by Jill Shalvis
“Of course. Wife stuff.” Melanie dropped her eyes to her briefcase. And then, in a rush she said, “Chloe, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night. I was way out of line.”
Chloe blinked. She certainly hadn’t been expecting that. “No big deal.”
“It was. I’m a lawyer who built a name for herself defending feminism, and the next thing I know, I’m acting like a total bitch to my ex-boyfriend’s new wife.”
Chloe couldn’t have been more shocked if Melanie had punched her in the face. In fact, an elevator brawl seemed a more plausible scenario.
“I was jealous. So I elbowed my way into your home, and when I saw you wearing the ring, the ring he bought for me… Well, we’re very different people, aren’t we?” she asked.
Chloe looked down at her companion’s perfectly manicured fingers, polished in a pale shade of pink. A ginormous engagement ring–wedding band combo glittered on her ring finger. From the man she’d chosen over Ben. Stupid mistake. Because Ben was amazing, and Melanie hadn’t noticed. But Chloe had. And she was going to do something about it. “Yeah. We really are.”
“But I can tell you two belong together. You bring out this side of him, this fearless side.” Melanie laughed, but it was forced. “I mean, do you know how long I tried to get him to decorate his last condo?”
The elevator opened and they stepped into the bustling lobby.
“I acted like a petulant child whose toy had been stolen, and I am not only embarrassed, I’m deeply sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Sure, yes. Thank you.” Chloe nodded, unwillingly impressed with the woman in front of her. “And I’m sorry too. For being a jerk. And for thinking you were a stuck-up bitch.”
Melanie’s chuckle was genuine this time. “I appreciate that. And Chloe? Take care of him. Ben’s one of the good guys.” With that, she turned and strode out of the building and disappeared into the chilly Seattle morning.
It was, Chloe figured, the most grown-up conversation she’d ever taken part in. And it felt pretty damn good. Like she could handle anything.
Including getting her fiancé back.
CHAPTER 17
CHLOE CRAWLED OUT of the cab with several bags of Chinese takeout. She hoped the food might keep Ben from slamming the door in her face. With a deep breath to calm the flipping of her stomach, she walked into the foyer of the building.
She was debating the merits of calling him on the phone versus ringing the buzzer when she remembered she still had his keys.
Here goes nothing. With a deep breath, she let herself into the building.
By the time she got to his door, her heart was a jackhammer in her chest. And not because of her power walk from the elevator, either. She knocked on the door before her nerves could talk her out of it.
The door flew open alarmingly fast. Almost as though he’d been waiting for her. He looked unbearably handsome in the gray suit and blue tie he’d been wearing the first day they’d met. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She held up the peace offering. “I brought you some lunch.”
Ben’s face fell, and it made her heart squeeze. “Oh.”
He invited her in with a sweep of his hand. She stepped into the familiar apartment—had she really only stayed here for a week? He took the bags of takeout from her and headed into the living room.
So much awkwardness in so little space. This was harder than she’d thought it would be.
“I went by your office to see you,” she said, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence that was stifling them. “Well, your former office, I guess.”
Ben nodded as he unpacked the cartons of food, spreading them out on the coffee table. “Yeah, I quit. I didn’t want to end up being the kind of person who smothers dreams. I’d rather create them.”
He straightened, surveying the boxes that represented about two-thirds of the Mr. Chow menu.
“I’m starting my own company. Masterson Creative Group. I want to help people take their small businesses to the next level, but I’m going to do some consulting for larger firms until I’m solvent,” he told her. “Hotel Burke is looking over my proposal right now. We’ll see how it plays out.”
“What about the cabin?”
“Someone pointed out to me that the real fun is on the lake, not in some swanky cabin.”
“Your father would be very proud of you, Ben.”
He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, but she could see his pride in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin. “I think you’re right.”
“I’m really proud of you, too.”
The sudden quiet made it hard to breathe.
“Chloe?”
His voice was soft and low, and for the first time Chloe could remember, he sounded uncertain.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?”
“I just…there’s something I need to know.”
He opened his arms in a just ask gesture.
“Why didn’t you tell her?” She held up her hand. “Why didn’t you tell Melanie this was your grandma’s ring?”
He shook his head, a slight frown marring his forehead. “I’m not sure. I’ve wondered about that a lot. Especially over the past week.”
“You told me.”
Ben nodded. “I wanted you to know.”
Chloe tried to absorb the words, to force them to make sense. “We’d only just met when you put this on my finger.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t have any explanations for you and me. It shouldn’t work. You said it yourself. You’ve spent your whole life running away from the stuff I’ve been working toward. But we do work. Somehow all that other stuff doesn’t seem to matter.”
Chloe’s skin pricked to life even as she tried to hold her hope in check.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Chloe. You’re right. I was trying to impress them because I thought that was the life I wanted. But it’s not. Especially not if it’s going to make me act like a raging douchebag. But I meant every word I said. I didn’t spin anything. I just told them the truth. You are an incredible makeup artist. It’s what you should be doing with your life. And don’t let the fact that I got carried away trying to make some ignorant old fools see how amazing you are cloud the issue.”
Chloe sat heavily on the couch and bit her lip. “Do not make me cry, Masterson.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love the mess you’ve made of my bathroom counter. And I love how every time you mention your hair, you pull a piece forward and stare at it, as if you’re judging it for yourself. I love that you chew your right thumbnail when you’re nervous. And I love that you’ve brought color to my living room. And to my life.”
Ben got down on one knee and grabbed her left hand in his, and Chloe laughed through her impending tears.
“I realize we haven’t known each other for very long, but I like you a lot, Chloe Masterson. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m completely and totally in love with you. So will you do me the honor of unmarrying me?”
He slipped his grandma’s ring off her finger, and with it went the pressure and the lies. Chloe’s hand suddenly felt as light as her mood. Although her eyes still stung a little.
Romance was making her soft. And she’d never been happier.
“I love you, too, Masterson. And I’d be honored to unmarry you.”
His lopsided grin stole her breath. “Then it’s settled. We’ll start over.”
She crinkled up her nose. “Like in all the girly movies?”
He grinned at the reference. “Just like that, Latoya.”
“C’mere, Julio.” She fisted her hand in the crew neck of his T-shirt, tugging him closer.
“Careful. This T-shirt cost an ob
scene amount of money.”
“I’ll bet it did,” she said, breaching the space between them to touch her lips to his. To kiss Ben like it was the first night, when nothing was hanging over their heads except possibilities.
And great sex.
He stood up, pulling her to her feet, and then right off them and into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he started walking them toward the bedroom.
“So, listen, I don’t usually mix business with pleasure, but as the owner of a struggling start-up, I could really use a client who’s poised on the brink of success.”
He set her down in front of the bedroom.
“Makeup by Chloe is a business built on integrity. We frown on nepotism. You’re going to have to really wow me if you want the job.”
“Okay, picture this—a campaign with the tagline ‘Kiss and Makeup.’”
“You make a strong case, Masterson.” Chloe grabbed Ben’s hand and tugged him into the bedroom. “I think we should definitely get started on that right away.”
* * * * *
ISBN-13: 9781460386163
Kiss and Makeup
Copyright © 2015 by Taryn Leigh Taylor
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Now, for an exciting look at New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis’ first Women’s Fiction novel,
LOST AND FOUND SISTERS!
They say life can change in an instant…
After losing her sister in a devastating car accident, chef Quinn Weller is finally getting her life back on track. She appears to have it all: a loving family, a dream job in one of LA’s hottest eateries, and a gorgeous boyfriend dying to slip an engagement ring on her finger. So why does she feel so empty, like she’s looking for a missing piece she can’t find?
The answer comes when a lawyer tracks down Quinn and reveals a bombshell secret and a mysterious inheritance that only she can claim. This shocking revelation washes over Quinn like a tidal wave. Her whole life has been a lie.
On impulse, Quinn gives up her job, home, and boyfriend. She heads up the coast to the small town of Wildstone, California, which is just a few hours north of Los Angeles, but worlds apart. Though she doesn’t exactly fit in right away, she can’t help but be drawn to the town’s simple pleasures…and the handsome, dark-haired stranger who offers friendship with no questions asked.
As Quinn settles into Wildstone, she discovers the inheritance isn’t a house or money, but rather something earth-shattering, something that will make her question everything she thought she knew about herself, about her family. Now with a world of possibilities opening up to her, Quinn must decide if this new life is the one she was always meant to have.
CHAPTER 1
I walk around like everything is fine but deep down inside my shoe my sock is sliding off.
—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”
Here was the thing: life sucked if you let it. So Quinn Wellers usually worked really hard to not let it. Caffeine helped. For up to thirty-eight blissful minutes it could even trick her into thinking she was in a decent mood. She knew this because it took forty-eight minutes to get from her local coffee shop through L.A. rush-hour traffic to work, and those last ten minutes were never good.
That morning, she got into line for her fix and studied the menu on the wall, even though in the past two years she’d never strayed from her usual.
A woman got in line behind her. “Now that’s a nice look on you,” she said.
It was Carolyn, a woman Quinn had seen here at the coffee shop maybe three times. “What look?”
“The smile,” Carolyn said. “I like it.”
Quinn didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted, because she smiled all the time.
Didn’t she?
Okay, so maybe not so much lately … “I’m looking forward to the caffeine rush.”
“Nectar of the gods,” Carolyn agreed.
Something about the pleasant woman reminded Quinn of an elementary-school teacher. Maybe it was the gray-streaked hair pulled up in a messy bun, the glasses perpetually slipping down her nose, the expression dialed into sweet but slightly harried.
“You’re up, honey,” Carolyn said and gestured to the front counter.
Trev, the carefully tousled barista, was an L.A. beach bum and aspiring actor forced to work to support his surfing habit. His hands worked at the speed of light while the rest of him seemed chilled and relaxed. “Hey, darlin’, how’s life today?”
“Good,” Quinn said. She didn’t want to brag, but she’d totally gotten out of bed today with only two hits of the snooze button. “How did your audition go?”
“Got the part.” Troy beamed. “You’re looking at the best fake Thai delivery guy who ever lived. It means my luck has changed, so say you’ll finally go out with me.”
Quinn smiled—see, she totally did smile!—and shook her head. “I’m not—”
Trev piped in along with her, in perfect sync, “—dating right now,” and then shook his head.
“Well, I’m not,” she said.
“It’s not right, a hot chick like you. You’re way too young to be in a rut. You know that, right?”
“I’m not in a rut.” She was just … not feeling life right now, that’s all. “And hey, I didn’t tell you my order yet,” she said when she realized he was already working on her coffee.
“Has it changed?” he asked. “Ever?”
No, but now she wanted to order something crazy just to throw him off, except she wanted her usual, dammit.
Okay, so maybe she was in a rut. But routine made life simpler and after the complications she’d been through, simple was the key to getting out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other every day.
That and the badly needed caffeine, of course.
“You should go out with him,” Carolyn whispered behind her. She smiled kindly when Quinn craned her neck and looked at her. “You only live once, right?”
“Not true,” Quinn said. “You live every day. You only die once.”
Carolyn’s smile slowly faded in understanding. “Then make it count, honey. Go hog wild.”
Hog wild, huh? Quinn turned back to Trev.
“I’m all for the hog wild,” he said hopefully.
Quinn went for it. “An extra shot and whip.”
Trev blinked and then sighed. “Yeah, we really need to work on your idea of hog wild.”
* * *
When Quinn finally got to Amuse-Bouche, the trendy, upscale restaurant where she worked, it was to find her fellow sous-chef Marcel already in the kitchen.
He glanced over at her and sniffed disdainfully. Then he went back to yelling at Skye, a good friend of Quinn’s she’d brought on board a few months back.
Skye was chopping onions exactly as Quinn had taught her, but apparently Marcel didn’t agree. His voice had risen
to a pitch designed to split eardrums as he went on and on in a mix of English and German that no one understood but him.
“Leave her alone, Marcel,” Quinn said.
He slid her a glacial stare. “Excuse me?”
“I’m the one who taught her how to chop. She’s doing it correctly.”
“Yes. If you work at a place flipping burgers and asking what size fry you want with your order,” he said, dropping the fake German accent as he sometimes did when he lost his temper and forgot to keep it up.
So here was the thing. There were days where Quinn surprised herself with her abilities, and others where she put her keys in the fridge. But she was good at this job. And yes, she understood that at twenty-nine years old and quickly rounding the corner kicking and screaming into thirty, she was young and very lucky to have landed a sous-chef position in such a wildly popular place. But she’d worked her ass off to get here, going to a top-notch culinary school in San Francisco, spending several years burning and cutting her fingers to the bone. She knew what she was doing—and had the tuition debt to prove it.
Oddly, Marcel wasn’t that much older than she was—late thirties, maybe. He’d come up the hard way, starting at the age of twelve washing dishes in his uncle’s restaurant not all that far from here, but light years away in style and prestige. He was good. Actually he was excellent, but he was hard-core old school, and resented a woman being his equal.
Quinn did her best to let it all bead off her back, telling herself that she believed in karma. What went around came back around. But though she’d waited with pent-up breath, nothing had kicked Marcel in the ass yet.
“You,” he said, pointing at her. “Go order our food for the week. And don’t forget the pork like last time. Also, your cheese supplier? She’s shit, utter shit. Find another.”
Quinn bit her tongue as Marcel turned away to browbeat a different kitchen aide who was dicing red peppers, swearing at the guy in German as if that made him more intimidating. Quinn thought it made him more of an idiot. He jerked the bowl away to prove his point and ended up with red pepper all over the front of his carefully starched white uniform shirt.