“You know about that?”
“Yeah. You and Dad both. The dean called me into his office biweekly to make sure I had everything I needed. Besides Maxwell Walker, he dropped your name enough I figured it out. But don’t miss my point. Sometimes, I’m going to fall and I’ll have to pick myself up. Right now though, I’m good. Promise. I’ll let you know if I need any help with ass-kicking.”
“Remember, a quick jab from the left to the nose and a knee to the nuts.” He reminds me of the self-defense training he took both Lily and me to years ago.
“Got it. Oh, hey, Lil.” I wave as she comes up from behind Henry, glowing in a white column dress.
“Maisie.” She squeezes me as best she can with her growing bump. Pulling away, she glances to my left and right. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
“Oh, he couldn’t make it.”
Disappointment, maybe sympathy, flashes in her eyes. Then compassion. As her arms round my back for a quick embrace, I think she really wants me to be happy. Hmm, this is progress in the name of sisterhood. It gives me the warm and fuzzies, which is welcome because my coat is outdated, and with door-to-door Uber service, I didn’t bring it. Her hug takes the chill away.
“Well, too bad for him,” she concludes. “You’re stunning. Love this dress. Tell me about it and your holiday after. We’ve got to go. The play starts in five.”
“Does anyone know what it’s about?”
She shrugs and takes my hand so we don’t get separated by the crowd. Henry follows behind with my wine. “It’s a solo. A big-name performer with a limited number of shows.”
As soon as we settle, the lights dim and excited chatter falls off into the darkness. A spotlight beams center stage. Jealousy boils my blood. I can’t help it. I can’t. The big-time actor is Ash Crawford. Of all the people. I shouldn’t hate her and I try not to. I try not to remember the smile Mr. Kavanagh always has for her. Or when he left me to rush to her side early on a Saturday morning.
The uneasy feeling rolls in my stomach as she gets started. It’s clear I’ll loathe the performance. The next ninety minutes are sure to suck.
But they don’t. She’s good. The story, which happens to be about her life, is sometimes gut-wrenching and other times hilarious, especially when she recounts her college years. I laugh. I cry. I hope. All the emotions pour from her petite frame and that’s why she’s won so many awards. A well-deserved standing ovation ends the show.
We file out, but not outside. Mom pulled strings for the after-hours meet-and-greet, so we head backstage. It’s packed with bodies squeezed in a small room. Henry grabs two champagne glasses and a water for Lily from a passing waiter, and I take a long sip of mine. Lily and I catch up. She shows off new diamond earrings—a present from her husband. I can’t help that my gift is better, but I hold back from sharing my upcoming runway walk. It’s months away and seems too outrageous to contemplate.
We talk dresses, mine and hers. “You’re so talented, Mais,” Lily says as I scrutinize her Marc Jacobs original. I’m sure of it. I saw a similar version on the runway in September.
Henry squeezes my shoulder and my eyes are drawn from the bottom of Lily’s beaded hem to a brilliantly fitted three-piece suit.
I blink.
I suck in a breath.
I know that narrow waist and wide chest.
“Mr. Kavanagh,” I whisper even as my heart breaks under a thousand questions.
The party falls away and a sudden bout of tunnel vision ends with wide hazel eyes. Mr. Kavanagh is here. At the Wilson. These were his plans. His jaw twitches, tense with strain. His lips part and form the sounds that make up my name but I can’t hear him over my pounding pulse. I don’t want to look away, but I have to know who the gold dress next to him belongs to. I glance to his right.
“Oh.” Shit.
Years melt away. Stupid fucking dumb years, and I’m right back where I was outside of Nathan’s office, devastated by the truth.
It’s never me.
I’m not the kind of woman men wear on their arm.
Kate Stapleton is.
So is Ash Crawford.
I’ve never met her, yet I’ve seen her everywhere. In three movies a year, on the cover of all eight magazines I subscribe to, billboards, and on television accepting her second Oscar. She’s everywhere. Including the office. Voted sexiest woman alive three years in a row, she is America’s sweetheart and Jayce Kavanagh’s girlfriend, so says someone in an eager voice behind me.
The arm around her would confirm it. My gaze flicks from the fingers curled into Ash’s trim waist to him. My boss. My boyfriend? Color drains from his face and seems to fuel the heat burning up my chest, covering my neck and cheeks.
For seconds, I stare into his eyes—shocked, and just as regret wiggles its way in, I turn my head to breathe. To collect myself and my thoughts. To still my thundering heart and racing emotions. To school my features and beat back the blush that surprises even me. I’m never embarrassed, but finding out my boyfriend has a real live girlfriend that isn’t me fires me up. I grip the dress hugging all my curves just as he once did.
The ache in my heart is now a lie just as he is.
“Are you alright, Maisie? You’re looking flushed.” Henry studies me, his brow pulled down with concern.
I shake my head and find a smile. “Too much champagne.” I hold up my empty glass as if it will support my fib and then extend my free hand to the girlfriend who destroyed my dreams. Her grip is firm and cool when we connect. I hate her already.
“Ms. Crawford, it’s a pleasure. Great performance, by the way. I feel like I know you. Like we go way back. Way, way back. And Mr. Kavanagh.” I turn to my boss. “Nice to see you outside of the office. In Midtown, not Hamilton, with Ash Crawford, not mmm—ee. Oh. Ooookay. I’ve had too much, I think. Or maybe not enough. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go. Now. I should really go now. Good night, Henry. I’ll call you, Lily.”
With my head held high, I turn and wind through bodies with a singular focus. The door, the lobby, the exit. Breathing. Air—it’s good and I drag it in one breath at a time. Don’t think. Don’t think about Jayce, or Ash Crawford and her sparkling eyes and perfect blond hair, and her petite frame—everything you are not. I’m so, so stupid. But I can’t contemplate the weeks lost in a fantasy that could never be a reality because he lied. He’s a liar. He lies all the lies.
I clutch my chest and stumble into winter chill. Jarred back to life by cold air and the long blare of a horn, I pull my cell from my clutch to confirm a ride. Three texts wait for me.
J: Don’t leave. Where are you?
J: Maisie, please. Let me explain.
J: I’m sorry. Peach, this is not what you think.
“Maisie, stop!”
I close my eyes when Jayce’s words cut into me.
In a split-second decision, I heed his request. Why not finish this now—a clean break? When I wake in the morning, I’ll have a fresh start.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I swallow a lump of emotion and turn to find Jayce jogging toward me. “Peach,” he huffs, winded from the run. I twist from his grip when he reaches for me and let his hand fall back to his side.
“Say what you came here to say, Mr. Kavanagh. It’s been a long day, and I’d like to go home.”
“I had no idea you were coming tonight.”
I roll my eyes. Seriously, this is his important message? Stupid man. “My mom got us tickets for Christmas. Four all together for a series of shows. Not surprising to anyone that the seat next to me is always empty. Is that all you need?”
He catches me as I back away. “No. I didn’t need the explanation. It was rhetorical. I just need a minute to—”
“You need a minute.” A laugh rumbles in my chest, and I rip my arm out of his dirty fucking clutches. “You need some time to come up with an explanation, is that it? Well, fuck you, Mr. Kavanagh. You had weeks, days, hours to come up with four simple words. I have a girlfriend. Easy. Done. Yo
u could have saved me a lot of time and my virginity. I’d have given it to a man worthy of my attention.”
His jaw tightens, the tension I feel mirrored in his stance. “Ash is nothing like that,” he says.
“Nothing?” My tone rises as the wind picks up, reminding me I don’t have a coat.
He pulls at his jacket as if he’s about to offer it and I hold a hand out to stop his gesture. Too little, too late.
“Nothing? Ash Crawford is everything. She is everywhere. How did you imagine I wouldn’t find out? Don’t answer that; it doesn’t matter. What does is that I know now.”
“She’s not my girlfriend; she’s a friend. A longtime friend who wanted me with her on opening night. She asked me months ago. But being here with her doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything to me!” I stop when my voice cracks, and I suck in my bottom lip to get my emotions in check. Filthy secret. “It should have been me. I thought we had something real . . . God, I’m pathetic.”
“No, you’re not, and we do. We have it all. Maisie, listen,” he says when I shake my head in denial.
“I have listened to you. Every word. And they hold the same meaning as everything my mother has said since English wasn’t gibberish. I’m not good enough. I am, however, good enough to be your on-call girl. To fuck in private and watch in the shadows. It’s okay,” I say when he balks. “It’s what I signed up for. It’s what I wanted at first. And then we changed. Why couldn’t you just say so? Why couldn’t you end it before . . . You know what? It doesn’t matter.” I motion between him and me. “This isn’t working anymore. Even if Ash isn’t your girl, it was your deal, your stipulations, and I know them better than you. No one else. You just said it yesterday. The foundation of the contract is sound. It was clear in provision six: neither party may seek out independent contractors, and each must remain exclusive to the other. Your date is a breach of contract, Mr. Kavanagh. You should have told me.”
He’s wrecked, his face crumbling under the pressure as he maneuvers a step closer. “I absolutely should have.”
“But you didn’t,” I whisper my pain into the night as if the darkness will take it from me.
“No . . . Maisie. I fucked up. I don’t know why. I thought about it, but I—”
My heart sinks. “I’m so tired of excuses from the people who I wished cared about me.”
“Mais?” Henry walks up behind Jayce, his eyes flicking to the back of his head. “Is this him?”
I nod once and back away one step and then another. “It’s okay, Henry. I took care of it.”
Jayce groans, “We’re not done.”
I take one last look at Mr. Kavanagh’s dark hair and glowing hazel eyes, the chiseled high cheekbones and full lips, the straight jaw covered with a day’s worth of stubble, and my heart breaks from the truth. “You’re right. We never really got started.”
WALKING ISN’T AS cathartic as I’d hoped. It’s late. I’m tired. My heart is as sore as my feet. And I have nowhere I want to go. My apartment is full of memories. And there’s always the chance Mr. Kavanagh would try to find me. That’d be his first stop. He could also try my phone, so I turned it off. I’ll face the ginormous fuckwit next week at work.
Piper is in Oregon. And out of reach on some post-Christmas trek through the mountains with Mr. SEAL. I call and leave her a message anyway. Sasha has a one-bedroom above her shop and a boyfriend who stays over every night. Not an option. Dee’s baby doesn’t need me sniveling in the living room.
Henry and Lily win by default. They know something went down and it isn’t cool, yet they don’t ask. Lily brings me in for a hug. Henry is on the opposite side and I’m smothered by their concern. It’s nice actually. I only tear up twice—well, three times if you count when they close the door to the guest room once they’ve seen me safely inside.
Heartbroken and stitched together, the pieces pound in my chest.
I don’t want to cry. Really, I should have seen this coming. Under the soft duvet, I spend the next eight hours trying to figure out why I didn’t. After replaying every minute with Mr. Kavanagh, I still don’t understand his relationship with Ash Crawford.
Just friends, he said. But I told him about every one of mine. During quid pro quo, I thought we had an even exchange. Why is she such a big secret? And why does he drop everything for her when she calls? At ten a.m. I decide it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t but it does, and just when I roll over to heave my sorrow into the pillow, Lily knocks.
Her face is a sliver in the opened doorway. “Want some company?”
I nod and she hops in bed. We lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling. She doesn’t say anything, just gives me time and space to come to terms with what I want to divulge. Turns out, it’s everything. “I messed up, Lil.”
The tears start then—big ones. Big, huge, heaving tears that I don’t know what to do with. But she does. It starts with a hug. A giant one. Then a soothing, “Everything will be fine. Trust me.”
For some reason, I do. I need to have someone and it’s nice that it can finally be my sister. She’s not so bad after all. She lets me get it out, all the words, the entire story, everything, until the snot is dry and so are my eyes. “My heart really hurts,” I mumble.
“And I promise you, it will heal.”
“How do you know? You’ve had Henry your whole life.”
“But I haven’t. He broke up with me for months.”
“What?” I sit and push disastrous hair from my face. This is news to me. “When? What happened?”
Her back finds the headboard and she fiddles with the corner of a satin sheet. “Before we got engaged. I couldn’t tell a soul. I was so ashamed. Everyone knows Henry is perfect. He is too, Mais. It’s not a façade. He’s good and kind, beautiful inside and out. You know . . .” She swallows and shakes her head. “It’s hard to compare to perfection. I tried, but it was all appearances. Not the fundamental goodness that he embodies through and through.”
“Yeah, Henry’s like a total super dude.”
That brings about a small grin, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I said something, a backhanded comment that hurt a friend, and he watched it happen. For me, it was my normal, right? Something we had heard Mom say every day. But it cut Janine to the core and I walked away with my back straight and a smile on my face. He couldn’t be with someone like that.”
“Oh, Lil.” I hold my heart. Even though this is past tense and I know how their story ends, it still hurts.
“Exactly.” She reaches for my free hand and holds it. “I wanted him more than anything in life and I told him I’d work on me. That I’d find a way to be the woman he knew I was deep down. I wouldn’t let how I was raised affect who I wanted to be. We separated for months.”
“That’s why he wasn’t on vacation in the Hamptons that year.” He’d missed one family vacation, only one since he and Lily became serious, and we’d all thought he’d had to work at the hospital.
She nods. “A lot of counseling, Mais. A lot. I put in the work. I’m not perfect. Never will be. But Henry appreciates my effort. So I’m here as proof. It’s going to be okay. If you and Jayce are meant to be, this will work itself out, just like Henry and I did. And if he’s not your forever person, then your heart will heal and you’ll find him. Maybe not today, but when the time is right.”
Tears spring to my eyes, a fine mist I can’t see through. “Thanks for sharing.”
“We should do it more often.”
“We definitely should.”
“How about a movie marathon?”
Reliefs floods me. I need a break from emotion. “Only if it’s every Bond movie known to man. I need some Daniel Craig and Pierce Brosnan in my life right now.”
“Come on.” She tugs me up. “I’ll make popcorn for breakfast.”
“Pizza for lunch?”
“Ice cream and Arturo’s.”
“You’re the best.”
Lily squeezes my waist on the way ou
t the door. “I’m going to try every day for you, Mais.”
And I appreciate her effort.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Treat You Better” 3:06
Jayce
I’VE BEEN TO Maisie’s apartment nine times in the last twenty hours. This visit, I knock and knock. Pound, really, with the same pace as my pulse.
A neighbor walks into the hallway, about seventy and balding. Nice comb-over. “She isn’t home. She wasn’t home an hour ago, or the last time. Or the time before that. Can you stop with the banging?”
I nod. “Sure, yeah. Sorry for the commotion,” I say, and he disappears into his flat.
It’s nearing eight p.m. and I sink to the tile, exhausted.
“Mais. Peach,” I begin, dejected. “It’s Jayce. I’m sorry. God.” I scrub my face as if I can make the last day disappear. “I am sorry.” I knock my head on her door and then remember the old guy and stop. “I’m a dick. But I’m a dick who loves you so much. So much, sweetheart. I should have told you. About Ash. Quinn and Carla, and this idiotic deal. Please let me in. Please . . .” Dragging my knees to my chest, I hang my head and open my heart as if she’s listening and I tell her everything. Everything. From before we met to the point where I can’t live without her.
“You deserve someone who’ll treat you better, Mais. You do, but please give me another chance to be the man to put you before everything. The firm. Kavanagh’s. Ash. My family—because you’ll be part of it. I’ll do the quid without your pro quo. I’ll give you everything.”
Everything.
I rarely panic. But my heart squeezes in my chest so hard I hiccup and grip my hair. Every minute spent not knowing where she is, who she’s with, what she’s thinking—is she safe?—is torture. And I deserve worse.
An hour later, I stumble from the front entrance, warmed by her scarf and chilled by her absence. Clouds are low, so low they appear to touch the rooftops. The light misting of snow has turned into a squall.
Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1) Page 23