The Misters: Books 1-5 Box Set

by JA Huss

  I cry.

  Adeline hugs me, then holds my hand as Jose and Karen have fun with the extra guests. Each of them talks a little bit about how I was a pivotal part of their lives. How I came in at just the right time and how I saw past all their faults and found the good.

  It’s a reunion I needed, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself.

  “We’re almost out of time, Ellie. And I know you came on here to make one more announcement. So what is it? What’s the big news?”

  “Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “I wanted to just tell people that if they are having doubts about their careers and don’t think they are living up to their full potential, they should try my book. It’s got a lot of fantastic moments in here.” I hold up the paperback. “Insight, and laughs, and even tears. And one hundred percent of the profits for this book will go to my new favorite charity, Success is for Everyone, which supplies full-ride scholarships to first-generation college students all around the country.”

  I don’t hear anything after that. I just think about the scholarship fund I set up these past few months while the others finish up and tell viewers where to buy the book. We are still raising money, but we already have enough to funds to send ten students through four years of college.

  My sexcapade with Mac wasn’t a complete waste after all. He taught me a valuable lesson. Giving back is far better than taking away. I felt so stupid for doubting his integrity after our last fight. I looked up Maclean Callister. He does a lot of good in the world. Even after people tried very hard to hurt him. Tried to ruin his life. He turned it around and made something good out of it. So that’s my mission now. If my superpower is career guidance, then what better way to celebrate that than helping young people find their calling and reach their academic goals?

  After the show ends I stand and chat with all my friends, feeling very, very lucky to have such great people in my life.

  But still. There is a hollowness inside of me.

  And ten minutes later I can’t be here anymore. “I’m going to go home now, Ming. I have a ton of work to do.”

  “Let me take you over to your car,” Ming says.

  “No,” I say. “I can take the train. I know my way.” I parked at the hangar so I didn’t accidentally bump into Mac. “Thank you so much for this, you guys.” I hug everyone and then make my escape down the stairwell to the train.

  I don’t recognize anyone riding with me back to the airport, but Stonewall is a giant company, so that’s no surprise. I feel like an interloper though. Like everyone knows I don’t belong here anymore.

  Strange. I spent almost all of my adult life in charge of people here. I’ve ridden this train with rock stars and professional baseball players. I’ve chatted with business moguls and four-star generals. I’ve guided hundreds, maybe even thousands of people to their spotlight.

  I have to celebrate that right now. Because if I don’t force myself to find the good, the sad will take over.

  I made a mistake walking away from Mac.

  My phone buzzes in my purse and I absently fish around for it as I watch a couple get on the train. They are chatting excitedly, the man’s hand locked in hers. He leans into her ear to say something private, which elicits a blush and a smile from her.

  I look down at my screen and my heart skips a beat.

  Mac: I made a Pinterest board. Perhaps you’d like to check it out?

  What the hell? I click the link in the text and pause. It takes me so long to come to terms with what I’m seeing, when I look up, that couple is already gone. In fact, I might’ve missed my stop.

  The board is called Mac’s Delusional Love Affair.

  I actually laugh out loud. Then I catch myself and look around to make sure no one heard me.

  There are hundreds of pins. Pictures of the house I sent to Heath last summer. A wide farmhouse surrounded by a deep porch. The grass is green, so it’s got to be one of the pictures I pinned last year. I zoom in and see there are two coffee mugs out on the counter with names on them. Mac, one says. Ellie, reads the other.

  There are dozens of pictures of the rooms inside, but not the pictures I had on my board, which was deleted months ago. New ones. I click the first picture, which is actually a side-by-side of two rooms. A nursery in pink with Ellie and Mac’s Baby Girl stenciled on the wall. A nursery in blue with Mac and Ellie’s Baby Boy stenciled on the wall. Each one is perfectly decorated with stuffed animals, the crib, changing tables, even matching rocking chairs in pink and blue.

  The caption below reads: We might not have one of each, but it’s never a bad thing to be prepared.

  What is this?

  I click on the next picture and it takes me to a kitchen. A fabulous kitchen. Then I look through all of them. Rooms and rooms filled with things. And in each one there is something special displayed that says Mac and Ellie. Framed pictures. Pillows. And the office has two desks facing each other. There’s a close-up picture of the desk plates. Again, Mac and Ellie.

  I text him back.

  Ellie: What are you doing?

  Mac: Sharing my delusional dreams with you.

  I can’t help it, I laugh again.

  Ellie: Why?

  Mac: Because it’s all I have left, Ellie. Just the dream of all the things that never happened between us, but I desperately wish they had.

  I feel a little tear run down my cheek.

  Mac: Did you scroll down to the end?

  I go back to the board and scroll down. The very last picture is Mac standing in front of a sold sign in the yard of my dream house.

  Holding a puppy.

  An Old English Sheepdog puppy.

  Mac: Did you?

  I am fully crying now.

  Ellie: What did you do?

  My phone buzzes and I tab the accept button. “Hello?”

  “I want the dream, Ellie. I want it more than anything. And I know you wanted time to get your head straight. Make your own way in the world. And I couldn’t be more proud of you. But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t wait anymore, Ellie. I need you to get off that train at the airport. Because I will never stop texting you my delusional dream life until you’re a part of it.”

  “Mac—”

  “Just meet me in the hangar.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Mac

  Eloise Hatcher steps into the hangar wearing a long, red wool coat with a black belt that cinches at her waist. Her knee-high black boots hide her delicious legs, and the only thing on my mind is whether or not they have a zip-up back for easy removal.

  Get it together, Mac. This is your only chance to win her over. You will not fuck her senseless until she buys into the dream.

  I’m not sure what to expect, but the blush and hidden smile is a good indicator that I did good.

  Scout whimpers and her tail swishes on the dirty concrete floor.

  Ellie is shaking her head as she walks towards me, her hands buried deep in her pockets, the wind from the helicopter out on the tarmac gently tossing her hair around her face.

  I cannot take my eyes off her. She looks… incredible. Perfect.

  “Who’s this?” she asks, nodding her head to the puppy, who is huge for eight months old.

  “Scout,” I say. At the mere mention of her name, Scout jumps up and paws at Ellie, desperately trying to lick her face. “Sorry,” I say. “She’s been to five obedience schools, but—” I laugh and throw up my hands in a shrug. “Girls will be girls. Only obedient when they want to be.”

  Ellie bends down and lets the dog give her kisses. “I had one just like her when I was a kid.”

  “I know,” I say softly. Ellie looks up at me, her eyes red, like she’s been crying. God, I hope I didn’t do that. “I bought her last summer after we… Ming told me. You know, it took me a long time of wondering about all those dream things before I finally put the pieces together.”

  Ellie stands up and hugs her arms tightly around her chest. “Look, I know it was ridiculous and delusional. But it
just—”

  “Was never meant for me,” I finish for her. “I know. But what I need you to know, Eloise Hatcher, is that board I made, filled with all my own delusional dreams… well, that was meant for you.”

  “Is it real?” she asks.

  I nod slowly. And then I extend my hand. “Come with me, Miss Hatcher. I have something to show you.”

  She puts her hand in mine and I lead her and Scout out towards the helicopter. Scout jumps in like a pro and settles in the empty front seat, like she knows she’s the co-pilot here. I hold Ellie’s hand to keep her steady as she climbs in and then get in after her, taking a moment to give the pilot a thumbs up after I whoosh the door closed.

  I hold her hand tight as we ascend and head east. We don’t talk. It’s too loud, and what I have to say is soft. So I wait until we touch down on the helipad I had built out on the side of the house just after I purchased it last summer.

  It was a crazy move on my part. But she wanted this house. This piece of land. And this dog. So I got it all with hope in my heart. Hope that she would forgive me for treating her dreams like they are something to be ashamed of.

  I slide the door open and give the pilot another thumbs up. Scout waits her turn for once, as I get out and help Ellie with the same steady hand that helped her get in.

  I will be crushed if she rejects me today, but I will give her the house anyway. I will give her the dream, even if I can’t be a part of it. It’s all in her name anyway. Even Scout’s registration papers.

  We duck into the wind of the helicopter blades and then it takes off and the world goes suddenly silent.

  Ellie looks out at the barn and pasture beyond the house. “Is that…?”

  “Sheep,” I say, laughing at the absurdity of it. “Every good sheepdog needs some sheep. She chases the hell out of them now, but I’m sure she’ll come around.”

  Ellie lets out a long breath of air and then turns to face me. I’m still holding one hand, but I take the other one too. “Eloise, I love you. And I missed you so bad, it was torture. So I consoled myself by trying to make your dreams come true. I don’t want to do any of this without you, so if you say no to a second chance, I’ll understand and it’s all yours. No hard feelings. No resentment. No debt to be paid back. I just want you to have the dream.”

  Ellie stares at me, then her beautiful face scrunches up. “No hard feelings? Well… I’m kind of disappointed in that, McAllister.”

  “What?” I say, caught off guard.

  “Well,” she says, looking at me sideways with a coy grin on her face. “A man should fight for the woman he loves. Maybe you don’t love me?”

  “Hell.” I laugh. “I’m a lying fuck, Miss Hatcher. I have a dungeon in the basement where I plan to tie you up and never let you go if you tell me to get lost.”

  She bursts out laughing, her cheeks bright pink from the wind and the cold. Scout jumps up and down at our change in mood, tugging on the leash until I drop it and take Ellie in my arms. “Is that a yes, Ellie? To our second chance at the delusional dream life? Will you help make all the things that never happened to us happen now? Because I want this.” I drop her hands and spread my arms wide. “I want all of this, but I only want it with you.”

  “I want it, Mac. I want you, and her,” she says, nodding towards a running Scout. “And this. And the dream. Not just any dream, but our dream.”

  “Then let me take you inside. Because I have a lot to show you. I’ve been so busy in my delusional world since we last saw each other.”

  Her hands latch on to my arm and she leans her head into my shoulder as we walk up towards the house.

  “But we’ll have to order out for dinner. There’s no food here.”

  “Nothing?” she asks. “You haven’t been living here?”

  “Without you?” I scoff. “Never.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to grocery-shop with you, Maclean Callister,” Ellie says with a sigh.

  “I take that back,” I say. “I do have one edible thing in the house. But we won’t be using it for toast tonight.”

  Ellie leans into my chest and her laugh comes out as a mist of air from her mouth. I lean down and kiss her lips. So warm. So familiar. So ready.

  “Butter will never be the same. And neither will the kitchen table. Because I’m going to bend you over it the moment we get inside.”

  Yeah.

  This is perfect.

  Every bit of this is perfect.

  But only because Ellie is my Mrs. Perfect.

  Epilogue - Mac

  “Nice party, Perfect.”

  Ellie and I got engaged last week and I wanted to share the good news with my best friends. I can’t wait for them to find happiness like I have. It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together. Even Mr. Mysterious is here tonight. Though where he is right now, I have no idea.

  “Thanks, Corporate,” I tell Weston Conrad. “I do my best.”

  “And you always do it perfectly.”

  “What can I say?” I shrug and take a sip of my whiskey. “They didn’t call me Mr. Perfect for nothing.”

  “But hey,” West says, turning more serious. “I’m worried, man.”

  “About what?” I ask.

  “Not what. Who,” West says.

  “Who then?”

  “Do you see Nolan over there?”

  “Yeah.” Nolan Delaney, AKA Mr. Romantic, is being his usual player self to the girl he brought with him. I’m not sure she notices, but that’s probably because she’s only using him for his money. “So what? He’s looking and acting the same to me.”

  “Exactly,” West says. “And look, Mr. Match came alone. Alone, dude. What the fuck is up with that?”

  “Oliver? Shit, he never has a girl with him, I hear. His sister is always harping to Camille about it. How can a guy who owns the world’s largest dating site not have a girlfriend? It’s bad business, don’t you think?”

  West grunts. “And look, quick! Before he disappears!” I look in the direction West is pointing to, but there’s no one there. “Fucker,” West says. “Asshole slipped out again.”

  I can only assume he’s taking about Mr. Mysterious, AKA Paxton Vance. Who has been even more mysterious than usual these past few years. I know he’s here—several people have mentioned that he looks like he just got out of jail with that six-day beard stubble. But Pax has always been the angry type. And he’s never been to jail. Surely, I know that about him. I’d probably be the guy to get his only phone call if he needed a lawyer.

  “This is all wrong,” West says. “It’s not good for them to keep living in the past, you know?”

  “What do you suggest?” I take another sip of whiskey.

  “A good talking-to, I think.”

  I smile at my old friend. And then we laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh. Oliver wanders up and asks what’s so funny. West and I just keep laughing.

  A good talking-to is fraternity-house slang for, Let’s fuck with them.

  “I’m in, dude.”

  We fist-bump. We even get unsuspecting Oliver to join in.

  Let the games begin.

  Mr. Romantic

  By J. A. Huss

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  Copyright © 2016 by J. A. Huss

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-978-1-944475-08-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  DESCRIPTION

  Charm is the key to the world.

  Charisma, magnetism, sex appeal—that ‘it’ factor that can’t be described.

  Nolan Delaney has it is spades.

  The infamous Mr. Romantic.

  And maybe he is out of my league… But I’m going to give it the old college try anyway. Because I didn’t travel two thousand miles for a job interview at his
request just to be put out like trash.

  Don’t underestimate me, Mr. Delaney.

  I’m really not as innocent as I look.

  Chapter One - Ivy

  The whole thing is like a dream, something surreal and inexplicable. A long dark car pulls up in front of the townhouse. A man in a black suit gets out, buttons his suit coat as he walks up towards my front patio where I am reading a book in the late afternoon sun, and stops, staring down at me from behind a decorative iron gate that has no security purpose whatsoever.

  “Miss Ivy Rockwell?” the man asks, tilting his head down at me, looking past the sunglasses.

  “That’s me,” I say, nervously putting my book down and getting to my feet.

  The stranger reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a silver envelope. “I have an invitation for you and I’m required to wait until you read it before leaving.”

  My brow furrows. “What kind of invitation? From whom?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to open it up to get that information, Miss Rockwell.” He thrusts the silver envelope towards me.

  I’m not sure what to do other than take it, so I lean over the gate that separates us—it barely comes up to his waist—and take the envelope.

  The paper is thick, the kind you use for weddings or fiftieth anniversary parties. And it’s sealed with a sticker made to tear easily if anyone tries to open it. The card inside is not folded, more like a postcard. It’s silver, like the envelope, and just as exquisite. The paper has fibers in it, like that handmade stuff you get from craft stores. And the lettering is embossed.

  It says: