Choosing Happy (Madison Square #2)

by Samatha Harris

  CHOOSING HAPPY

  Madison Square, Book Two

  By Samatha Harris

  CHOOSING HAPPY

  Copyright © 2016 by Samatha Harris.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: September 2016

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-793-7

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-793-5

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my mom, who never asked me to hide my crazy.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

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  Chapter 1

  Madison

  I don’t know how long I’d been sitting with my chin on the table, staring into an empty glass of what used to be scotch, contemplating how the fuck I ended up here—sad, alone, and a little drunk, if I’m being completely honest. Hell of a way to spend the evening, right? Head down on the cold, hard surface of my dining room table, literally watching ice melt.

  I am boring. My husband was right. Excuse me, my ex-husband…well, he would be as soon as I signed the papers that sat on the other side of my glass. The divorce papers stated irreconcilable differences, which was code for me being a lifeless doormat that drove my husband into the arms of his nineteen-year-old intern. To hear Michael tell it, I all but pushed him into the arms of some trampy coed with my complacency.

  Truth was, I wasn’t complacent or lifeless. He was the one who sucked the life out of me. For sixteen years, I put that man first. His career, his family, his happiness, all of it came before anything I wanted or needed. My mother’s voice would ring in my ears, telling me that it’s a wife’s duty to elevate her husband.

  The only thing I’d ever done for myself was get my MBA. My mother was outraged when I delivered that news. She threatened to cut me out of her will right then. Luckily, my father stepped in and shut her down. At least he understood that I needed to do something with my life, become something more than someone’s wife. How’s that for irony? Even after going to grad school and attaining the high profile career, I still ended up somebody’s wife, Mrs. Michael Buchanan.

  The ice had completely melted in my glass, and the condensation began to form a puddle on the table that was inching dangerously close to the divorce papers. I watched as it crept slowly toward the document, counting down the last few seconds of my marriage. My instincts were to move it away and get a napkin because cleanliness is next to godliness, or so I’ve been told, but I couldn’t move. My life had gone to shit, and I was a complete mess. It almost seemed fitting to return my divorce papers smudged and disoriented, because that was exactly how I felt.

  In the end, my strict upbringing caused me to drag my defeated, broken body to the kitchen to get a napkin and return to my dining room/tomb to clean up the mess. The voice of reason in my head was a nagging bitch who sounded way too much like my mother.

  On my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror in the hall and didn’t recognize the sad woman who stared back at me from the frame. I searched her eyes for the girl I used to be, but she was gone. She’d bailed the minute I said I do. That bitch was psychic, or maybe just smarter than I was, because she knew that this would eventually happen and took off before it was too late.

  Her shoulder-length blonde hair was flat and brassy; the roots were showing the mousy brown from my youth. Her eyes were red rimmed and empty, having faded to a gray color from the bright sky blue they used to be. Her pale skin, sallow and sad. She’d lost weight too. The white blouse and black pencil skirt hung loose on her too thin frame. I stood there staring at the stranger in the mirror, unable to recognize myself anymore.

  I was a complete wreck from the stress of the divorce, so much so that I wasn’t eating and spent most of my time crying into my pillow until I would eventually fall asleep. I’d lost weight as a result, which my mother pointed out was a blessing, but it just made me, like the woman in the mirror, look sick. When I ran into friends or colleagues who hadn’t seen me in a while, their first question was, “Are you okay?”

  Before I could think about it, I picked up my glass and threw it as hard as I could at the mirror. The glass and the mirror shattered, along with what was left of my pride as I watched the pieces fall to the floor.

  That was when the tears came. I sank to my knees, giving into the sob that tore from my throat. What else could you do when your life was in pieces at your feet?

  ***

  “Maddie!”

  Someone was shouting, but the sound was distant and distorted. My back hurt and my body was…shaking? I opened my eyes and tried to focus my brain to get a handle on what was happening.

  “Maddie? Damn it, wake up!”

  I turned my head in the general direction of the sound and was startled by a pair of ice blue eyes filled with concern. I blinked and tried to sit up, but my body was stiff and the muscles ached with even the slightest movement.

  The cold hardwood floor beneath me didn’t exactly help the situation either. What was I doing on the dining room floor? My head was throbbing and my neck was killing me. I must’ve fallen asleep.

  “Careful, the glass,” he said.

  Strong hands gripped my arms to keep me from moving around too much. Once I was vertical, I blinked and rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. Liam was crouched down beside me, his eyes filled with worry.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes at the too familiar question and tried to rub the kink out of my neck. “I’m fine,” I said. “The mirror broke.”

  “I can see that,” he said, surveying the minefield of glass shards that littered the dining room floor.

  I slowly got to my feet, and he reached for my arm to steady me. I headed to the laundry room to grab a broom with Liam following close behind. He stood in the doorway and watched me carefully, his arms folded across his broad chest.

  “Why were you passed out on the floor?”

  Liam may be my little brother, but he’s by no means little. At six foot three, he towers over all five foot seven of me. He’s young, good looking, and smart with a kind heart that is in stark contrast to his tough exterior.

  He ran a hand through his mess of light brown hair. His hair was short, but it still managed to h
ave that disheveled look guys his age thought was so sexy. My mother hated it. She said it made him look like a bum, which I think was part of why he kept it that way.

  I looked up to meet his worried eyes that continued to watch me as he waited for me to finally answer his question. I sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let this go until I did.

  “The divorce papers showed up today.”

  Liam stood up straight. Understanding flashed across his face. “I’m sorry, Maddie,” he said as he wrapped me in his massive arms. The tears started again, and I sobbed into his t-shirt. Liam didn’t move. He just let me cry and stroked my hair.

  I’m the oldest of four siblings. My brother Franklin and my sister Evelyn are the middle children, and they are sheep who do our mother’s bidding. Needless to say, we are not close. Evelyn likes to pretend that we are—you know, to keep up appearances—but she is a carbon copy of my mother, who is hard enough to handle on her own.

  Liam is the baby of the family. He showed up when I was in high school, a surprise to us all. We are the furthest apart in age, but the closest in every other way. It’s times like this, when I am sobbing into his chest, that I am reminded why he’s my favorite. The rest of my family would have told me to get it together, wipe my face, and hide my crazy. Not Liam. He had a sixth sense about these things. He always seemed to know exactly what you needed even before you did.

  After far too long, I took a step back and wiped my face. My shoulders slumped when I noticed the large wet stain that covered his shoulder. I’m so pathetic.

  Taking a shuddering breath, I picked up the broom and headed back into the dining room to clean up my mess. Liam didn’t say anything. He just grabbed the dustpan from beneath the sink and followed me.

  “Never liked this mirror anyway,” I said. Liam didn’t comment; instead, he swept the glass into the dust pan.

  Liam and I were two of a kind. Our parents had his life all figured out for him. He was to join our father’s law firm, marry a proper southern debutante of our mother’s choosing, and have a minimum of three children to help carry on the Sinclair family legacy. The problem was that Liam didn’t want that life.

  When he refused to take the Bar exam, my father practically disowned him, leaving Liam with nowhere to go and no clue as to what to do next. So until he figured out his next move, he was working in a bar near Madison Square just a few blocks away and staying with me.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Three-thirty,” he said, dumping the glass into the trash under the sink.

  I wiped a hand down my face. I had to be up for work in three hours. It was time to drag my tired, pathetic ass to bed before the dark circles under my eyes took over my entire face. I leaned the broom against the wall and said good night to Liam.

  “Night, Maddie,” he said as he pressed a kiss to my cheek. I gave him a small, forced smile and headed down the hall to my room.

  ***

  A few days and a lot of crying later, I decided that I was done. I’d wallowed enough over my disaster of a marriage, and it was time for me to move forward. If I was being honest with myself, Michael and I were never really happy. We had a relationship more out of obligation than real love. We’d always lacked passion, which I guess would explain the intern. You know what they say about hindsight.

  By Saturday morning, I woke up feeling resolved. I grabbed my phone and typed a quick text to the one person I knew could help me turn things around.

  Madison: Can you meet me for lunch?

  Margot: You got it see you at 3.

  If my best friend couldn’t help me dig myself out of this rut, then no one could.

  ***

  “You look awful.”

  I looked up from my menu as Margot tipped her sunglasses down to get a good look at the horror show in front of her. Margot was a tiny little thing, but she was a striking force of nature in her DVF wrap dress and Gucci strappy sandals. Margot had a flawless style and a no nonsense attitude that I both hated and admired.

  She set her bag down, dropped into the seat across from me, and fixed me with those fierce green eyes of hers.

  “Did it ever occur to you to try sugar coating it a bit?” I asked.

  “Never,” she said. “I wouldn’t do you the disservice.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Oh no, here it comes, the look.

  Since Michael moved out, I’d been getting “the look.” Coworkers, our friends, family, pretty much anyone who heard about the divorce, they all wore the same pitying expression. I could tell what they were thinking: Poor Madison. Her husband left. Her life is over. I was done.

  “Don’t,” I said and held my hand out in defense.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t give me the, ‘You poor, pathetic divorcee’ look.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said, artfully smoothing her napkin in her lap.

  I raised an eyebrow, and she caved. “Fine,” she sighed, “but honey, have you seen yourself lately? I’m worried about you.”

  “I know. That’s precisely why I asked you here.”

  She looked at me over her water glass with a curious expression. “Oh?”

  “I’ve made a decision. I’m done wallowing in my own self-pity. Michael has moved on, and it’s time I did too. This divorce is an opportunity for me to make a fresh start, and a fresh start deserves a new look, which is where you come in.”

  I took my napkin from my lap and placed it on the table. I was a bit nervous coming to her with this, but I was desperate. I needed a new life. I spent the better part of my life letting Michael define who I was. Now that I was free of him, I was going to find out who I could be on my own.

  Margot stared across the table at me, drumming her fingers on the table, impatiently waiting for me to make my point.

  I took a deep breath. “Margot,” I said. “I need you to make me over.”

  She let out a high pitched squeal, catching the attention of everyone in the restaurant. I felt the heat flood my cheeks as I glanced around at all the eyes that were focused on us. Years of fading into Michael’s shadow had made me ridiculously shy. I don’t do well as the center of attention.

  “Finally,” she said. “I thought you would never ask. We start this afternoon.” She pulled out her phone, typing furiously before she brought it to her ear. “Hello, Kelly? Margot Bennett. I have an emergency. Can you fit me in at three?” She glanced at me while she waited for the answer. “No, it’s for a friend.” She looked at me again, taking in the whole sad picture in front of her. “We need the full work up.” She paused and nodded her head in response to whoever Kelly was. “Okay, great. See you then.”

  She set her phone down and signaled for the waiter. When he approached the table, she ordered two glasses of champagne and two garden salads. My head was spinning. I had no idea what was happening at the table now, let alone what she had set up for three o’clock.

  The waiter brought the champagne. “To new beginnings,” she said as she raised her glass, her smile beaming.

  I touched my flute to hers and downed half of the contents in one gulp. Something told me I was going to need it.

  ***

  A few hours later, I was sitting in a salon chair, my sad reflection staring back at me, mocking me again. As bleak as the before picture was, anything they did would’ve been an improvement.

  Margot appeared, holding another glass of champagne. “Do you trust me?” she asked as she met my eyes in the mirror.

  “What do I have to lose?” I shrugged.

  “That’s my girl!” She smiled and handed me the glass.

  A tall, leggy blonde dressed all in black came up behind me and I watched as she pressed a kiss to both of Margot’s cheeks.

  “Thank you, darling, for fitting us in. As you can see, we need lots of help,” Margot said, gesturing over my head.

  I raised my hand, waving at them in the mirror. “Hello, sitting right here.”

  Margot just patted my shoulder and shushed m
e.

  The blonde, who I assumed was Kelly, picked up a section of my hair and let it fall limp and dead through her long fingers. “What did he do to you, honey?” she asked, her face a twisted mask of disgust.

  I fought back the tears as Margot spoke up. “Madison needs a new life.”

  Kelly looked at me in the mirror. She narrowed her eyes and searched my face for some kind of inspiration, I suppose, while she continued to run her fingers through my stringy hair. She was quiet for a very long time. Then all of a sudden, her hands stilled and her face lit up.

  Kelly turned quickly to Margot, her eyes wide with excitement. “Sabrina!”

  Margot’s face lit up and she nodded her head, clearly on board with Kelly’s decision. “That’s perfect,” she said and clapped her hands together.

  “We are talking Fairchild, not teenage witch, right?” I said, just to make sure they were on the right path. I did not want to end up looking like the cast of Clueless, Where Are They Now?

  Margot rolled her eyes at me. She nodded at Kelly, who pulled out a large stack of foils and got to work.

  An hour later, I was flipping through a magazine, my head covered in enough foil to pick up HBO, when my phone started to ring. One glance at the screen made my stomach drop. Michael. I debated letting it go to voicemail, but decided that would be childish. I swiped my finger across the screen to answer when Margot plucked the phone from my hand.

  “The divorce is final, asshole. She no longer has any reason to talk to you,” she said, then hung up the phone and handed it back to me. I just stared at her, wide eyed. I’ve always been in awe of Margot. She’s never had a problem saying exactly what she thinks. Like I said, force of nature. It was in that very moment that I decided to adopt a new philosophy for life. When in doubt, WWMD. What would Margot do?