by Dee Lagasse
As Fate Would Have It
A Capparelli & Co Novel
Dee Lagasse
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright Ⓒ 2019 Dee Lagasse
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters, places, brands and events depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Dee Lagasse
Edited by Ellie of My Brother’s Editor
Proof-Reading by Kelli Spear
Cover Design by Dee Lagasse
Formatting by Alexandria Bishop of AB Formatting & Design
To Vanessa.
My biggest fan and toughest critic.
I love you, SiSi.
Even though you’re weird.
Prologue
“He has a girlfriend. You’re wasting your time, love.”
Looking around to see who the shaggy red-headed bartender is talking to, I stop when I realize there’s no one else around and he is looking directly at me.
“Excuse me?” I ask, taking the Malibu and Sprite I had just asked for with one hand while handing him a five-dollar bill to pay for my drink with the other.
“Captain America has a girlfriend,” he says in a heavy British accent. “I heard him talking to the other bloke he’s with about it.”
Any other night, I would have had a smartass remark about how everyone knows Captain America’s girlfriend is Peggy Carter, but we’re not talking about the Marvel comic book and movie superhero right now. We’re talking about the guy in a Captain America costume who had been buying me drinks and dancing with me for the last hour. The same guy that told me his “date blew him off” today.
Bastard. How dare he taint the magic of tonight.
The annual Capparelli & Co. Halloween Gala is one of my favorite days of the year. The whole town comes together for the Halloween-themed event that benefits Abbott Hills’s sports and music programs.
Against my better judgment, this year I said yes when one of the Saturday night karaoke regulars asked me to be his date for the gala. I hadn’t planned on going with anyone, especially knowing I would be able to spend the night with my friends and having a date wasn’t necessary. But, Will was cute and used the line, “it’s for charity…for the kids” when asking me.
After going as far as purchasing costumes, it came to light he assumed because I worked for the Capparelli family I would just bring him as a “plus one” and even though he asked me to go as his date, he never bought or intended to buy a ticket to the gala. Even as an employee, I still pay for my ticket.
I mean, it’s for charity…for the kids.
Needless to say, “Alice and Mad Hatter” didn’t attend the gala together. The asshole even tried to request money from me, texting me an invoice from PayPal for his “unusable” costume. I would imagine that after my colorful rant in response, I won’t be seeing him at karaoke anymore.
Deciding the Alice costume was also “unusable,” I spent the morning at my favorite boutique downtown in search of a new costume. I knew the pickings would be slim, but I needed something else. Anything else.
I was only in the store for three minutes when I saw the Wonder Woman costume on a mannequin. Normally, all the clothes in the boutique are super earthy and bohemian, but every September, Louisa, the owner, starts bringing out her Halloween costumes. All of them are handmade and unlike anything you could purchase online or at a retail store. It didn’t matter that my almost white blonde hair and blue eyes would make me different than the typical Diana Prince society is accustomed to, as soon as I saw it, I knew I needed that costume.
Sure enough, as soon as I put it on, I knew it was meant to be mine. It fit perfectly. With the “lasso of truth” on my hip and all, I felt like a complete badass.
And right now, standing here at the bar, I decided I would be damned if I let some douche ruin this night for me – no matter how cute he is.
“Thanks for the tip.” I nod in response to the bartender who looks back at me with a sad smile.
I’m sure this isn’t the first or last time he’s seen this scenario played out in front of him and he won’t remember me after tonight, but right now, in this moment, despite doing nothing wrong at all, I can feel my cheeks growing warm from embarrassment. Forcing a tight smile, I drop a few extra dollars in the tip bucket in appreciation.
Before I have a chance to think of what I am going to say to him, Captain Douche comes strolling over, proud as a peacock, a smug drunken smile plastered across his face as he beelines toward me.
Over the last few hours, Sam, also known as Captain Douche, had made it very clear to anyone that would listen that he is a lawyer at one of the biggest law firms in Boston and his father, who grew up in Abbott Hills, is one of the platinum level corporate sponsors for the gala. Buying round after round, he waved his corporate credit card like a flag. My childhood friends raised their eyebrows, unimpressed by his showcase, taking the free drinks while making it very clear they didn’t approve.
In hindsight, I should have known it would never work between us right then and there.
By the time Sam the Douche makes his way over to where I’m standing, I’m still at a loss for words. I want to ask him where his girlfriend is or what he expected to accomplish tonight buying me drinks, but when I open my mouth to tell him off, the words jumble in my head and I end up saying nothing. All I know is right now, there is nothing more I would like than to wipe that smug look off his face.
Just as he opens his mouth to spew yet another lie, I hold my hand up, stopping him.
“There you are!” booms a deep voice to the side of me. “I’ve been looking for you for the last twenty minutes. Should have known you’d be up here getting your Malibu and Sprite.”
The mention of my drink causes me to twist my neck in curiosity and when I do, I find myself face to face with Batman. A mixture of sudden shock and surprise washes over me when the Dark Knight himself gently pulls me to his side by my waist. None of the guys are in a Batman costume tonight, so immediately my internal “stranger danger” alarm starts going off. Just as I’m about to pull away, the man behind the mask leans down and whispers, “I overheard your conversation at the bar. I’m just here to help you get rid of Captain Douche.”
Heeeey, that’s what I just called him.
“I know I told you I would be stuck working,” he continues, a bit
louder than necessary. “And we never really made solid plans to come together, but there was no way I was about to miss you in that Wonder Woman costume. I got someone to cover my shift last minute and got here as fast as I could. I’m sorry I’m late.”
“I’m just so glad you could make it. Let’s get you a drink.” I pause before turning to Sam, the scam artist who will forever be known as Captain Douche. “Oh, and a word of advice, Sam. The whole being a cheating scumbag thing could only actually work if you don’t let people around you know that you have a girlfriend. You should probably get back to her and start explaining why there are pictures of you with another woman on social media. And take that costume off while you’re at it. You don’t deserve to even pretend to be Steve Rogers.”
Pointing to the photographers scattered all over the room, I shrug my shoulders and offer him a smug smile in the form of goodbye. With his arm still safely secured on my hip, Batman takes that as his cue to lead us back to the bar where we silently watch as Captain Douche quickly makes his exit out of the ballroom.
Once Captain Douche has left the room, Batman orders his beer, and I pull some cash from the pocket stitched into my armbands. The red-headed bartender who helped me out with the tip a few minutes ago grabs a bottle of beer from the cooler below him and pops open the cap before handing it over to the man who just swooped in and saved me.
“This will cover Batman’s beer.” I laugh, quickly adding, “Toss whatever’s left in your bucket and thanks again for looking out.”
Turning to Batman, I flash him a genuine, grateful smile. “Thank you for the rescue.”
Without waiting for a response, I step away from the bar. I don’t get very far before I hear, “Hey, hold up. I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you.” I wink, raising my plastic cup to him. “Let’s just leave this as it is, okay? If we happen to run into each other again, it’ll be fate.”
Raising his bottle of beer, he nods once in understanding.
“Well, here’s to fate.”
Chapter One
Cole
When Senator Helen Christian sends her assistant to your apartment with gourmet donuts and cold brew coffee before seven in the morning, you get your ass up, open the door and let her in…no matter how hungover you are. If the four calls to my cell phone hadn’t been enough, the minute and a half straight buzzing sound letting me know there was someone trying to come up to the apartment sure as hell did the trick.
Holding a box of donuts in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other, the tight-lipped, petite redhead looked like she had already been up for hours as she brushed past me right into my dining room. In her perfectly pressed charcoal pantsuit and the tight bun on top of her head, she placed the donuts and coffee on the table, handed me a folded piece of paper and left without saying a single word to me.
Shaking my head as she closes the door behind her, I open the piece of paper and sigh. I should have known surprise coffee and donuts were too good to be true. Taking one of the strawberry frosted donuts, I take a bite, leaving a mark that could put good ol’ Jaws to shame.
“I smell coffee.”
Ellis Lindsey, my best friend and roommate, comes strolling into the room with the determination of a police K-9 sniffing for drugs. The black makeup from last night is smeared across her face, her blue hair a disheveled mess, and yet, she’s still one of the prettiest girls I know. It’s unfair really. I pop out of bed looking like a bridge troll and Ellis makes it look like a fucking fashion statement.
“Yeah, my mom sent Juliette over with Wholly Donuts,” I tell her, pointing to the box of donuts and tray of iced coffee, shrugging. “There are three vanilla cream cold brews and half a dozen combo of strawberry frosted, Boston Cream, and blueberry cake donuts. I’m assuming she thought Hollis would be here.”
“I’ll take Hollis’s coffee off your hands,” Ellis says, grabbing both Boston Cream donuts intended for her out of the brown paper box, placing them in the middle of the coffee tray.
“Why do you need two coff—”
Stopping myself when I realize two coffees means that there is someone else in her room with her.
Since college, we’ve used “Do Not Disturb” signs as ways to communicate with each other. There was no sign hanging on her doorknob. Right now, I’m thankful I didn’t just barge in there with the donuts and coffee like I probably would have if she hadn’t come out when she did.
“I know, I didn’t use the sign. I’ll fill you in later,” she yells from the hallway that leads to our separate bedrooms. “Looooveeeee yoooooou, Coleeeeyyyy.”
As much as I would love to know what, or who, she’s hiding, I don’t have the time to figure it out right now. A hot shower, some makeup, and hair products are the only things in my immediate future. Taking one more sip of the sweet vanilla cream infused iced coffee, I put the plastic cup in the refrigerator. Even this delicious coffee would have to wait.
It takes a whopping ten seconds for me to walk through the dining room and into the open archway used as a separator to the back portion of our tiny apartment. Turning left, I make a quick stop in my bedroom to grab my bathrobe. Most mornings, I just leave the bathroom wrapped in a towel after showering, but the last thing I want is to bump into some random dude who spent the night banging my best friend with only a bath towel covering me.
Locking the bathroom door, I start the water, turning it to the hottest setting the knob will go so it will warm up faster. Shortly after pushing in the little metal button on the shower valve, steam fills the room. As I strip out of the black silk pajama set I spent the night in, the mirror in front of me begins to fog up. By the time I turn to step into the shower, I can no longer see any part of my face.
“Shit!” I scream, jumping forward away from the piping hot cascade of water that I forgot to turn back down before getting into the shower. Knocking over industrial size bottles of shampoo and conditioner onto my foot while waving my arms around like an idiot, I continue to curse to myself, “Shit, shit, shit.”
Quickly turning the water back down, I wince, trying to just deal with the throbbing pain in my foot. Faster than I ever have before, I shampoo and condition my hair. By the time I reach for the country apple body wash I’ve been using since I was sixteen, the pain in my foot is only a dull annoyance.
Thank God. I can only imagine how that conversation would go.
“Sorry, Mom. I can’t meet you for lunch. I broke my foot. How, you ask? Oh, you know, just stepping into a thousand-degree shower and knocking a bottle of Paul Mitchell on my foot.”
Never mind the shower safety lecture I would get from my mom, once my dad and sister heard about it, I would never hear the end of it.
Opening the door slowly, I peek around it to find Ellis’s bedroom door is shut. Assuming the coast is clear for me to make a mad dash to my room, I open the door all the way. Not bothering to look straight in front of me, I gasp when I see my best friend’s back to me as she stands by the front door.
The space in our apartment is, well, nonexistent. If you need to hide something, or in this case, someone, here isn’t the place. Which might be why Ellis’s sleepover buddy’s eyes go wide when he realizes that they’ve been caught.
Tucker Merrimack.
Ellis, still with her back to me, bursts out in a fit of laughter. “Cole’s out of the bathroom, isn’t she?”
We’ve known Tucker since high school. Our circle of friends is small by some standards and we’re a tight-knit group. Something like the fact Tucker spent the night here… with Ellis… would have everyone in their business real fast and Tucker knows it. Grimacing, he sheepishly shrugs before waving to me.
Shaking my head in mock disappointment for a split second, I burst into laughter and wave back enthusiastically. Yelling out, “Your secret’s safe with me, fuckers. But do not, for one second, think we’re not talking about this later, Ellis Camilla!” before closing my bedroom door behind me.
; Three short knocks on the other side of the door and an “are you decent?” comes from the other side of my bedroom door just a few minutes later.
“Would it matter if I wasn’t?” I ask rhetorically, laughing.
I managed to pull on a pair of black, high-waisted palazzo pants and had just clasped my bra closed as my door opens. But even if I had been completely naked, it wouldn’t be the first time Ellis saw me in my birthday suit, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
Ellis and I have been roommates since we were sophomores in college. Growing up, we hung in the same circle, but it wasn’t until we were at school hours away from the rest of our friends and family that we became best friends. As opposite as two people can be, Ellis and I are night and day.
Working at her mom’s hair salon, Ellis’s hair is forever changing. Right now, it’s blue, a couple months ago it was hot pink. She’s obsessed with fashion and stays up to date with all the current makeup trends. There is never a time where Ellis looks anything less than fabulous.
And then there’s me. I have never colored my almost white blonde hair, always leaving it at the same just below my shoulder length that it’s been since middle school. And the only reason I have any fashion sense is because, well, I’ll just stop right there because “Cole and fashion sense” don’t go together. I would live in yoga pants and my favorite running shoes if it wasn’t frowned upon as a woman running a business. Meeting with potential clients in a messy bun and leggings doesn’t scream “I’m a professional,” so most days I’m in dress slacks and heels. The second I walk through my apartment door, they’re off and I’m back in my comfort zone.