So Wicked

by Melissa Marino

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa Marino

  A Preview of SO TWISTED

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  So Wicked

  A Bad Behavior Novel

  Melissa Marino

  New York Boston

  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 © 2017 by Melissa Marino

  Excerpt from So Twisted copyright © 2016 by Melissa Marino

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner. Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

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  First published as an ebook and as a print on demand: May 2017

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Untitled/Poem excerpted from The Book of Ryan, reprinted by permission of R. A. Knipe

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBNs: 978-1-4555-6957-1 (ebook); 978-1-4555-6964-9 (trade paperback, print on demand)

  E3-20170324-DA-PC

  To my muffin, my person, Sarah. A piece of my heart, and a piece of yours are all over these pages. #heartcamel

  Acknowledgments

  This book was a labor of love, and a test of my strength at a level I can’t begin to articulate. There were many people who encouraged me, inspired me and carried me through until the end.

  I believe there are times in which my agent, Kimberly Brower, feels the koala style grip I have imaginarily put around her. It’s my attempt to make sure she never leaves me because none of this would ever happen without her.

  Megha Parekh, and the entire team of amazing folks at Forever Romance, who work endlessly to make every book, including this one, the absolute best it can be.

  My dear friend and publicist, Nina Bocci. Every single step of my journey, from pre-agent until now, you have helped me in more ways than I could ever repay you for. All the x’s and o’s.

  Ryan A. Knipe graciously allowed me to use his poem that appeared at the beginning of the last chapter. I stumbled upon his beautiful words and moving prose on Instagram while writing this book. The poem used perfectly captured Al and Marshall, and I’m thankful Ryan let me share.

  Hawkeye, the fella who sang his way into this book inadvertently, and who aided in helping me find the raw emotions without even knowing it. With all else discarded, I say thank you and I regret nothing.

  To my friends at Addison Starbucks, who has the most rad employees, that supplied me with endless coffee and treats. They cheered me on almost daily as I wrote SO WICKED and gave me moments of humor to keep going.

  My aloof partner in crime, Court. You kept me sane and laughing during this process and every day.

  Amy Reichert and Sarah Cannon, my darlings. You inspire me and lift me. There is no greater gift and I couldn’t be more grateful.

  To the many San Luis Obispo establishments that were represented: SLO Donuts, Splash Café, High Street Deli, BlackHorse Espresso & Deli and especially SLO Brew, which was the inspirational backdrop for SO WICKED.

  And thanks to a few local Chicago favorites that were represented: Garrett’s Popcorn, Vosage Chocolates and Koval Whiskey.

  My family, Mom and Dad, brothers and sister-in-law’s, and all extended family who not only love me, but walk beside me to remind me of how loved I am.

  To L--I couldn’t be prouder of the parents we’ve become, and how we’ve navigated a difficult path with the empathy and courage that most envy. I’m honored to have been married to you for thirteen years, and know the love we’ve created around our son will sustain our family always. Thank you for your constant encouragement, and still making me laugh every day.

  My sweet, sweet J. You make your mom so very proud. Everything I do, I do for you. Always.

  Chapter One

  Marshall—

  In the business world, if you aren’t punctual, you can go fuck yourself.

  Opening a new bar, in a new-to-me city, was stressful enough, but add in relying on others to show up on time—that made it ten times worse. This chick from the bakery was supposed to be here at ten a.m. Thirty minutes later and still nothing.

  “Wells,” I shouted to my bar manager.

  “Yeah?” he said, rolling his chair, along with his ginger-topped head and beard, out of the office.

  It was purely an accident that I hired a ginger-haired bar manager to work at my bar named Ginger. Accidents worked out well sometimes.

  “Any calls?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, reclining his husky body against the back of the chair.

  “Shit,” I said, pulling the pen from behind my ear and tossing it across the marble bar top. “You better not have set up a meeting for me with someone who is a no-show when I have tons of other shit to do.”

  A new bar. A new town. An immense amount of pressure.

  Not that I wasn’t used to pressure. A former career as a day trader, the desire to want to make my parents proud, and a second career as a bar manager were all preparation. Now? With both my parents gone, I was ready to make myself proud.

  “Just wait until you taste her stuff. Everyone around here knows about Alexis and Tipsy Treats.” He took a sip from the straw of his Frappa-whatever-the-fuck he was drinking. “I’m telling you, the whole thing is genius. The different infusion of cocktails that we’ll be doing, along with small plates of food and Tipsy Treats? The locals are going to love it.”

  I was banking on it. This was my bar—well, mine along with my best friend Aaron, who was still back in our hometown Chicago. But it was all on me because I was the one here in California. It was my show, and Aaron was allowing me to run with it.

  “Look,” Wells continued. “It’s totally unique to have a bar that only serves small plates, but with a heavy dessert aspect. It’s going to work, though.” He took another large sip from his drink. “Also, I don’t know how it’d be my fault if
she’s late.”

  “Because I hired you to make sure you were only hiring the best.” I paused, waiting for him to stop slurping up the bottom of his drink. “Plus, you look like a douchebag drinking that thing.”

  “A tasty beverage from Black Horse doesn’t give off douche vibes. There’s a reason it’s the best coffee spot in San Luis Obispo. You should try one for yourself, and then you can go fuck yourself, boss,” he said, rolling back into the office.

  A relationship based on mutual shit talk, respect, and trust was the best kind to have. It was why I hired him.

  I chuckled, walking to the end of the bar to retrieve the pen I’d thrown. I had a lot of nerve getting drippy when most of what I dished out I deserved in whatever bullshit I got back in return. It went back to having the ideal relationship with your right-hand man. We both could dish out and take.

  Ginger was a beauty and I’d fight anyone who thought differently. The expansive two-floor space was in the heart of San Luis Obispo, California. With the walls decorated with paintings from local artists and the oak slate hardwood floors, the vibe was on beat with trendy. I didn’t want just trendy, though. I wanted comfortable, a place people wanted to stay, drink, and hang out with friends. So I balanced the swanky with relaxed and inviting furniture like leather-bound high-back chairs that were slightly larger than normal barstools and chestnut-colored U-shaped booths that ran the entire perimeter of the bar. Add in small seating with two outdoor patios, one in front for a street view and one in back for a quieter one, and the whole thing was a dream fucking come true.

  The pen slid back behind my ear as the front door slammed against the wall behind it, a hip check from the girl coming through it probably marking up my new paint.

  “Oops,” she said, her red hair matching her embarrassed, flushed cheeks. She looked behind the door to see if there was any damage as she balanced a tower of pink boxes in her arms. “Sorry. I think it’s all good.”

  I sighed, shaking my head, crossing the room to give her a hand. “Let me guess? Alexis?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m Phoebe. She got held up, so I’m here to drop these off so you can take a look, or rather a taste, first.”

  I took several boxes, the scent of chocolate and sugar floating from them. “You know, a phone call would’ve been nice to let me know that.”

  She followed behind me, mumbling to herself, before saying, “Take it up with her.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  The vibe I received already, from both the lateness of Alexis and then the attitude of Phoebe, was not getting better. My threshold for bullshit, especially during a stressful time, was close to zero.

  We settled the boxes on top of the bar, and she stepped back, placing her hands on her curvy hips. “I said take it up with her,” she shouted. “Sorry. Sometimes I don’t speak loud enough.”

  Clearly my “huh” wasn’t viewed as rhetorical. It was time to lay down expectations.

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I will, but just so you know, I view an owner as only as good as their employee. I’m not sold on either one at the moment. It’s not professional to scream at someone.”

  “Sorry if I hurt your delicate ears,” she said with a flippant tone. “But you said ‘huh,’ and that usually indicates that someone isn’t hearing you well.”

  “Do you interact with all your customers like this?” I asked.

  “Dude. Marshall,” Wells said, rolling his chair back out. “Loosen up. This is no way to make an impression.”

  I didn’t give a shit. I didn’t care who thought I was a dick or not. This was my fucking business, and I expected anyone involved with it to take shit seriously. If that happened, I’d be as cool as a frosted beer mug.

  Phoebe retrieved her phone from her back pocket and glanced at it. “Alexis will be here in a minute. She got caught up with another delivery.”

  “Are these for us?” I asked, poking the top of one of the pink boxes, my finger sliding across the black sticker that had TIPSY TREATS printed in white across the top.

  “You don’t listen very well, do you?” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “I said they were for you to have a taste.”

  Wells snorted from his seat, and I shot a glare at him. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” I snapped.

  “What?” he asked, continuing to chuckle. “Like it’s not funny to see someone, let alone a woman, give you all the shit you dish out right back?”

  Yeah. Just like I said. Dish out. Take.

  “Thank you, Wells,” Phoebe said. She smiled and then gave him a wink. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

  His face grew serious. “Were you looking?” he asked with his eyebrows raised.

  “Maybe,” she said, winking again.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said, flipping the top of a pastry box open. “Will you two stop? I’m not hosting Love Connection.”

  “What’s that?” Wells asked.

  “You know, Love Connection. The dating show that used to be on,” I said. “Remember ‘two and two’?”

  Both Phoebe and Marshall looked at me blankly. They didn’t know. “Fucking children,” I said under my breath about the two twentysomethings.

  I focused my attention on the baked goods in the first box I opened instead of the pathetic attempt at flirting that Wells was throwing at Phoebe. On initial look, they were impressive. A large cake-like brownie with shiny frosting on top, a few small, but not too small cupcakes with swirly tops and decorations, and some cookie bar things. It all looked amazing. I was deciding between the brownie or chocolate chip bar when the front door flung open, slamming into the wall behind it.

  “What the fu—” I shouted, but stopped when I saw who made the noise.

  What the fuck?

  What the actual fuck?

  The woman, glancing behind the door looking for damage, resembled someone I knew from many years ago. Her blond hair hung longer than I remembered, and without her facing me, I couldn’t discern the rest of her features. I moved closer, and as her body shifted away from the door, I saw everything I needed to see.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered in shock. “Lexie Matthews.”

  Her head whipped around, and her hand went to her chest.

  I couldn’t believe it was her.

  She had almost been erased from my memory. She had to be because the anger I had toward her for leaving Aaron and their daughter was enough for me to go homicidal.

  And now she was standing right the fuck in front of me.

  And all that anger was rising.

  Rapidly.

  She knew it, too, because her own shock had her frozen until she finally spoke.

  “No one has called me that in over six years,” she said.

  Chapter Two

  Alexis—

  There are moments in life in which your breath is literally taken away. It isn’t clichéd or a timely saying. No. The air rushing from your body with a force so powerful, your vision goes dark and your legs can barely hold you up.

  He was completely covered in tattoos. His arms, reaching beneath his short-sleeved shirt. His chest from what I could see from the V-neck. His legs from his cargo shorts. He looked so different, but there was no doubt it was him.

  Nausea came over my body, and my senses were in overdrive. It was a true blast from my past, and I didn’t know how to wrap my brain around it. We were so far from Chicago. I’d made sure of that when I left there, to be as far away as possible so no one could find me.

  When I could finally focus on his expression, I saw he was no doubt experiencing what I was: shock and confusion. The life I’d left so many years ago never crossed my path ever. Our eyes shifted across each other, narrowing and widening as it all sunk in.

  Hell. Marshall Jones. I tried to forget them all, every single one I’d left behind, and I succeeded most of the time. I never, ever completely forgot anyone. You can run from your past, but you can’t hide.

  My past was
staring me right in the face, and it was mad. Crazy mad.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted. “How are you here? Right now?”

  Wells stepped out of the office and approached us. “You two know each other?” he asked, waving a finger between us.

  “We used to,” both Marshall and I said in unison while still staring at each other.

  “Why did he call you that?” Phoebe asked.

  Marshall smacked Wells’s shoulder. “Don’t even fucking tell me this is the baker. How did this happen?”

  “Ow,” he said, rubbing the area where he was hit. “How did what happen? Why are you mad at me?”

  Phoebe stepped up next to Wells. “Yeah? Why are you mad at him? In fact, why are you mad at all?”

  Marshall ignored Wells’s and Phoebe’s questions and returned his annoyance back toward me. “Jesus Christ. Never in a million years did I expect this. What the fuck?”

  “You’re really kind of an asshole,” Phoebe said, her porcelain skin turning red. “Why would you want to work with this guy, Wells?”

  They all stopped their questions, and their heads turned to me for the answers.

  And I didn’t have any, so I went with the first thing that popped into my head.

  “Phoebe? Did you bring the new cherry moonshine turnovers? I wanted him to—”

  “Lexie,” Marshall shouted. “What the hell?”

  My head snapped back to look at him, furious at hearing that name again. “Marshall. I go by Alexis now.”

  His lip curled up in confusion. “You changed your fucking name?”

  “First of all, you don’t have to look at me like that. Second, what did you think Lexie was short for? I go by Alexis now, not Lexie.”

  Wells nudged Phoebe and gestured with his thumb toward the office. It was just as well since the awkwardness in running into my ex-husband’s best friend was enough for anyone watching it to want to hide. Marshall and I followed with our eyes as Wells and Phoebe entered the office, shutting the door halfway behind them.

  “There’s a little something happening between those two,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “They’re always bantering and making eyes at each other. Guess they knew better than to close the door completely, huh?”