by Amanda Aksel
I smile, actually excited for the chance to talk about Liz. Half an hour later, I’ve told her everything about how we met, how she became my client, and how we keep running into each other. This is something I would usually keep to myself, but Dahlia seems like the perfect person to tell. She won’t judge me, and she’s already signed a secrecy agreement so I know I can trust her for sure. Plus, there’s a chance she’ll give me her American female perspective, which can’t hurt.
Dahlia holds her cup to her face, blinking rapidly like she has no idea how to respond to all of this. “I can’t believe you’re living in an actual romantic comedy.”
“Comedy? There’s nothing funny about this.”
“Not to you, the protagonist.”
“So, what happens in these romantic comedies? Does my father magically change his mind so that Liz and I can be together, I mean so that we can shag?”
“Umm.” She squishes her face. “That would only happen if you stood up to him and fought for your love.”
“Love? I’m not in love. I’ve only known her for a week for one. Doesn’t it take like a year to fall in love?” I ask.
With the look she gives me, I realize that I clearly don’t know what I’m talking about. “Love has nothing to do with time. Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?”
“That’s not real. Lust at first sight, yes, but not love.” I say the word love like it gives me the willies, even shivering a little.
Dahlia puts her cup on the counter, then looks me square in the face. “You’re obviously a love virgin but after that story you told me and that goofy look you get when you talk about her, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re falling for this girl. And, I think she’s falling for you too.”
Then, in the pit of my stomach, I feel something. Is Dahlia right? Am I falling in love? Shit. I don’t know if I can deal with love and a lawsuit.
ELEVEN
Liz
Kent’s right. We can’t work together because we can’t be together. I just wish I knew why. If he were anyone else, I’d probably be fine with it and just let it go. But this whole thing has really gotten to me. It’s the most distracted I’ve been, maybe ever. I’ve been known to have laser focus, which is great when it comes to work, but not so great when it comes to relationships. So, I finally meet someone who’s stolen my attention and he doesn’t want to give me his. Correction, he can’t give me his because it’s complicated. God, I wish he could because the kisses are delicious.
Before I bang my head against the keyboard, I shut my laptop and do my best to put the day away. I settle in a nice hot bath, with a glass of wine and Poppy’s copy of I Just Want Us. This should be the perfect escape. After three pages, my mind wanders to Kent and that kiss. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel the touch of his lips on mine, taste his tongue. The memory fades and I wash it down with a sip of wine.
Then, there’s a knock at my hotel door. My heart leaps. I didn’t order room service, and only Kent and Poppy have my room number. And I highly doubt that Poppy is on the other side of that door. I hop out of the tub, my body seeming to jiggle all over the place as I grab my towel, pull the tie from my hair, and wipe the smudged mascara from beneath my eyes. “Coming!” I shout.
Water drips from my shoulders as I hurry to the door. I glance through the peephole, but a bouquet of flowers blocks the view. Flowers? I open the door to find a bellhop waiting patiently and holding a pretty vase of two dozen purple roses. Not red. Purple.
“Delivery for Ms. McKenna,” he says.
Who sent these? I peek behind him on the very off chance that Kent is waiting in the wings. It had to be him, right? “Thank you. I’ll take them.” I make sure my towel is secure and reach for the vase.
“Miss, I can bring them inside.”
“It’s okay,” I say, “I’m not dressed.”
The bellhop flashes me a pointed look. “As you wish.” He passes the roses to me and my arms are immediately weighed down. It’s got to be twenty-five pounds. “You got it, Miss?” He holds the door open.
“Yeah, I got it.” I bring the bouquet inside the room, shuffling to the closest table. With the vase pressed against me, my towel begins to loosen. I try to clutch it to my sides with my arms but it does no good. One side slips down and now my whole backside is disrobed. “Shit,” I say, finally getting the vase on the table.
I pick up the towel and look back. The bellhop is still waiting with the door propped open. Covering myself, I gasp. “What are you still doing here?”
The man rubs his white-gloved fingers together. He can’t be serious? I march over to the door. “I think seeing my bare ass is tip enough. Goodnight!” I slam the door in his face, then hear, “Goodnight, Miss,” muffled through the door.
Then, I dash over to the flowers and snatch the card. This better be worth flashing the bellhop.
Dear Liz,
So sorry we fought today. Please don’t be cross with me. I look forward to seeing you again.
Love,
Kent
My jaw drops. Roses. Kent sent me roses? Purple roses at that. What does this mean, “Love, Kent”? Wait a second . . . in the book, the billionaire sends the princess purple roses because they’re her favorite. That’s so weird. It has to be a coincidence, right? I pick up my phone and check my messages. Nothing from Kent. Does he want me to call him? Why didn’t he just call me? Or stop by. Why did he send flowers? These particular flowers? I read the card over again a few times. The roses say romance but the card just says sorry with love. And what’s the bit about seeing me again? I thought handing me over to Margot was all about not seeing me ever again.
This is a why I need a best girlfriend. Someone who can help me decipher this stuff. I miss having girlfriends. The best thing to do when you don’t know what to do is—nothing. So I do.
The next morning, I awake to the smell of roses, feeling fresh and much clearer. I need to talk to Kent. Alone and in person. After my morning meeting with the branding firm, I take a cab to his office. The moment the Bonnaire Enterprise Tower pops into view, my heart flutters and my stomach does summersaults.
In front of Kent’s office, Poppy’s jotting notes on a yellow sticky note.
“Hello, Poppy,” I say, standing in front of her desk.
She gasps, throwing her hands in the air and her pencil flies off to the other end of the room. “Ms. McKenna,” she says with her hand over her heart, breathing hard. “You snuck up on me.”
“Sorry,” I say, biting my lip.
Poppy regains her composure, then looks up at me. “What are you doing here? I don’t have you down for an appointment?”
“I know. I just need to see Kent for a minute.”
Her brow lifts. “You do?”
“Yeah, is he—”
“Liz, what are you doing here?” Kent’s voice calls behind me.
I turn back. He looks even better today than I remember. Smells incredible too. “I just wanted to thank you for the roses.” I shoot him a look as if the word “roses” is code for kiss.
Kent wrinkles his brow. “Roses?”
“Yes, remember Mr. Bonnaire?” Poppy comes forward and stands between us facing him. “You asked me to send Ms. McKenna roses yesterday afternoon.”
“What?” He tilts his head then shifts his glance between Poppy and me, eventually settling on me. There isn’t a hint of recognition on his face. “Oh, right. I must’ve forgotten.”
Must’ve forgotten? After yesterday, he definitely wouldn’t forget asking her to send me roses.
Poppy turns around, sending me a little wink as she returns to her desk, which only confirms my suspicion. No wonder they were purple. What is Poppy up to?
“Kent,” I say, pushing my hair behind my ear, “Can I talk to you for a minute? In private.”
Kent looks like he’s going to say no, but he says, “Sure, let’s go in my office.” He follows me inside but keeps the door cracked.
“It’s about yesterday.” I keep
my voice low in case Poppy really is spying on us.
“I figured as much. I’m sorry that I sprung Margot on you without talking to you first. That wasn’t very professional.”
Right now, I hate the word professional. “And I know how important professionalism is to you,” I say with a caustic tone. He shifts his glance away, keeping silent. “I’ll work with Margot.”
“You will?” He seems surprised or happy. Maybe both.
“Yeah, whatever is going on with you it’s obviously important enough for you to push me away this much. And you’re right, we can’t work together and keep things strictly professional.”
“Liz, you have no idea how much I appreciate your understanding.” He walks up and takes my hands in his, then drops them immediately, stepping back a foot. “Margot is only going to execute everything we’ve talked about. Nothing else will change.”
Except that I won’t be spending any more time with him.
I give a halfhearted nod. “It’s too bad actually. We could’ve been great together.”
A look of sorrow flashes in his eyes. “We really could have.”
I don’t know if we’re talking about business, or about us, or both. But the fact remains true. Part of me wants to demand that he give me a good reason why we can’t work or play together when we clearly want to, but why would I want to fight for something that he simply doesn’t. He’s not in, so neither am I. Next week I’ll go back to my normal life and write the whole thing off as a couple of amazing kisses with an awesome expansion plan for my business. Not too shabby. But also not as satisfying as it may sound.
“By the way, I just got back from the branding pitch,” I say, thankful for an opportunity to change the topic.
“How’d it go?” His jaw seems to tense.
I shake my head, letting out a sigh. “They nailed it. I’ve already signed off on it. You were right. And I can’t believe I’m going to have an English made logo representing my American made brand.”
“Well, our countries are allies,” he says as if there’s a silver lining to all of this. I just wish Kent and I could be more than allies. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out.” He gestures for the door. And just when I think whatever we had is deader than those purple roses will be in a week, he places his hand on the small of my back. A tingle shoots up my spine. It’s the first time he’s touched me on purpose since that night. Well, the first time he’s touched me on purpose without his lips on mine.
When we step out of his office, a raven-haired woman stands in front of Poppy’s desk, dressed casually in jeans, ankle boots, and a cute wool pea coat. She turns around, flashing her bright, bleached teeth.
Wait, is that . . .?
“Dahlia!” Kent blurts. “What are you doing here?”
Oh, my God! My eyes widen. That’s her. “Dahlia Jacobs? Is that you?”
She squints her eyes, then her smile grows even bigger. “Liz! Oh, my God.” Dahlia extends her arms as wide as she can and rams into me like a linebacker. I catch her and we wrap our arms around each other. “It’s been like, what, seven years?”
Her embrace is so tight I can barely breathe. “Yeah.”
She loosens her arms and lets me out. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a client of Kent’s,” I say, noticing how her face has slimmed since the last time we hung out, but her hair is shiny as ever.
“Wait. You two know each other?” Kent asks.
Dahlia smacks Kent’s shoulder. “Yeah, small world, huh? Liz and I lived next door to each other in Los Angeles like forever ago.”
“It seems like a lifetime ago,” I agree.
I had just gotten a job working for an advertising firm in Los Angeles. Dahlia had lived across the hall from Jeff and me for almost two years. That apartment was the headquarters of my first business. Dahlia would even model some of my inventory for photos. When the business blew up, I moved to San Francisco and we lost touch. I thought about her sometimes, wondering if she had become the famous actress she had dreamed of being.
“Are you still acting?” I ask.
“Yeah, totally.” Her excited expression shifts. “Wait, Liz is your client.” She points a finger at me, then Kent.
“Yep, that’s right.” Kent shoots her a tight-lipped smile and puts his arm around her, squeezing her shoulder like they’re old buddies. Are they old buddies?
“So, what are you doing in London?” I ask.
“Uh . . .” Dahlia looks dumbstruck and shifts her eyes between Kent and me. Kent gives her a strange look and so do I. “We’re . . .” she utters, trying to find the words.
“We’re engaged,” Kent says with an unnatural smile.
“ENGAGED!” Poppy jolts up behind her desk, eyes bulging from their sockets.
“Yep.” Dahlia hunches her shoulders and flashes the back of her decorated hand, almost as if she’s shy about it.
I stare at the ring for much longer than is polite. Kent’s engaged? To Dahlia Jacobs?
Finally, I drag my gaze to Kent. He turns back to Poppy with an awkward smile. “Yes, Poppy. Please don’t shout.” A second later, there’s a loud thud as if someone’s dropped a few boxes of printer paper on the floor. I look over. Poppy’s no longer behind her desk.
“Poppy?” Kent rushes around the other side of the desk and crouches. “For God’s sake. Someone call an ambulance.”
Dahlia and I peer over the desk. Poppy’s passed out cold on her back, her legs stretched out in front of her.
“9-1-1 isn’t working!” Dahlia panics, pulling her phone away from her ear.
Kent props his folded jacket beneath Poppy’s head, keeping his eyes on her. “It’s 9-9-9. Poppy, can you hear me?” My heart races as I watch the scene, listening to Dahlia tell the emergency dispatcher what’s happening.
Is she dead?
Finally, the older woman blinks her eyes open, groaning a bit.
“Poppy, are you all right?” Kent asks between short breaths.
Her eyes roll up to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?” Her voice is quiet and groggy.
“I think she’ll be okay.” He lets out a sigh and glances up at me. “Poppy, can you sit up?”
She nods and he helps prop her up against the wall behind her. By now, we’ve gotten the attention of the whole floor and someone hurries over with a bottle of water.
“Here,” they hand it to me, and I pass it down to Kent.
I stoop down next to the fallen woman, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Poppy, how are you feeling?”
She lowers her head with a frown. “Disappointed, I guess.”
Well, that makes two of us.
The paramedics arrive shortly after and take her to the hospital as a precaution. The three of us watch them wheel her around the corner on a stretcher.
“Kent, I had no idea your office was so exciting,” Dahlia says.
“It’s not usually that exciting.” Kent flicks his gaze to me, and I feel my stomach churn before I deliberately look away. I hate him right now. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asks Dahlia. “I thought you were busy today.”
“I got bored and thought you might want to grab lunch.”
“Oh, well, normally I would, but now that my assistant’s out I’m afraid I can’t.”
I can’t, that’s what he’d say. I can’t! He can’t because he’s engaged. Why did he even flirt with me the first night, kiss me, invite me back to his place? What an asshole!
I stand with my hands on my hips, clenching my jaw. Dahlia deserves to know what kind of man she’s engaged to. “I’m free for lunch.”
“Yes! Oh, my God, we have so much to catch up on.”
I glare at Kent. “Yes. We. Do.”
Dahlia loops her arm around mine like we’re twenty-one again. “Do you know any good places around here?” she asks as we walk off.
“Have a good time!” Kent calls, sounding hesitant. I glance back, giving him the death stare. The arrangement with Margot is n
ow a blessing in disguise. I never want to see him again.
Dahlia peeks back. “Cheerio, old chap!”
***
Dahlia and I settle on a restaurant within walking distance. On the way, she goes on and on about the last seven years acting in Los Angeles and all the traveling she’s gotten to do. But not once has she mentioned Kent, which is fine with me. I’m definitely going to tell her about us. I’m just not sure how to bring it up. And the more she talks, the more I realize how much I’ve missed her and how little I want to ruin what’s left of our friendship.
Finally, she takes a breath as we’re seated at our white-linen covered table.
She rests her chin on her hands, propping her elbows on the table. “So, what happened with you and Jeff?”
Just as I’m about to answer, I remember that Jeff and I were still together last I talked to her. “How did you know we split up?”
She shrugs. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
I glance down at my left ring finger, which is quite bare compared to hers. “We never got married,” I admit. “I haven’t talked to him in five years.”
Her smile dips. “I didn’t realize you two had problems.”
“We didn’t.” I lay my napkin on my lap. “Not until my business took off. It seemed like the more success I had, the less he could stand being around me. I don’t know if he was jealous or if it was some kind of male pride thing. But we broke it off eventually.” I tell her that we broke it off, but really, he broke it off. I was just broken.
For a while, I resented my business. I hated myself for being so driven. But then I realized that even if I had given it all up, it wouldn’t have fixed things between Jeff and me. Over time, I became grateful that he had let me go, or as I like to think of it—had set me free. He would’ve held me back. And I learned that I don’t want to be with someone who holds me back. I want to be with someone who pushes me forward.
“Actually, now that you say that, it kind of makes sense. Before you two moved out of the complex, he would make certain snide comments. I just thought he was having a bad month. But anyway, what about now? Anyone special?”