but that’s not to say we don’t value the rest of you, as well. We’re relying on you to keep the company’s normal operations running smoothly while the new team focuses on DH.
“With that being said, I’ll dole out assignments for Delicious Hawaii.” He motioned for one of the consultants to stand beside him and then named two senior analysts to work with her on asset allocation. The other consultant then stepped up, and Beecher announced the analysts who’d work with the IT department on report design. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the new addition to our conference room—Hayden King.”