The Last Rule of Makeups (Breakup Bash)

by Nina Crespo

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  If you love sexy romance, one-click these steamy Brazen releases… Wrong Bed, Right Brother

  A Whole Lotta Trouble

  Taking a Shot

  Hard and Fast

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

  Copyright © 2020 by Nina Crespo. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Brenda Chin

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover photography by Period Images

  ISBN 978-1-64937-055-6

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition October 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  Prologue

  Corinne Ross removed the turquoise stiletto-heeled pumps from the box on the floor next to her chair in the shoe store. She slipped them on, and after fastening the straps around her ankles, she rose to her feet and sank into alluring, red-soled, four-inch-high perfection.

  Fashion Therapy Friday.

  It had the ability to turn nightmares into fairytales, tears into smiles, and shit into glitter-filled, sparkly rainbows. At least temporarily, and after her crazy work week, she needed a huge dose of happy.

  Her position as a chief advisor for a group of angel investors who funded small business entrepreneurs usually brought more smiles than headaches to her day. But a week ago, a massive glitch had taken out the computer software used to process the candidates’ applications, wreaking havoc in her office. She and her staff had worked overtime processing applications they would have to enter into the system manually now that the tech gurus had finally fixed the problem. But she’d worry about that paperwork tsunami on Monday.

  The important thing was that they’d still managed to create individual files on the applicants. She’d personally emailed them to the investors that morning so they could make their first-round selections for interviews. But after the accomplishment, strangely elation or relief hadn’t followed—just an I’m-so-done exhaustion she couldn’t shake. She’d handled crises before at the Carver Fund, but this time, it was as if she’d given her last, and what remained in reserves, she didn’t want to give away.

  You’re being selfish. People are relying on you. You’re supposed to make sure everyone has what they need. That’s your job.

  The inner admonishment hovered, but Cori nudged it aside. The investors were satisfied, and a lucky pool of applicants were one step closer to funding their dreams. More importantly, she hadn’t let anyone down. Not even by leaving the office a tad early for a shopping escape.

  “So, what’s the verdict?” The brunette sales associate’s question brought Cori back to the important decision of the moment—whether or not to buy the shoes.

  “They are beautiful.” Cori took in back and side views of herself in the mirror.

  The sales associate nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “And they look really good on you. Don’t forget, they’re 30 percent off.”

  Designer and on sale. The foundation of good fashion sense. She couldn’t ignore that. Even if she didn’t have an immediate reason to wear them.

  She and her live-in boyfriend of two years, Kevin, rarely went out anymore. Lately, their schedules didn’t match up. “Bye,” “hi,” and “don’t forget to take out the garbage” summed up many of their conversations as she left early for work and he returned late from the corporate law firm in Bethesda where he was an associate.

  There was one place she could show them off—her cousin Dana’s engagement party that was happening in a few months—only they weren’t attending. Kevin didn’t enjoy her family’s get-togethers that were filled with food, laughter, and friendly debates. Months ago, he’d stopped going with her, and she’d quit bugging him about it. Eventually, she’d stopped showing up, too. The parties weren’t as much fun with everyone questioning his absence and her having to make excuses for him.

  But maybe there was a special occasion for her to wear them. Kevin had been at a legal conference in Denver all week and was flying home that night. Welcoming him home wearing just the stilettos would definitely shake up the “unpack his bag then sort through his dirty laundry” routine that normally happened when he returned from a business trip.

  He was so predictable and didn’t like impulsiveness, and most of the time, she appreciated that about him. But experiencing something different, at least for one night, could put the spark back into their relationship.

  A smile broke out on Cori’s face. “Thank you. I’ll take them.” She put the shoes back in the box and handed it to the associate.

  Did she have time to tint her coiled hair blue? That, plus just wearing the shoes when he came home would be even more hot and sexy. No. That was overkill. She’d stopped tinting her hair a year ago because Kevin preferred her natural hair color over something “flashy” or too unconventional. Admittedly, in her younger days, changing her hair color had been her personal “fuck you” to convention, but now, it was simply about having fun with fashion. But tonight wasn’t about her hair. Bonding and getting back in sync as a couple was her priority.

  When she and Kevin had first moved in together, they’d made time for each other, for socializing with friends…and for having sex. Their sex life had also become a casualty to their busy schedules. Whenever they did manage to squeeze in time for intimacy, it was just as rushed as everything else in their lives.

  But that would change, starting tonight.

  A half hour later, her debit card practically in flames, she hurried out of the dress boutique she’d popped into after leaving the shoe store and merged with the late evening crowd in the outdoor mall. The sexy lemon-colored dress she’d bought had cost a fortune, but like the shoes, it had been too cute to pass up.

  As she reached the edge of the parking lot, her phone ra
ng. Juggling boutique bags and her purse, she fished it out and answered. “Hello.”

  “Hi…”

  Kevin. Excitement zinged through her. “Hey, baby, where are you?”

  “I’m in Cincinnati.”

  Cincinnati? Wasn’t his stopover in Atlanta? He must have taken a different flight home. “You need to hurry up and get here. I miss you.” During his silence, her enthusiasm dimmed. “Let me guess. Your flight’s been delayed.”

  “No. Actually, I’m not flying to Baltimore tonight.”

  The weight of disappointment slowed her steps. Had his bosses scheduled another last-minute trip to meet with a client? They were notorious for doing that. And with Kevin on the partner track, he wouldn’t refuse them. Not even to spend time with her.

  She blew out a long, quiet breath. “Duty calls. I understand.” But him arriving a few days later didn’t have to ruin her plans—it just postponed them. More lighthearted, she added, “If you promise to bring me back something good, I might be convinced to forgive you. When are you coming home?”

  “About that…Cori, we need to talk.”

  Chapter One

  Three months later…

  The Breakup Bash—a Friday night celebration thrown to encourage women to get over one man and move on to a better one—was ramping up in the private room at Club Escapade, one of the hottest places to party near DC.

  Cori sat with her friends, Alexa and Natalie, at one of the white linen tables spread throughout the large, semi-darkened space, silently making up her own words to the dance music pumping through the DJ’s speakers. All men…can go to hell. Well, maybe not any of the men in her family. Or the guy who delivered the mail. He was always so cheerful. And definitely not the personal trainer at her gym. Sending him and his six pack-plus to hell would be a total waste. Okay, not all men. Just Kevin.

  “Cori, we need to talk…”

  When she’d heard those words from Kevin, she’d anticipated a two-glass of wine type of bad news in her future. Something along the lines of…he had to take an extended trip to handle a difficult client or cover a court case requiring seemingly endless late nights at the office. Kevin abruptly taking a job in Cincinnati and ending their relationship to make a fresh start without her was the tequila blindside she never saw coming. Along with his confession about how unhappy he’d been. No. Not just unhappy. He’d actually said he’d hated their life together.

  Cori drank her cocktail, and the blend of pineapple juice, triple sec, and lime lessened the bite of Patrón, but not her frustration. She’d wasted two years of her life on him, believing they had something special, while he’d been content to maintain a lie. She hadn’t really known him at all. Thank God he was gone and she’d dodged a miserable future.

  From the expressions on Alexa and Nat’s pretty brown faces, they were sifting through their own unpleasant memories.

  Alexa had been left at the altar a few months ago, while Nat had recently gone through a divorce. Apparently, getting dumped was contagious.

  “Love sucks.” Alexa raised her mojito in a toast.

  “I’ll co-sign on that.” Nat held up her white wine.

  “Me, too,” Cori added.

  “Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea,” Alexa said. Lights flashed from blue to white to yellow on her glum face, shoulder-length black hair, and purple party dress. “This is one of the last places that I hung out as a delusional bride-to-be.”

  Actually, they’d all been delusional for believing in the magic of happily ever after. Cori huffed a soft chuckle. She was done with trying to create and maintain a fairy tale commitment. No relationships and just exploring all the things that made her happy, including sex, was on her agenda for the next six months, possibly longer. Alexa and Nat should consider the same. Just as Cori was about to verbalize that, whoops erupted from the group of women dancing in front of the gold-curtained stage. The uncorking of champagne blended with the cheers of more women sitting nearby.

  As Alexa watched the rowdy group at the table top off their glasses, hints of sadness filled her eyes, and she sunk farther into the ebony padded chair.

  Nat flipped her dark hair and adjusted the strap of her burgundy top. As she shifted her gaze away from the table next to them, she didn’t look any happier.

  But damn it, this was a party, not a pity-fest. The three of them should be just as thrilled about the possibilities, not feeling sorry for themselves.

  Cori plunked down her glass, and the pineapple garnish fell off the rim. “No. This party is just what we need. Maybe some Hasta la Vista cocktails will put us into the mood. Or maybe champagne. Ooh, that sounds even better. I’ll get some.”

  Ignoring Nat and Alexa’s confused expressions, she grabbed her turquoise clutch and got up from the table. When she got back, they were going to stop drowning their sorrows and toast what was printed on the napkins: The Breakup Diet—Two Hundred Pounds of Ugly Weight Gone and Counting.

  As Cori joined the line to one of the corner bars, an auburn-haired woman carrying full flutes of champagne bumped into her. “Oh, sorry.” She looked over Cori’s outfit. “You’re killing it in that dress, and those shoes are everything.”

  “Thanks.” Cori smiled. Before now, she hadn’t worn the short yellow dress with crisscross shoulder straps and side cutouts on the waist or the shoes she’d bought the day Kevin had broken up with her. Earlier that night, when she’d spotted the dress and shoes in the back of the closet, she’d finally dismissed the idea of them having bad mojo. She looked damn good in the dress, and when she’d taken the shoes from the box, they’d still made her smile. Her recently tinted blue hair had pulled the entire look together.

  The area around the bar suddenly grew more crowded, and Cori moved a little closer to the woman in front of her.

  “Yes!” a woman behind Cori said. “They’re serving free champagne. That’s even more of a reason to get a look at that hot as fuck bartender.”

  “Looking is all you’ll get to do,” another woman replied. “The guy who’s working with him is more than happy to take your phone number, but Mr. Hot as Fuck has turned down everyone, so far. And yes, he’s into women. I checked with a server.”

  “He just hasn’t gotten the right offer yet. I’ll get his attention,” another one said.

  Cori leaned to the right to get a look at said bartender. Maybe she should get her flirt on with Mr. Hot as Fuck just for fun.

  A dark-haired guy coming through the side door caught her eye.

  Wasn’t he the dancer from the Hot Body Hunk male revue show who’d given Alexa a lap dance the night of her bachelorette party?

  He moved out of view. As Cori rose to her toes to find him again, the crowd started closing in on her. The woman in front stepped back, bumping the toe of Cori’s shoe, while someone pressing up from behind kicked Cori’s heel.

  Oh, hell no. There wasn’t a drink on the planet worth getting her new stilettoes ruined. And the bartender probably didn’t even live up to the level of attention these women were giving him. Cori slipped out of line.

  As she got closer to the table, Nat, who was now alone, spotted her. “Where are our drinks?”

  “They started handing out free champagne, and now the lines at the bars are unreal. I had to get out of there before I got crushed.” Cori dropped into the chair. “Put ‘free’ in front of anything and people lose their minds. Where’s Alexa? I think I spotted that Hot Body Hunk she was climbing all over when we were here for her bachelorette party.”

  “Alexa’s dancing. There can’t be that much of a fuss over free champagne.”

  “Well, it’s not just the champagne. There’s this guy working at one of the bars who, unlike the other bartenders, isn’t viewing a room full of women as the ultimate strike zone. He’s turned down everyone who’s propositioned him but…”

  Nat’s brow raised with an “oh re
ally” expression.

  Cori followed her glance to the bar. Was she curious about the bartender?

  Before she’d gotten married, Nat’s flirting game was legendary. Maybe she still had what it took to get the bartender’s attention. On the other hand, Nat’s self-confidence had taken a hit since the end of her marriage. She probably wouldn’t just jump into the flirting fray at the bar. A hook-up for the night could be just the thing to help Nat move on, and Alexa, too. Getting Alexa to take the one-night plunge would take a whole lot of convincing. But with Nat, her own curiosity, plus a small push, might lead her in that direction.

  Cori played up the drama as she added to the story. “Women are doing everything but dropping their panties on the bar to gain his attention. It’s pitiful. Read the signs, people. He’s not interested.” She fidgeted in her seat. “Damn it. I need to pee, but I heard the lines in front of the ladies’ room are just as long. Maybe I can wait until after the dancers perform.”

  “With all the cocktails you’ve had, I doubt it.”

  “I’ve only had two, but I probably won’t make it. The ladies’ room on the other side of the club has more stalls, and maybe there isn’t a line. Hopefully, I’ll get back before the show starts.” Cori tapped Natalie’s arm and stood. “Tag. You’re it for champagne duty.” As she picked up her purse, she barely hid a grin as she executed her plan. “Good luck avoiding flying elbows and stomping stilettoes while you stand in line.”

  Cori started walking to the side door.

  The women at the rowdy table threw party favors—red condom packages with the words “Do Me” printed on them in sparkly letters—at each other.

  A string of packages sailed toward Cori’s chest, and she caught them before they fell to the ground. The group’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Cori couldn’t help but laugh.

  Hopefully Nat had already grabbed a few of the party favors. She might need them later on. As she reached the side door, Cori peeked over her shoulder.

  But instead of trying to get a look at the bartender, Nat was checking her phone.

  “Damn…” Just as Cori’s hope started to wane, Nat stood and joined the longer line leading to the corner bar.