A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2)

by Natalie Charles

  She pressed her lips together and decided that maybe it was time to get a cat, or at least a potted fern. Something alive.

  Aside from the dress — which was really only ugly under this lighting, she concluded — Jessie decided she looked great. Her skin was glowing, and her blonde hair was...well, as compliant as it could ever be. She'd curled it and hairsprayed it, and it was stiff but still curly. Saint Mary on a pogo stick! Thank heavens!

  Jessie rubbed her temples. This was what she got from even small doses of her parents, and she'd be hearing her mom's voice for days.

  She noticed Quinn's car pull up in front right before he lightly tapped his horn. Man, did that ice her cupcakes when he did that. But she pulled on a smile as she locked the door behind her and ambled down the front walkway, teetering slightly in her heels.

  Quinn rolled down the passenger-side window of his BMW. "You're going to be cold in that. The cocktail party's outside."

  She glanced down at her cap sleeves. "I'll be fine," she said, but wasn't convinced when a breeze brushed past her bare legs. "Okay, hold on and I'll grab a shawl."

  A few minutes later, Jessie re-emerged from her cottage wrapped in a white silk shawl that wasn't going to offer much in the way of protection from the evening chill. But it was something. She climbed into the passenger seat and brushed her lips against Quinn's cheek. "You look nice," she said.

  "You too. New dress?"

  "Uh huh. Do you like it?"

  "Yes. I do like it. It's very nice."

  Jessie bit her lip. Quinn was lying. She could tell by the way he'd flatly repeated her question and then added an extra, insincere compliment for emphasis. Her dress was hideous: confirmed. "You know, it is cooler than I thought," she said. "Maybe I should change —"

  "You'll be fine. Come on. We're going to be late." He shifted the car into gear and sped away from the curb, knocking Jessie back into her seat.

  "Hey." She snapped her seatbelt in place and managed to right herself before he swerved around the corner. "I was ready on time."

  Quinn glanced over, looking mildly apologetic. "It's my fault, hon. I was working on that new file Walter gave me." He reached up to scratch at his freshly-shaven cheek. "I haven't been taking a lunch in weeks. You don't even know, Jess."

  Her spine stiffened. She thought she did know, considering she hadn't seen him or spent any significant amount of time with him for, oh, three weeks now. She laced her fingers with his. "You've been working so hard. I miss you."

  Quinn glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "I'm trying to set up my future here. I know you understand." He pulled his hand away from hers to shift gears again.

  They were going to the Marina in Spencer. Wills Parker owned a massive yacht and was entitled to equally massive tax benefits if he used it for business entertainment purposes for a certain number of days out of the year. This explained his annual client cruise to Bermuda, for instance. And his partnership cruise through the British Virgin Islands. In addition, he routinely invited the Archer Cove office of Emerson & Parker to yacht parties during the warmer months. Sunday night events were atypical, but Mrs. Parker had celebrated her birthday the night before. Oddly enough, she hadn’t wanted to share the spotlight with her husband’s employees.

  This particular event was intended to celebrate the end of another successful tax season. From what Jessie could gather from hearing Quinn's tales, it was all just an excuse to run an obscene tab of seafood and booze. Associates ended up jumping off the dock by the end of the night or making babies in bathrooms, that kind of thing. It was not her scene or Quinn's, but it was darn important for her to make a good impression if she was going to one day be an Emerson & Parker wife.

  Oh, to be an Emerson & Parker wife. This was no small thing. Emerson & Parker wives were graceful and stylish. They maintained a neat home and held dinner parties — Quinn and Jessie had been to a few. They had manicures and — Jessie imagined — creatively landscaped bikini regions. They lunched with each other and usually had help with the children, because they were more than stay-at-home-mothers and wives. They were instrumental in assisting their husbands to rise at the firm.

  Partner, Quinn had once explained, was only the first step. There were levels of partners, and perception was everything. If Walter Emerson's wife didn't like another partner's wife, then that partner wasn't going to advance. Everyone knew that. From what Jessie could gather, there was also an unwritten handbook on the qualities that made an Emerson & Parker wife successful. So far, she'd noted that their hair was long and never gray — unless they were over sixty. Their perfume was designer. At least, they smelled expensive. Jessie's underarms grew damp just thinking about seeing them that night, and then they grew damper still as she worried about how all of this anxiety might make her stink. Her performance at the baby shower that morning had been unbecoming, and would not have earned her an invitation to lunch at the country club with the other E&P wives.

  She thought back to her mother's hopeful inquiry that morning, when she'd asked about Quinn. How to explain that Quinn was a boyfriend-in-the-works and — Jessie believed — a little afraid of commitment? Jessie had to convince him that she was special, and being on her best behavior at that party would go far. If she could be sweet, and charming, and gracious — maybe then he'd understand how perfect they could be together.

  She cleared her throat and folded her hands tightly on her lap as they pulled into the Marina. Parking was valet, no surprise there. A man in a dark suit opened her door and offered his arm. "Good evening, miss."

  "Hello. Uh, good evening." She stepped out of the car and then wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders. Quinn was right, it was chilly.

  "Thank you," he said to the valet, and handed him a few bills with the key. Then he wrapped his arm around Jessie's waist and pulled her close to his side. "You ready?"

  No, she was not, but since it wasn't the time to have that debate, she put on a brave smile and said, "Ready."

  Jessie was mostly unfamiliar with the trappings of wealth. Despite living for so long in a seaside town, she rarely set foot on boats. To her, this was just a yacht. A big, big yacht. As they walked up a ramp and stepped onto the deck, a gloved waiter approached and offered them flutes of champagne from a silver tray. "Madame?"

  "Oh." Jessie reached for a glass, then reconsidered. Champagne had gotten her into some trouble that morning, hadn't it? "None for me, thanks."

  "I'll take one." Quinn reached over to lift a flute from the tray. "Come on. There are some people I want you to meet."

  Her stomach knotted. Hopefully these "people" she was meeting weren't going to want to talk about, say, laws, wealth management, or any other topics she knew exactly nothing about. Hopefully Quinn had warned them that she was just a local girl who worked at the local bakery. Maybe they'd want to talk chocolate.

  On the upside, Quinn smelled nice, and his arm felt warm around her shoulders. She pulled tightly against his side and felt lucky to be with him. This could all be better than fine. This could be a lovely night.

  "Hello, Quinn."

  The voice was female, the tone sexy. Jessie craned her neck behind them, and her heart stopped. There stood a woman in a tight red dress. Her figure was trim and strong. Her jet-black hair was perfectly coiffed. Her face was...gah. Stunning. And the way she was looking at Quinn made Jessie want to sharpen her fingernails, had she not bitten them all to nothing.

  "Hey, Caryn," Quinn said with a smile. He dropped his arm from Jessie's shoulders to turn to face her. "You look beautiful."

  Caryn lifted her chin and made no effort to hide the once-over she was giving him. "You too." A quick glance at Jessie. "And is this your date?"

  She swallowed a knot in her throat. Had Quinn never mentioned her name at work, or was Caryn being deliberately forgetful? Nevertheless, she held out a hand and said, "I'm Jessie."

  "Hello." Her handshake was slightly limp, and the twist of her mouth suggested that Jessie was being gauch
e by touching her. "Quinn and I work very closely together." Emphasis on "very."

  Caryn and Quinn locked eyes and seemed to share some private, unspoken joke. Either the boat was rocking, or something else was making Jessie sick to her stomach. She should've grabbed the champagne when she'd had the chance.

  Still, she lifted her chin and beamed at Caryn. "Your dress is just fantastic. Red suits you."

  Caryn smiled tightly and brought her flute closer to her chest. "Thanks."

  "I like the beadwork." She reached out to touch, but Caryn pulled back before she made contact. "Now tell me, which store did you find this at? Because I'll have to go there next time I need something fancy to wear." She tugged at the skirt of her own dress. "I found mine on clearance."

  Quinn wrapped his arm around Jessie's shoulders and pulled her back. "That's okay, Jess," he said, laughing uneasily. "No one needs to know that."

  "I found this at Belle Tique," Caryn replied. "I don't believe they have a clearance rack, though."

  Belle Tique was a high-end boutique clothing store in Spencer. Jessie, afraid she reeked of middle class, had never actually dared to set foot in there. "Belle Tique is a nice shop," she murmured. "I walk past sometimes and think that." Her cheeks burned.

  She must have sounded pathetic, because Caryn's head tilted sympathetically at the confession. "What do you do, Jessie?"

  "I work at Hedda's Bakery." Beside her, Quinn sucked in his breath, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's wrong?" she whispered.

  "You work at a bakery?" Caryn looked from her to Quinn and back to her again. "How cute. What do you do there?"

  "Oh, everything, really. It's a family business, so we all chip in. I bake, wait tables, make coffee. I also have a line of chocolates that I've been developing for a while now."

  Caryn and Quinn exchanged a glance and then stared at their shoes. Jessie looked down at their shoes, too. Caryn's were strappy red heels, pretty but totally impractical for that deck surface. Quinn's — well, they were just black shoes. She didn't get it.

  "Anyway," she continued, "I've thought about setting off on my own and opening a chocolate shop. A chocolate boutique," she added.

  At this, Caryn's eyes lit with interest. "How quaint. I once read a book like that. I've always thought that would be fun."

  "I've encouraged Jessie to do that," Quinn said. "She needs to challenge herself more."

  "But I like working with my family," Jessie said. "Plus, it's hard to find the right space. But I have it all planned out. I want a pink and white polka-dotted awning, and my shop would be called 'Chocolate Crush.'" She flared her fingers.

  "Mmm. Sounds a little violent." Caryn took a sip of her champagne. "But what do I know? I'm just a lawyer."

  She issued a genial laugh that had obviously been rehearsed, tossing her dark hair back slightly in the breeze. Jessie pressed her lips together and imagined herself spontaneously combusting.

  "You're hardly 'just a lawyer.' Caryn has one of the firm's most high-profile cases," Quinn explained. "You may have heard about that senator who was charged with misappropriating campaign funds?"

  "I work in white-collar criminal defense," she explained with a smile as her eyes flitted to Jessie and back to Quinn again. "It's a living."

  "A great one," he added. "You were just named one of the top trial lawyers in the state under 40 years old. Did I congratulate you for that?"

  She waved a hand. "It's nothing. You know, John Green —"

  This was about the point at which Jessie's eyes lost focus and she started staring at the floorboards. Blah blah blah. Message delivered: Quinn thought Caryn was amazeballs. Jessie's cheeks hurt from forcing that smile for so long. After several more minutes passed, she'd had enough.

  "Hey, did you see that ice sculpture?" She pulled at Quinn's jacket and pointed to a large, definitely bra-less ice mermaid. "She looks cold."

  Quinn glanced over his shoulder before looking back at Caryn. "Yes, it's nice."

  "Maybe we should walk around a little." Jessie shivered as a cool breeze brushed past her legs. Specifically, she wanted to walk into the cabin, where it was certainly warmer than it was on deck, and far away from Caryn.

  "Jessie's never seen the yacht before," Quinn said apologetically.

  "Oh. Then you should get a tour." Caryn smiled stiffly and set a hand on Quinn's forearm. "I'm sure we'll see each other later. Nice to meet you, Jessie."

  Was it her imagination, or was Caryn looking down her nose at her? "You too," she murmured.

  Quinn watched Caryn walk away for a brief moment before appearing to catch himself and come back to reality. He smiled and held out his arm. "I'm guessing you want some shrimp?"

  Jessie reached over and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling her smile weaken. "Whatever. I'm not picky."

  It was like Jessie had put on that dress, curled her hair, plastered her face with makeup, and promptly forgotten how much she despised these kinds of events. After a while, awash in that sea of tuxedoes, she imagined all the men as puffed-up penguins, some with fat cigars. There had been caviar and shrimp cocktail. Oysters on the half shell. Lobster tail for dinner, and a rich mousse topped with shaved chocolate and a single strawberry slice for dessert. And in between all of those courses, there had been maddening small talk and, for her, some detail fudging.

  She wasn't lying, per se. More like glossing over details. What did she do for a living? She worked in the entertainment industry, which was sort of true because she did cater events every now and then. Where did she live? She had a little place on the beach. Again, the fact that she was currently renting an eight-hundred-square-foot cottage at a far below market rate didn't matter. Technical truth counted. But reworking the truth into something more palatable and impressive for that audience had left Jessie feeling drained by the end of the evening. She was grateful to finally have a few minutes alone with Quinn.

  He was so handsome, with his strong jawline and his blond hair. He had that all-American look about him, and she thought of how she used to watch him from the bleachers as he played football when they were in high school, dreaming about the day he'd know she existed. Now there they were, on a beautiful yacht — and falling in love. Possibly. A little bit at a time. Her heart positively swelled at the thought.

  As they sat in a private corner of the yacht, she rested her chin on his shoulder and said, "Want to get out of here?"

  "Already?" He glanced at his watch. "We just had dessert."

  "Yeah, I know, but..." She didn't complete the thought.

  "But what?"

  She pulled back and tightened the shawl around her shoulders. How about, But we've barely seen each other in weeks, and you're always working, but for tonight your bosses are all drunk on a yacht and won't call you into the office? She wanted to say that, but instead she eased back into her seat and said, "It's kind of cold."

  "Here, take my jacket."

  Sweet, but so not the point. "No, it's fine."

  He paused, his jacket half off. "I thought you were cold?" He pulled it back on with a snap. "Sometimes I don't get you."

  "Well then, that makes two of us." She smoothed her skirt down hastily. "You've put in your face time. Don't you want to go somewhere else? Like, maybe my place?"

  Damn it, was it too much to ask to have sex with her own boyfriend? Did she have to come out and actually tell him what she wanted? It had been three weeks, for God's sake! Her lady parts were getting cobwebs. But Quinn patted her on the knee and said, "Later. I can't leave right now."

  Jessie set her head back against the top of the seat and stared at the sky. The marina was brightly lit, and the committee of E&P wives who had planned that lovely gathering had strung white paper lanterns overhead. Scratch that — they'd hired someone to string the lanterns overhead. But in that little corner, the lighting was dim enough that Jessie could see the stars. "Do you ever think about what you want out of life, Quinn?"

  "All the time. That's why
I pull seventy-hour weeks." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I want partnership. Then I want to buy a place on the cliffs. A nice house overlooking the ocean, where I can have parties like this one." He looked at her. "It's expected, you know. Partners have to make the effort. All of these partners here? The entire family supports their careers."

  Jessie's gaze slid to Samantha Rodriguez, who was, in her eyes, the quintessential E&P wife. Stunning. Leggy. Vivacious. She was nodding warmly as another E&P wife appeared to confide something, ever the patient ear. Samantha looked perfectly polished in a raspberry-colored dress that flattered her thin figure. See, she told herself, that's how one wears color. Jessie glanced downward at her own chartreuse attempt, and then tried to hide as much of it as possible under her shawl. "Yes, I know," she muttered. She pressed her lips together. "Is that what you want? A family?"

  There was a painfully hopeful twinge to her voice as she asked. Somehow, in the hours since she'd decided to have this Conversation, she'd convinced herself that this party would give them the opportunity that several months of dating hadn't. She'd imagined that Quinn would be excited enough to see her that she would receive his undivided attention, and that just maybe, he'd be as eager as she was to talk about their future together.

  Instead, he patted her knee again and said, "I think I know where this is going. Look, my entire focus has to be on partnership right now. Okay? This is the chance of a lifetime, and any setback could be disastrous." He grinned. "I'm playing the big game. I've gotta keep my head in it, lose the distractions."

  She smiled feebly. "You know how I love sports metaphors." The disappointment rose in her chest. "I've had a long day, and I need to be at the bakery by five in the morning, so maybe I'll call a cab."

  He issued a long sigh and stared at the deck. "You know I'm not going to let you do that." He swept his hand up and down his cheek. "I guess I've got to give you a ride."