Every Little Piece of Me (Orchid Valley Book 1)

by Lexi Ryan

  “I hope so,” Julian says, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “I’d hate to think he took the position to have some power over you.”

  I open my mouth to explain that Marston wouldn’t do that then snap it shut again, afraid any defense of Marston will be salt in the wound for Julian. “Lunch sounds good.” I grab my purse. If I want to make this work, I need to start giving my fiancé more of my attention and energy, and that starts now.

  Julian beams. “You just made my day.”

  It takes so little to make this guy happy. I’m a total jerk for not trying more often. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Let’s see what the specials on The Patio are.” He misses my frown as he takes my hand and heads in the direction of The Orchid’s in-house restaurant.

  I’ve suggested The Patio for a quick lunch many times, but Julian always said there was no point in taking a lunch break if I wasn’t even going to get away from work. “I can leave,” I say, quickening my pace to keep up with his long strides. “We don’t need to eat here.”

  He slows his steps and narrows his eyes. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

  I blink at him. “Wha— Why— No. Of course not.” He looks so wounded that I can’t even laugh this off. “Julian, we’re getting married. Of course I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.”

  “Good.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze and resumes his path toward The Patio, if a little slower this time, and I wonder if this visit is really about us or if it’s about Marston.

  “Thanks for having lunch with me,” Julian says, stopping just outside my office.

  “Thank you for taking me. It was a nice surprise.” I hope my smile hides any untruth in these words. Lunch was good. Okay, well, the food was delicious. The company was . . . awkward?

  The whole time we were eating, I felt like Julian was focused on how he looked interacting with me, rather than actually interacting with me. He didn’t bring up Marston working at The Orchid, and neither did I—more of that conversation can wait until we’re alone—but something was definitely off with him.

  His gaze locks on my mouth for a beat. “I wish I could take you home with me.”

  I laugh. “We both need to work,” I remind him, because it’s true. Also because nothing’s changed since he stomped out of my condo on Tuesday. I’m not ready for us to be physical again.

  The door down the hall clicks open, but before I can turn to greet whoever’s coming our way, Julian takes my face in his hands and lowers his mouth to mine. This isn’t his typical “have a nice day” kiss or even his typical “I hate to leave, but if you insist, I’ll go” kiss. This is deep and searching, and I’m so surprised by it that I just stand there. When I do pull away—because, hello, I work here—he holds me tight and doesn’t make it easy.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I laugh.

  “Can’t a guy kiss his fiancée before he goes back to work?”

  Not like that. But again, I’m hit with a wave of guilt over our mismatched feelings. I love Julian, I do. But I love him as a friend, and as someone I’ve agreed to have a partnership with. Though our relationship has involved sex from the beginning, it’s never been passionate. It’s weird to feel like he’s making it into something it’s never been before. I guess that’s a conversation we need to have when we’re alone.

  When I don’t answer, he backs away a few inches. “Let me come over tonight. I’ll make you and Cami dinner. She’s been begging me to make chicken and noodles again.” He holds up a finger. “And before you say anything, I’ll make you a salad.”

  Right. No excuses. But I shouldn’t be looking for excuses. I should be looking for ways we can spend more time together to prepare for our marriage. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

  “Great. See you then.” He kisses me on the cheek then turns to go. Only then do I see Marston, stopped halfway down the hall and staring lasers at me.

  “Hey, Marshall,” Julian says as he passes, offering his fist to bump.

  I shake my head. Julian knows his name and got it wrong to piss Marston off. I’d bet The Orchid on it. I don’t care for this side of Julian, and the list of issues we need to hash out before the wedding is growing by the day.

  Marston

  I ignore Julian’s offered fist and open the door for him in my best silent get the fuck out. It’s one thing to know this asshole regularly puts his hands on my wife. It’s quite another to see it for myself.

  “Later, babe,” Julian calls one last time before finally heading out into the lobby.

  I let the door close behind him before slowly stalking toward Brinley. “Was that little show for me?”

  “What?” Her lips are swollen from his kiss, but there’s nothing in her eyes that says she was swept away by it. A curl of satisfaction twists in my chest.

  I take another step closer. Then another. “He knew I’d be here, right? So he practically dry-humped you in the hall?”

  She shakes her head, cheeks blazing red—not from Julian’s kiss but from me. “You’re one to talk,” she snaps.

  “Me? I haven’t touched anyone but my wife since we were married.”

  She laughs. “Bullshit.”

  I stop in front of her and slowly look her over. I want to be disgusted, but what I feel when I look at Brinley isn’t even in the same galaxy as disgust. “No. Just the truth. How many times do I have to tell you I keep my promises?”

  She swallows, and the pulse point in her neck flutters faster.

  I move closer until her breath catches. There’s less than an inch between our mouths. I could close that space and remind her what it’s like to kiss a man she can lose herself in. I wonder if she’d even stop me this time. “Does he make you as wild as you feel with me? Do his kisses make you forget who you are? Where you are?” I skim the bridge of my nose along her neck and breathe in the smell of her there. “Does his touch make you so wet you spread your legs in public? So wet you beg him to make you come in a dark corner?”

  She’s so still, eerily so. Until she’s not.

  I don’t even see her hand coming until her palm connects with the side of my face—so hard and fast I feel every fingerprint.

  She backs away, eyes blazing. “Don’t speak to me like that again.”

  She spins on her heel and stomps into her office, slamming the door behind her.

  I cradle my cheek in my hand and head to the kitchen for ice, focusing on the sting to distract me from the pain of seeing her kiss him and the feeling that I’ve already lost her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brinley

  “Julian’s coming over tonight,” I tell Cami as we pack up to leave for the day. “He’s making us chicken and noodles.”

  Her eyes go big. “My favorite! Is he making dessert too?”

  Laughing, I throw my purse over my shoulder. “Don’t push it, missy!”

  She giggles and slides her backpack on as she follows me out of my office.

  On the days she doesn’t ride the bus to gymnastics after school, Cami rides the bus to The Orchid. I used to send her to an afterschool program, but now that she’s older, I’d just as soon have her at work with me. I have a small desk for her in my office, and she does her homework while I wrap up emails and phone calls for the day. On the days I have meetings, she hangs with one of the girls—either in the kitchen to help Abbi with prep, or the group fitness room to help with Savvy’s fitness classes. Sometimes, she joins Stella at the front and plays receptionist. If I lose The Orchid and the new owner isn’t understanding about me having Cami here, we could lose these extra hours together. And that is assuming the new owner doesn’t fire me altogether.

  “Quit stressing,” Cami says, narrowing her eyes and sticking her lip out in a pout.

  I open the door to the lobby and hold it for her. “Who said I was stressing?”

  “I always know when you’re stressing. You get this little wrinkle right here.” She points to her forehead. “Grandma says it’s because you nee
d Botox.”

  I grunt. Thanks, Mom. “Grandma might think I need Botox, but the kind of Botox she’s talking about is never a need thing. You get it if you want it, not if you don’t. I don’t. I’m okay with my wrinkles.”

  “Good. Because you’re perfect as you are.”

  I freeze in my tracks, but Cami spins around and grins. “Who are you?”

  Marston’s footsteps grow louder, closer, and tension ratchets tighter in my gut. Please be kind to my girl. Please don’t say anything about her father or our little drunken wedding in Vegas.

  By the time I will myself to turn around, Marston is standing in front of Cami with his hand extended. “I’m Marston Rowe. I was a friend of your mom’s in high school, and I’m working at The Orchid as a business consultant for the next couple of weeks.”

  My daughter takes his hand in hers and shakes it so hard that I have to bite back a laugh. “Camille Knox. I’m a jack-of-all-trades around here, and I know my mom from when she became my mom.”

  Marston laughs, and Cami grins. After nearly ten years of being adorable, she struggles to maintain any semblance of modesty. “A jack-of-all-trades, huh?” He tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “This is the kind of thing I need to know about as I evaluate the business. Tell me what all you do at The Orchid.”

  Cami begins to tick jobs off on her fingers. “I dust my mom’s office because she won’t let housekeeping in there, and she gets so absorbed with her work she doesn’t even notice when there are dust bunnies piling up on her monitor.”

  Marston flashes me a smile. “Is that so?”

  I shrug. “Guilty.”

  Cami goes to her second finger. “I teach yoga with Savannah on some Saturdays, and I’m actually better at a lot of the poses than she is. She can’t even do full splits.”

  “Can you?” Marston asks.

  “Yeah, I take gymnastics and dance.” She goes to her third finger. “I help Abbi take inventory when she needs it, even though it’s freezing in those walk-ins.”

  The corner of Marston’s mouth twitches into a grin. “That’s important stuff.”

  “I also help with the baking sometimes. That’s my favorite, but Abbi’s a control freak in the kitchen, so she doesn’t let me help with much.”

  “You are a jack-of-all-trades,” Marston says.

  “I don’t do massage because . . .” She shudders. “Just ew. No, thank you. I want to help with the facials—I give them to myself at home with face masks and stuff—but Wren said I have to have a special license for that. And I can’t answer the phones and make appointments until I’m sixteen.”

  Marston’s eyes are bright when he turns to me. “Looks like you have an assistant-manager-in-training right here.”

  I’m a jumble of mismatched emotions, and I hold his gaze, hoping my eyes can communicate what I can’t put into words. All these years, I believed Marston would see Roman when he looked at my daughter, and I believed that was all it would take to blind him to how amazing she is. Guilt lodges right beside pride in my chest—because she’s so amazing that no one would ever miss it, especially not Marston. There’s another emotion there too, one that begs me to pay attention to how good he is with my daughter. One I can’t let myself examine much. One that won’t matter by the time the divorce is finalized and Marston has returned to his life in L.A.

  It doesn’t matter that Marston likes Cami. It shouldn’t matter. Then why do I have this lump in my throat and this pulling sensation across my chest?

  “Mom, come on,” Cami says, going for the exit. “We have to go. Julian’s coming over to make us dinner, remember?”

  The mention of Julian clears all the amusement from Marston’s face. His shoulders tense, and he finally breaks eye contact.

  “You should come too, Mr. Rowe,” Cami says as I step up beside her at the door. “Mom says Julian always makes enough to feed an army.”

  I rest my hand on Cami’s shoulder. “Baby, I don’t think—”

  “Unfortunately, I have other plans tonight,” Marston says with one more look my way. “But it was very nice to meet you, Cami.”

  “You too, Mr. Rowe. If you have any more questions about what I do here, you can find me in Mom’s office after school and sometimes the kitchen.”

  Nodding, he holds the front door open for us. “Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

  Cami walks out first, and I follow, pausing just outside the door. I dig my key fob from my purse and click the button. “It’s unlocked.”

  She waves and climbs into the car as I turn to Marston.

  “She’s a good kid,” he says, and there’s something in his voice I can’t nail down. Grief? Reluctance? Regret? Hell, I can’t even figure out my own emotions. I don’t know why I’m trying to understand his.

  “I know.” I exhale slowly and make myself meet his eyes—even though it’ll make it that much harder to walk away. “Thank you for that.”

  He quirks a brow. “For what?”

  “For making her feel special. She’s grown up at The Orchid. It’s important to her.”

  “It was nothing.”

  It was everything.

  “Julian’s . . . coming over?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Yeah.”

  “Meaning he doesn’t live with you,” he says, searching my face.

  I swallow. I don’t want to stand here while Marston analyzes my relationship. It feels too flimsy under the heat in his stare. “That’s right.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Interesting.”

  I want to squirm under that knowing gaze, but there’s no way Marston can know the truth, and even if he did, it’s none of his business. “I won’t keep you. I know you have plans, but . . . have a good night.” I turn to go, but his fingertips graze my wrist and I stop.

  “I owe you an apology for earlier,” he says, and slowly, I turn. “Seeing him touch you . . . kiss you?” He shakes his head and cuts his eyes away from me to watch the cars pass on the street. “There’s no excuse. I was out of line.”

  “I shouldn’t have slapped you.”

  “Nah.” He backs away and gives me a grim smile. “I deserved it.”

  Brinley

  I hold my wine glass between both hands and lean one hip against a freshly scrubbed counter. True, this wine has calories that won’t help me fit into my wedding dress, but tonight it’s serving as a much-needed emotional crutch. Without it, I might burn the wedding dress and run far, far away.

  I take another sip and bow my head, trying to clear away all the doubts and fears about my wedding that seem to multiply any time I see Marston. And this afternoon? Seeing him smile at Cami? I’m a mess.

  True to his word, Julian made chicken and noodles for Cami and himself, and a salad and roasted chicken breast for me.

  It’s easy to imagine our life like this. Julian cooking us dinners so Cami and I don’t have to rely on carryout, Cami entertaining us at the dinner table with tales from her day, cleaning up the kitchen with Julian after dinner while Cami watches TV, and then crawling into bed each night.

  This isn’t how I imagined a marriage of convenience would be. I imagined coldness, awkward conversations, and celibacy, but life with Julian won’t be any of those things. It’ll just be . . . a marriage.

  “What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Julian comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He’s warm, and his embrace should be a comfort. Instead, it makes me tense.

  I don’t want him to ask to stay over. I don’t want him to try to touch me right now. I don’t want to admit that both of these truths make me even more fearful about what happens next for us.

  He nuzzles my neck and slips a hand under my shirt. “How’s the wine?”

  “Good.” I will myself to relax and lean into his embrace. “I needed it tonight.”

  “I feel ya.” He blows out a breath and pulls me closer still. “It’s been screwing with me—knowing you’re working with him now.”

>   I had a feeling that was what the little show in the hallway today was about, but I didn’t expect him to admit it. I should’ve given him more credit than that.

  “Then I had a meeting with Ms. Hilton, and I swear, that woman’s going to make me do literal backflips before she signs these contracts.”

  I frown. Ms. Hilton owns the apartment complex Julian’s trying to buy. “You already have contracts?”

  “Yes, but we’ve gone back and forth so many times, pretty soon the legal fees alone are going to make this investment a loser. But I think we’re finally wrapping it up tomorrow.”

  I put down my wine and turn in his arms so I can see his face.

  He presses a kiss to my collarbone. “Thanks for having me over tonight. I love spending time with you.”

  Guilt pulls tight in my chest. It’s a constant presence, even when I try to push it away, but there’s always been something else with that emotion. A suspicion about this arrangement. “She’s going to sign before the wedding?”

  His smile wavers, but he recovers quickly. “Well, maybe. I think we’ve got her convinced.”

  “Julian? I don’t want us to lie to each other. We can’t. Not if this is going to work.”

  He closes his eyes, then releases me before pacing the kitchen. “She likes that I’m with you. It matters to her that she’s selling to someone she believes will take care of her tenants, and she likes you so much that you helped my case for buying her out.”

  “You said she wanted the buyer to be married.” I swallow hard. “That’s why this was going to work. We would both get something out of this marriage.”

  “I don’t need anything more from this marriage than you.” He shrugs. “I never did.”