Perception: A Bittersweet Romance Suspense Novel

by Kendra Leigh

  “That’s better.” She smiles with approval. “So let me get this straight. You’re flying back to the States tomorrow? Back to New York?” There it is again. That glimmer of mischief and excitement dancing in her eyes, like she just realized she’s holding the winning hand in a poker game.

  I nod.

  “Do you believe in fate, Jax?”

  Oh crap. Questions like that make me uneasy. I know she’s about to try and convince me that whatever plan she’s concocting in her devious mind is a good idea. As it happens, I’m a big believer in fate. We all have our destinations marked clearly on our tickets long before our journeys begin. It doesn’t matter which route we take, or how many times we balls it up along the way, we’re all going to end up in the place originally intended for us. But I’m not about to make this easy for her. “Do I, fuck.”

  “Stop being hard work, you moody bastard.” She glares across the table at me. “Alright, I’ll be straight with you. I need a man.”

  “Does Frank know about this?”

  “Funny.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll rephrase for clarity. I need the best man I’ve got for a job next week. Only my best man just rode his motorcycle into the side of a truck, so the only place he’ll be next week is the L.A. hospital he’s currently laid up in. Thing is, me and Sid here…” she hoists her thumb in the big guy’s direction “…were just about to hold a crisis meeting for a suitable replacement. And then, out of the blue, funny-as-fuck-fate beckons me in here and who’s sitting at the bar but the best man I’ve ever had.” She grins widely, excited by the sudden epiphany. “Granted, you’re older than you used to be, but who isn’t? You could still run rings ’round that bunch of pretty boys I’ve got lined up to choose from back in L.A.”

  “No fucking way, Natalie.” The idea is preposterous. “Those days are well and truly over. I’m too tired for all that shit.”

  “Oh, come on! You loved every minute of it—the danger, the excitement—you thrived on it.”

  “It paid the bills,” I counter, stunned by the absurd direction the conversation is headed.

  “Well this will pay more than the bills, sweetheart. Times have moved on. It wasn’t the California Dreaming and the well-packed Baywatch beach shorts that drew me to L.A., you know. In the States, my business is big business.”

  “I don’t do L.A. I do New York. That’s my home now, and that’s where I’m headed.” I make to stand, but she reaches out, gripping my wrist.

  “And if I told you the job was in New York?”

  The few brief seconds it takes for me to consider and then dismiss the idea is enough to have Natalie salivating with anticipated triumph. She’s hungry and I’m the filet mignon she’s drooling over.

  “What have you got to lose?” She breathes the question like a seductive spell. “We’re talking big bucks, Jax. Just a couple of days will earn you six figures; a week and you’ll never look back.”

  I falter. Memories of the buzz I used to get back in the old days sparks a sliver of exhilaration, just like the bourbon I’d held in my hand earlier. But I’m a different man now. “I can’t.”

  Natalie nods and releases my arm. “Okay.” She pauses, waiting for me to stand and push my chair under the table. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. You must have a wife … a family by now. Something to go back to.”

  For a few seconds, I hold her gaze, absorbing her words. “It was nice to see you, Natalie. Give my regards to Frank.”

  By the time I reach the door to leave, I’m fiddling with my tie, pulling at the knot which suddenly seems too tight. The air that hits me when I emerge onto the sidewalk doesn’t blow away the impulse to turn back either, and instead of heading for the car, I find myself pacing up and down outside.

  Who am I kidding? My heart is beating out of my chest, my balls turning blue at the mere thought of working a job for Natalie. And in New York, of all places. Like she said, what do I have to lose? What do I have planned for the next couple of weeks, except too many belly-busting breakfasts with Annie at the greasy spoon diner and an overdose of CSI boxed set. One job, one hit, one taste of the Jax Dean I used to be before I turn too old for this shit.

  I stop pacing and glance down at my impeccable suit jacket, the gleaming white perfectly pressed shirt underneath stretching across the firmest abs I’ve ever had. One flex of my bicep has it straining against the luxury material. Forty-two or not, I’m in better shape now than I’ve ever been.

  Fuck this shit. It’s time for some fun!

  Chapter Two

  Savannah

  Three Weeks Earlier.

  “COME ON, SAVANNAH, YOU CAN do this.” I stand with my hand on the banister at the bottom of the stairs, willing myself to go up. I need to leave at a quarter to twelve if I have any chance of getting there by half past, and I need to check upstairs yet. The hallway echoes with the sound of my voice, a reminder that there’s no one else home and I’m talking to myself. “You’ve checked three times, already. The doors and windows are locked. Everything is neat and tidy.” I take a breath to slow my heart rate and focus on the steps ahead, doing my best to ignore the way my vision has begun to shake. “Damn it!”

  Running back into the kitchen, I begin the routine for a fourth time. It’s only just eleven. If I’m quick, I’ll make it. The upstairs is never as bad as the downstairs; I still have time. First, I check all the windows, running my hand around the edges to make sure there are no drafts and definitely locked. The back door and door to the basement are tightly secured, but I unlock and lock them again just to be sure. Next, I check all the cupboards in the kitchen: anything with a label faces front, anything with a handle is set to the right. Everything is in its place. Finally, I close the blind at the kitchen window then open it again, moving painstakingly slowly to ensure the slats sit at exactly the right angle—open just enough to see out but not enough to see in.

  The time on the clock says twelve minutes past eleven—it’s one of my best times yet. I take a pleasing breath and head for the stairs, this time not pausing at the bottom but taking them two at a time instead. I’ve already showered, so all I need to do is change and drag a brush through my hair. If I check upstairs quickly, I can be out of here not much later than planned.

  Feeling buoyant, I open the closet door to see which dress Nick has picked out for me, searching for the hanger with the familiar wear this label. My eyes settle on the dull gray calf-length dress he brought home a few weeks ago, its color and long-sleeved style a stark contrast to the bright, warm July day outside. I remember the layer of self-loathing his cruel words had left behind—the best way to hide a monstrosity is to cover it up. The effort it took to smile and appear grateful when he gave it to me was taxing at best. Rather that, though, than the alternative.

  I dress quickly, teaming the dress with the pair of flat black slip-ons displaying the wear these tag, and turn to face the mirror. Holy hell, I look ten years older than my thirty-two years. The dress is shapeless and … dowdy. I tug at the hair tie holding my ponytail in place, freeing my long golden hair to fall down around my shoulders, but it doesn’t help. Shadow, my faithful black cat blinks her sleepy golden eyes in a noncommittal way before tucking her head back down to sleep.

  I can picture my friends’ faces as I join them for lunch, wearing something they’d likely use as a duster, and shudder. It’s been months since I saw them. I don’t want to turn up looking like I’ve spent that time morphing into their grandma. My friends don’t judge, but I know them well enough to know that they’d start delving. All three of them are startlingly beautiful and beyond filthy rich. My best friend, Ava, is married to a tremendously successful business tycoon, but they all come from wealthy families. The prospect of seeing my friends has worked me into a lather of inner excitement, the added bonus of a trip into Manhattan worth every second of extra mind-numbing chores I’ve had to do to earn the luxury. So much so that I’ve spent the last week treading on eggshells, being meticulous in every task. But there is no way I c
an go like this.

  As the last drizzles of enthusiasm drain the light from my eyes, I turn to find my phone. I could just send a text message to Ava—tell her I’m not feeling well; she’ll understand. As I pick up the phone, it buzzes in my hand with an incoming text: Nick — Will be in back-to-back meetings all day, so I’ll be late. You can eat without me. Remember what we spoke about!

  The words send a jolt of electricity up my arm, relighting the spark in my eyes, and I bat back a quick response: Me — Okay. Will do. Moving quickly to the closet, I rummage right to the back until I find the baby pink sundress I bought a couple of years ago. Nick doesn’t like it so I’ve never had chance to wear it. I pull the gray dress over my head, discarding it on the bed—I’ll need to put it in the laundry. Then slipping the pink one on instead, I fasten the zipper and change my shoes for the cream colored sandals. The result is better, I decide as I gaze at my reflection. I may be a monstrosity but at least now I’m not a drab one.

  “Well, Shadow? What do you think?” I smile as she begins to purr in approval.

  Feeling slightly more content, I race around the upstairs rooms, checking windows and doors, ensuring everything is in its place. If I hurry, I can still be there in time. The last room on my checklist is Nick’s bathroom, which I’m confident is in order; it’s only two hours since I cleaned it top to bottom, but I know I can’t leave without checking first. I’m just about to close the door, satisfied, when I notice a label sticking out from one of the towels on the shelves. It mocks me from across the room as if it knows I can’t leave it like that. And not only will I have to take it down to re-fold it, I’ll have to do the same with all the others as well.

  Biting down on my lip, I cross the room and take down the towels one by one, shaking them out and re-folding each one with painstaking precision before placing them back in their position on the shelves. Then starting from the top, I move the flat of my hand down each side, making sure each one is level with the next. There it is. My mistake. One towel is the slightest fraction out from the rest.

  My friends will have to wait. I have to start again.

  * * *

  By the time I reach the restaurant in midtown Manhattan, I’m over twenty minutes late. I feel harried from the rushed walk to the subway and impatient that the damn thing didn’t get me here faster than it should have. I can’t recall if I’ve remembered to brush my hair, but from the way it clings to the sweat on my neck, it won’t make much difference either way. Standing with my back to the restaurant door, I smooth it down, using my fingers as a comb and making the best of a bad job.

  “Savannah, you made it!” Ava leaps out of her chair the second she lays eyes on me, and the look on her face is enough for me to forget all the hindrances of the day.

  “Sorry I’m late, ladies.” I hug Ava and turn to Megan and Grace, each one of us murmuring noises of greeting and appreciation.

  Although the years have seen me gradually drift further away from them, I still love these girls like sisters. Unable to commit to weekly lunch dates, I’ve become unfamiliar with their day to day lives and found myself feeling disconnected from the group.

  “Oh, finally! Can we order now?” Erin, Ava’s younger sister, appears from the direction of the restrooms, ripping the wind right out of my sails. Her signature fragrance descends like a noxious fog, the smell something akin to rodent pee instantly tainting my palate and ruining any chance I have of enjoying my lunch. What the hell is she doing here?

  As much as I love Ava, her sister is a whole new ballgame. While we’ve never openly clashed, it’s obvious to any onlooker that we don’t gel either. I find her to be judgmental and disruptive—and needy. I’m determined to enjoy my friends’ company, even in the face of having to endure hers, so I force a smile and push my disappointment away.

  We make small talk while we order, and before I know it, we’ve settled into the familiar pattern of girl talk we’ve grown up with. For the most part, Erin is glued to her cell, which I’m fine with despite Ava’s remarks that it’s rude.

  “So, it’s your birthday in a few weeks, Savannah. Any ideas how you’d like to celebrate?” Grace asks through a mouthful of Caesar salad.

  “Celebrate? I’d rather just forget about it altogether, if I’m honest. I’m nowhere near ready to be thirty-three.”

  I hate my birthday and dread it coming around every year.

  “Thirty-three? Jeez, that’s old,” Erin mutters without glancing up from her cell.

  Ava throws her a dirty look but dismisses the comment. “We have to do something to mark the occasion. You’ve gotten away with it for years now. In fact, we still need to celebrate your thirtieth.”

  “I’ll have a think about it, then,” I lie, knowing full well it will be a pointless exercise.

  “No doubt Nick will have something romantic planned for you,” Erin chirps, smirking.

  Ava tosses me an uncomfortable look but doesn’t say anything. Although the snippets I’ve shared about my marriage are few and indistinct, they’re enough for my friends to garner that Nick is as far from romantic as you can get.

  I nod on a smile and change the subject. “So, Megan, how are things going with the sex-mad Jake?”

  Megan, from her own admittance, is not the settling down type. She changes her boyfriends like most people change their pants. I often revel in her wild stories of clandestine sexual escapades, wondering what it would be like to spend a week in her shoes. Exciting but exhausting, I shouldn’t wonder.

  “Ah, yes, my Jake. All I can say is that the man’s a machine, and as long as he keeps his engine running on a full tank of gas, I’ll be a happy woman. If not, he’ll head for the junkyard like the rest of them.” We laugh at her relentlessly flippant attitude toward relationships. “But of course, I’ve got mad competition now Grace is back on the market. She’s only gone and found herself a boy toy.”

  “You’re kidding, tell me.” I turn to Grace, her cheeks flushing pink as she fans her face with her hand.

  Grace married her high-school sweetheart, but regrettably, the years have seen them drift apart, and a couple of years ago they sadly, but amicably, went their separate ways.

  I listen attentively as she launches into her fairy-tale story of recently divorced, glamorous redhead meets twenty-something hot male model with pecs to die for and a sex drive to match.

  “It brings a whole new meaning to foreplay, I can tell you. God bless him, but when I was married to Tom, I thought cunnilingus was the name of a perennial plant.” We laugh hysterically. All except Erin, who turns her nose up in disgust.

  “You are unbelievable. Women at your age should not be rolling around with twenty-something models. Even I won’t touch a guy unless he’s well into his thirties,” she sneers.

  “Oh, I see,” Ava counters. “Women in their thirties are old and past it but men are in their prime? We’ll see if you’re still saying that in eight years’ time when you’re our age.”

  “What do you know about older guys, anyway?” Megan says to Erin.

  “More than you think,” laughs Erin, winking slyly at Ava, who counters with a remark I approve of entirely.

  “Shut up, Erin. There’s a good little girl.”

  “Well, if you knew anything, you’d know it isn’t all about the sex.” Meg continues. “Being in love is more than that. It’s about finding your soul mate and knowing there’s no one else you’d rather be with. Isn’t that right, Savannah?”

  All eyes turn to me, waiting for my input. How do I answer a question like that? My cheeks begin to burn with the weight of the pregnant pause, until Grace, seeming to sense my discomfort, mercifully comes to my rescue.

  “What do you think, Ava? Is Liam really your soul mate? Or is it simply being a successful billionaire that makes him the man of your dreams?”

  Ava takes the teasing humorously. “I can’t help it that Liam has the looks, the charm, and the money.”

  “Oh, please!” Erin rolls her eyes. “Let’s
not start on how freaking faultless Mr. Amazing is. God, Ava, you’re so lame.”

  Murmuring something about the restroom, I get up from the table and make my way to the back of the restaurant. The second I reach the safety of the stall, my eyes begin to burn with the threat of tears. As much as I love the banter and the girls’ casual willingness to share details of their intimate relationships, I struggle with the unbidden envy that creeps up and grips my heart without warning. The effort it takes to feign my awareness of love and lust and amazing sex is exhausting. I’m not even vaguely acquainted with those feelings, my only insight the fantasies I’ve conjured inside my own head.

  Today’s conversation is like a million others we’ve had in the past—one I laugh along with but never really contribute to. The girls have never pried into my relationship. I think they assume my discretion is because I embarrass easily, preferring instead to keep the details of my love life private. I have successfully created the false illusion that I’m happy in my marriage. And, until now, I’ve been okay with that.

  “Savannah? You in here?” Ava’s voice calls from the other side of the stall.

  “Yeah, I’ll be right out.” I dab at my eyes and smiling, open the door.

  “What is it, Savannah?” My mask has slipped, only briefly, but Ava has seen it. “You didn’t look yourself when you arrived. Is it because Erin’s here? Or did the conversation upset you? I know you and Nick have had problems.”

  Once, in the middle of a deep and meaningful conversation, I foolishly confided that my sex life was … lacking—a word that doesn’t even begin to describe it, but I can hardly be honest; the truth would devastate her. I open my mouth to reassure her that all is fine, but instead the words that come out surprise even me.

  “Oh, Ava, you have no idea. I wish, just for once, I was getting swept off my feet by some gorgeous hunk and fucked until I scream for mercy. The things that you guys get up to, I can only fantasize about. And I do, frequently. But it’s not just that. The sex, the passion … it’s not the only thing I crave. It was when Meg spoke about being in love with your soul mate and knowing there’s no one else you’d rather be with.” The second it’s out, I regret it. Ava’s face speaks a thousand words of utter shock and disbelief.