Pride and Papercuts

by Staci Hart

  “There’s just so much to do,” she argued.

  “You might be the best assistant in all of Manhattan, but even you can’t work for two months straight without burning out,” he insisted. “I mean it. If I see that you worked over the weekend, you’re in trouble.”

  She pouted. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Go to a bar. Read a book. Sleep for forty-eight hours. Doesn’t matter, just don’t work, all right?” he asked with such authority that all she could do was sigh.

  “All right. Have a good one, and let me know if you need anything.”

  “We won’t,” he snarked over his shoulder as we walked away.

  I nudged him in the ribs. “You told her to go to a bar.”

  “Desperate times. If she burns out, we’re all in trouble.”

  “We could always get your mom to take her place.”

  That earned me a solid, boisterous Ha. “I thought we were trying to save the company, not push it off a cliff.”

  “Oh, somehow I think we’d be able to keep it all together, don’t you?”

  He smiled down at me. “Without a doubt.”

  We walked through the new office space, wishing those who were still left a good weekend. Marcus had found the space—two cozy floors in the Village with plenty of room for our pared-down staff and close enough to home to walk.

  The last three months had been a whirl of paperwork and proceedings. I’d been subpoenaed for my mother’s mounting trial, issuing depositions and statements on behalf of the company. At her request, I’d agreed to visit her monthly to answer questions about Bower, but at that very first meeting, when I’d outlined our plan to merge with Longbourne, she had flown into the most vicious rage, one that didn’t end until my father—who had insisted on accompanying me—pulled her off of me.

  I hadn’t been back since. And I hated that I wished things were different. I hated that I still mourned her. But I did.

  I always would.

  The high-profile rebrand was in motion, covered in various magazines and newspapers as well as garnering a few televisions spots that had gone by in a blur and a blackout, though watching them back, I’d been charming and eloquent in my fugue state. The process of our merger would be lengthy and expensive. But we had already closed every superfluous division of Bower, sending three-quarters of our staff home with a healthy severance, and half of what was left had received an invitation to work from home. Distribution was still in motion, as it had been, the process largely uninterrupted by the drama and changeover. We’d lost some accounts after my mother’s arrest, but what was left had been very pleased with Marcus’s presentation, which we’d spent a few weeks flying around the country to give.

  We’d liquidated everything we could, using the money we made to pay back our board members, who were also pleased. The turnover had been encouraged from the start, two of the four ready to sell their shares and get out until I presented my plan and bought us all time to renew their faith and trust. We’d kept one and lost one, the hit to buy the shares an expense we couldn’t really shoulder, even under the market rate. But Marcus and I had taken it on together, splitting the shares down the middle.

  Equal in all ways.

  I sighed happily, leaning into him as we stepped outside and turned for home.

  “That good?” he asked.

  “That good.”

  “Lila told you she’d be at dinner tonight, right? Something about invitation paper … I can’t remember.”

  “She told me.” I paused. “Are you really sure you want to tackle a wedding on top of our merger?”

  “Hundred percent. The only merger I’m eager for is ours.”

  “I told you we should just go to the courthouse, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “Do you really think my mother would let us get away with a courthouse wedding?”

  “Well, she doesn’t have to know,” I noted as we turned onto Bleecker.

  We were silent for a long second before busting out laughing.

  “At least we have Lila to plan it all,” I said. “And while she’s busy with her own wedding. She’s superhuman. I can’t imagine Kash helps all that much.”

  “I honestly think he would, if she’d let him.”

  Longbourne was all closed up when we passed, the window display cheerful and welcoming. On either side of the door hung gorgeous monochromatic walls of flowers, all shapes and sizes, in shades of yellow. Hanging in the center of each were vertical planters bursting with succulents to form the words Sun and Shine.

  “Tess is a genius,” I said.

  “If it wasn’t for her and Luke, who knows where we’d be?”

  “If we ever start up a magazine again, I’m making her the editor in chief.”

  With a chuckle, we walked up the steps to the Bennet house.

  As always, we heard their voices through the door, the din rising as it opened. When we made it into the kitchen, we found everyone.

  And I meant everyone.

  It was a ruckus, as always, an eruption of chatter and laughter. Tess sat on Luke’s lap at the table in the nook, laughing at something Lila was saying. Kash sat behind her with that sideways Bennet smile on his face, his eyes on her like she was the most interesting creature on the planet. Laney was perched on the counter next to Jett as he cooked, the two of them a sight for sore eyes.

  With our marketing department up and running, Laney had passed off everything she’d been working on with social, staying on part-time as an advisor after getting a big offer from Wasted Words—the bookstore where Jett worked. The twins had moved to the Upper West near Columbia so they’d be closer to work, and we’d seen precious little of them. But they looked revived and fresh, and I figured it was due to putting a little space between them and their mother, who had been on a matchmaker’s streak from hell.

  They were her last two to pair off, and she clearly didn’t take the job lightly. I was honestly surprised there weren’t a couple of strangers she’d brought to spring on Jett and Laney, although I hoped she’d learned her lesson after the last ones. Laney had nearly argued hers into the floor when he made a crack about women and PMS. It sounded worse than it had been—I suspected Laney had been looking for a reason to hate him from the minute Mrs. Bennet presented the poor guy like a dead bird.

  At the other end of the table sat Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, chattering with my father.

  Dad smiled up at me when we entered, and the conversation broke in order to take turns greeting and scolding us for holding up dinner.

  I headed over to him, sliding an arm around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head. “What are you three conspiring about over here?”

  “Who has the best milkshakes in Manhattan,” he answered with a smile that told me that was a lie.

  “Uh-huh. Sure.”

  “I believe,” Mr. Bennet started, “Rosie has a pool going as to who will give her a grandchild first.”

  “Oh? Who’s in the lead?” I asked.

  “Well”—Mrs. Bennet perked up, her gossip face sliding into place—“Tess is a planner—she won’t have a baby until some timeline has been met. Lila’s just too busy … I think she’ll wait until she and Kash are settled, what with all the business she’s got. So I’m betting on you two. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day that I bet on Marcus being spontaneous.”

  My cheeks warmed as I laughed. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have plenty to keep us busy for a minute.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, a wily look in her eyes. “But I’m still betting on you.”

  “She’s not an incubator, Mom,” Marcus said from my side. “How come Laney and Jett aren’t on your list?”

  “Because somebody keeps insulting all the nice boys I bring home for them.”

  “Mom, Blane is a ballet dancer who couldn’t stop talking about himself through an entire hour-and-a-half dinner. I can’t believe you thought anyone would go out with him, let alone me.”

  “It’s true�
��that guy was a douchebag, Mom,” Luke added. “I don’t know if I could have made it through a second dinner with him without giving him a black eye.”

  But Mrs. Bennet waved a hand. “You’re all too stubborn, that’s all. Don’t you worry, I’ll find someone for you yet,” she said in the general vicinity of her twins.

  They shared a look, and Jett changed the subject. “Dinner’s ready. If it’s overcooked, blame Marcus.”

  With a laugh, we filed into the dining room, but Marcus pulled me to a stop behind everyone else, ducking me into the butler’s pantry, holding me close.

  My heart fluttered from the surprise and the proximity of his smiling lips. “Your mother’s going to walk in here and crack another baby joke.”

  “Funny that you think she’s joking.”

  I gazed up at him, cocking my head. “What do you think? Will we win the pool? Beat the rest of them to the nursery?”

  He pressed me against the cabinets with his long, lean body. “Why? Want to?”

  Another flutter, this one lower. “Yes, please.”

  But he didn’t laugh, just watched me.

  “You’re not kidding,” I said breathlessly.

  “Not even a little.” He traced my jaw, thumbed my lip. “I don’t want to wait, Maisie. Not when I’ve waited my whole life for you.”

  I sighed into him, and he swallowed the sound with a kiss. Deep in my chest, I felt him there, taking up all the space. Someday, we would make room for one more. Then another, if we were lucky. And it would all be built from love.

  His love for me.

  My love for him.

  And for the rest of my days, I’d have everything I’d ever wished for, everything I wanted.

  More than I could have imagined.

  * * *

  Click here to preorder Pride and Papercuts, or keep reading for chapter 1!

  Thank you

  Jeff Brillhart—Thank you for always supporting my dreams. For holding me up when I crumble. For rolling with the punches, which we’ve endured in plenty and have the fat lips to prove it. I love you.

  Kandi Steiner—Every goddamn day. Every single one. Thank you. Particularly for putting on your ass kicking boots and helping me shape this story.

  Kerrigan Byrne—Thank God we’re both like this so it’s not weird. I love you forever.

  Abbey Byers—I have notebooks full of our conversations and musings over stories and characters. People who we created together. And it’s been the most fun I’ve ever had, even when it sucks and I want to die. Because I’ve had you by my side.

  Kyla Linde—Hours and hours you’ve spent hashing out the details of this beast, and without you, I wouldn’t have figured out how to fix any of it.

  BB Easton—Thank you for eighty kabillion gigabytes of gifs we’ve communicated through. They say life is all about balance, and you are one of those people who always keeps my scales even.

  Tina Lynne—I just cannot even function without you, and I love you so, so much. Thank you every single day.

  Alex Garrett—thank you for the hours you spent advising me, the time you donated (since a retainer wasn’t in the budget for this book) building a fictional case between good and evil flower shops. Thank you for all your advice regarding corporate structures and all the ways we could take that she-devil Evelyn Bower down to the ground. You were instrumental in the creation of this story, and I just cannot thank you enough.

  To my betas, new and old—you are MAGIC. You made this process so much less stressful, and I haven’t felt so good about the end result in ages. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!

  To my team, you are forever the motor that keeps me running. Thank you for all of your time and energy and love.

  And to my bloggers, my SweetHarts, my readers, to every one of you—thank you for letting me into your heart for a few hours. I can’t wait until the next time <3

  Pride and Papercuts, Chapter 1

  Laney

  “Find-a-Fabio.”

  Cam looked proud of herself when a laugh bubbled out of me.

  “Fabio and Seek,” I offered.

  “Where’s Fabio just doesn’t have a ring to it. How about Hide and go Fabio?”

  When I giggled again, she shrugged.

  “I can’t believe we actually got the Fabio to come to Wasted Words. When he gets here and we make people find him, it’s going to be a riot. Let’s make sure we’ve got a good freaking seat for that.” With a shake of her head and a dramatic flip of hair, she tugged on her Fabio wig and adjusted it blindly. “Is it straight?”

  “Here,” I said, fixing it. “How’s mine?”

  “You look absolutely ridiculous. So, perfect.”

  I picked up one of the two giant boxes of wigs and headed toward the front of the bookstore with Cam in my wake.

  When I started working at Wasted Words a year ago, I’d never have imagined that the book bar would become one of my favorite places on the planet. I should have known better, and beyond just the fact that it was a bookstore with a bar smack in the middle. My twin brother had been talking it up for years, so when I moved back to New York and Wasted Words needed help with their social marketing, I jumped at the chance.

  Pretty sure Cam and I had become best friends within five minutes.

  She was a tiny thing with big glasses that somehow managed to look cool, despite their size. I found Cam impossible not to like. Her propensity to make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe helped. The fact that she was technically my boss was maybe the best part of working here.

  “Think anyone will refuse to wear one?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the box of wigs.

  “It’s Fabio night. No wig, no entry.”

  “Even for the ad execs?” I tried to sound enthusiastic. But the invasion of the ad executives who’d been brought in to manage the national expansion of Wasted Words put my job in a precarious position.

  They didn’t seem too happy about working with me either.

  She snorted. “Especially them. If I don’t see Liam Darcy in a Fabio wig, I’m quitting.”

  “Oh, come on. He can’t be that bad.”

  “He has the bone structure of a Greek god and the personality of a marble representation in the Met. But Cooper runs this place, and Darcy is Cooper’s buddy. Plus their ad agency is a BFD.”

  “A BFD?”

  “A Big Fucking Deal. Darcy I could do without, but his sister is a goddamn delight. Is it weird that I want to be her best friend?”

  “For you? Not even a little. You asked her already to be your best friend, didn’t you?”

  “Come on, Laney—just because I asked you to marry me within the first five minutes of meeting you doesn’t mean I asked her too.”

  I shot a look at her over my shoulder.

  “Well, why’d you ask if you already knew? I can’t help it, Laney. This is just who I am as a person.”

  “I’m trying not to be jealous, but you’re not making it easy.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said on a laugh. “You’ll always be my number two.”

  “I’d ask you to call me your deuce, but that’s not any less shitty.”

  That one earned me a full-blown cackle. “Sorry to imply that you, one of my favorite people, are excrement. I have a toddler. There’s a lot of poop talk around my house right now.”

  I dropped the box on the table at the door where one of the cashiers, Ruby, started sifting through it.

  “Anyway, I’m glad you’re going to meet them, since you’ll be working with them. You’ll fit right in, I’m sure, as long as it’s not up to Liam Darcy. I figure he’ll warm up once he sees what you can do.”

  “You make it sound like Liam is going to oppose me.”

  Cam’s dark brow rose with one side of her smile. “Don’t take it personal. I’m pretty sure Liam opposes everybody.”

  “That’s comforting,” I said flatly.

  “Ruby,” Cam started, addressing the girl with the fire-engine red hair behind the table, “Free drink t
ickets to any guy who takes his shirt off. Fabio Freebies!”

  “Even the chubby ones?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Particularly the chubby ones. In fact, give those guys two for being good sports.”

  “You got it, boss,” Ruby answered on a laugh, and we headed toward the bar where several of our hottest bartenders were prepping the bar for the crowd.

  And what a mighty sight that was to behold.

  Three gigantic, shirtless men in Fabio wigs worked behind the bar carrying ice buckets and loading liquor onto the shelves. Beau walked up with a crate of bottled beers wearing little more than a loin cloth and a leather strap across his ridiculous chest. Harrison dumped ice into the well in a pair of leather pants. That was it. Leather pants and combat boots, his pecs that outrageous shape that was not quite round, not quite square, but some strange in between that made your fingers itch. And Greg had donned a billowing pirate shirt, unbuttoned to the belt of his very tight, very black flat-fronted Victorian-looking trousers.

  The three of them smiled at Cam in unison, but I didn’t hear what they were saying. There was just too much top shelf man-titty on display for functional thinking.

  I decided then that I was a big fan of Fabio night.

  Somehow I tore my eyes away from the trio and turned around, taking stock of Wasted Words. The high, industrial ceilings and maze of exposed pipework. Shelf after shelf of books stood proudly on one side of the bar, and on the other stood table after table of comics, graphic novels, manga—the works, everything from brand new releases to collector finds.

  When I came back to New York a couple years ago to help my family out, I had no plans other than to help save our flower shop, Longbourne. But the flower shop was on its feet again and doing better than ever. So Jett and I moved uptown so he could get back to work managing Wasted Words with Cam, and they asked me to come on as their social marketing director.

  Honestly, I had no real desire to go back to a big firm, content to freelance, thankful for the freedom it gave me. And I hadn’t been lying when I said they made it easy to work at Wasted Words. It was the easiest thing I’d ever sold.