Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  Potential I’m not going to discuss at the moment. I am a lady who has manners on occasion.

  Now I know who hot suit guy is, and unfortunately, he belongs to someone else. Alexander Wilder. Fiancé of Tiffany Ratcliffe. Not that he seemed that into her. More like he was into his phone, not his fiancée.

  Which sucks, right? Makes me feel sort of bad for Tiffany. I mean, she’s going to marry this guy. I bet he’s selfish in bed…

  Okay, that’s the last thing I need to think about.

  Alex.

  In bed.

  Possibly naked.

  I close my eyes and shake my head, irritated with myself. I’m being ridiculous. Flirting with a guy—who was my almost forgotten first crush—just before eight in the morning for approximately two minutes doesn’t constitute anything. I need to let this go. I need to let him go.

  Alex Wilder is a taken man.

  Pushing him straight out of my brain, I focus on finishing the rest of the paperwork for their invites. We order everything digitally, but we keep hard copies too, since that’s Iris’s rules. Iris is the owner of Noteworthy, and she’s like a second mom to me. She’s also fairly old school, and while she loves modern conveniences like the internet, she is also a big believer in paper copies, considering she basically owns a paper store.

  So I get it. I send off the final order and then print all the forms out, grabbing them from the printer tray and adding them to my newly made Ratcliffe/Wilder folder, whistling low when I read that final total yet again. Tiffany’s eyes had gone wide when I gave her the total earlier, but she handed over a black credit card with Alex’s name on it and smiled.

  “Hope you don’t mind me using his credit card, even though he’s not here,” she said.

  It’s not our normal policy, but I didn’t even bat an eyelash. Just took the card and jammed it into the reader.

  Alex turned into one of those business types who makes a lot of money. I could tell by his suit, the Rolex on his wrist, how he didn’t seem bothered by the price of anything. Most of our clients are wealthy. Carmel-by-the-Sea is an adorable town on the California coast, and the residents in the area are well-to-do. Alex’s address is in Carmel—no surprise—while Tiffany’s address was in West Hollywood—kind of a surprise.

  “I worked as a model for a few years,” she made sure to tell me. “Almost got hired at Sur and would’ve been on the second season of Vanderpump Rules, but I lost the job to that one blonde chick on the show.”

  I absolutely, one-hundred percent did not believe her. I watch Vanderpump Rules. I know the plights of Tom and Tom and Kristen and Katie and Stassi and Jax, and there was no blonde girl who started during the second season, so whatever.

  I also didn’t question if she lives with Alex now. It’s not my business, and besides, I don’t want to know. I’d rather imagine they live apart and perhaps Alex has become so suddenly enamored with me, that he’s willing to leave Tiffany and we can make beautiful, sweet love together for all eternity…

  No. I’m being ridiculous. He’s engaged to be married now. He is off limits.

  Off. Limits.

  Signing, I wrap up the order for the save the date cards, wedding invitations and thank you cards, three hundred each. I put an extra rush on the save the date cards, hit submit, and write Order Pending in red ink across the top of the form before I gather up the paperwork and drop it on Iris’s desk.

  It’ll be the first thing she’ll see when she gets here, and it’ll make her happy. Business hasn’t been the best in the last few years. So many people can order their cards and invites online, and I understand why they do it. It’s convenient, it’s quick and the selection is amazing.

  Do they get our expertise, though? Our guidance? Our prices are just as good as the ones online, plus they get our opinions and assistance, and that, my friends, is valuable. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t seem valuable enough.

  Everyone wants quick and easy nowadays. Instant gratification. Myself included. It’s just the world we live in…

  The bell above the door rings and I glance up to find Iris walking in, a scowl on her face.

  “The door wasn’t locked,” she says in greeting as she approaches my desk.

  “I thought I locked it when my clients left,” I tell her, though it’s a total lie. As usual, I got distracted and forgot to lock the door.

  “Well, you didn’t. That’s dangerous, Caroline. Someone could’ve walked right in,” she chastises as she makes her way past my desk and heads for her tiny office. I know the moment she spots the order form when I hear her gasp of delight. “Oh, what a fantastic way to start the day.”

  “I figured you’d think so,” I tell her, opening up a fresh screen on the computer and entering Alexander Wilder, Carmel CA in the Google search bar.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m too curious to stop. I hit images first so I can stare at him and maybe find some photos where he looks bad to make myself feel better, but of course, he never looks bad.

  More like he always looks too damn good.

  I click out of the images before I drive myself crazy and try to focus on vital information. He’s twenty-eight—I should’ve already figured this out, since Carter is as well. His father is a hotel developer, and he works for the family business, which I never knew, but why would I care about that sort of thing when we were kids?

  He’s also the oldest of three. He was on the football team in high school. He went to Stanford.

  Um, of course he did.

  His youngest brother has autism and he supports Autism Speaks with donations and the occasional volunteer work. He’s known as a white knight within the local community—the oldest son and heir apparent to his family’s fortune, plus a do-gooder—AKA the ultimate catch. His latest cause is spearheading a committee that wants to preserves landmark hotels all over California, restoring them to their previous pristine condition.

  Geez. He’s perfect on paper and in person.

  I despise him.

  Okay, that’s a little harsh. I don’t despise him. But my newfound fascination with Alex Wilder is…annoying. I need to focus on other things. Work things. I check my phone. It’s not even ten o’clock yet, but since I showed up at eight, I get to leave two hours earlier than normal, which is awesome. Maybe I could take a walk on the beach. Go for a run with Stella—her fascination with exercise is mind boggling, but sometimes an inspiration.

  Or maybe I could go home and take a nap.

  Yeah, that’s probably what I’ll end up doing.

  “Caroline! Can you come in here for a moment?” Iris calls from her office.

  It’s go time.

  I arrive back at our apartment a little after three, iced latte from downstairs in hand, to find Stella curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a fleece blanket and watching Netflix on her laptop.

  “To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before again?” I tease as I shut and lock the door. I have no room to talk, since I’ve seen that movie approximately ten billion times since it came out.

  Noah Centineo is hot like fire.

  “Nothing else sounded good,” Stella says, her voice muffled by the blanket that’s way too close to her mouth.

  I set my purse on the narrow kitchen counter and take a sip from my drink. “This isn’t as good as yours,” I tell her. Becky, one of the late afternoon baristas at Sweet Dreams Café, made my latte. And while she’s a nice person and a pretty decent coffee drink maker, she’s not nearly as good as Stella.

  “It’s a two latte day?” Stella asks. She knows I’m addicted to coffee, but I do on occasion like to watch my caffeine intake.

  “Yeah.” I join her on the couch, tugging the end of her blanket so it drapes across my lap. She hits the space bar on her keyboard, stopping Peter Kavinsky mid-sentence. “How was work?” I ask.

  “Same ol’, same ol’,” Stella says, sitting up straighter and suddenly watching me with a particular gleam in her eye. “Except for the dude in the suit.”

  G
reat. I do not want to talk about the dude in the suit. “What dude in the suit?”

  Oh, I am such a liar.

  “You know who I’m talking about.” Stella grabs one of the throw pillows and tosses it at my face. I grab it before it hits me, clutching it to my front.

  “What about him?” I ask warily.

  “After you left, he asked about you,” Stella says with a little smirk.

  Now it’s my turn to sit up straighter. “What do you mean? What did he ask?”

  “He asked me again if your name was Caroline. Since he heard me call you that. He also asked what your last name was.” The smug look on Stella’s pretty face tells me she’s feeling pretty pleased.

  “Please tell me you didn’t give him all my personal deets.” I can imagine her listing my stats, my address, my social security number…

  “Of course I didn’t.” Stella rolls her eyes. “He could be a serial killer for all we know.”

  This is why we’re the best of friends. We think alike.

  “Here’s the deal.” I pause. “I know him.”

  Stella sucks in an audible breath. “What? How?”

  “You won’t believe it. It’s so weird.” I lean in closer. “He was Carter’s best friend in middle school, before he switched schools.”

  “Get out.” Stella shoves my shoulder.

  “I’m serious. I’m thinking he remembered me because you told him my name. Or maybe he recognized me too? I don’t know. I think I’ve changed a lot since I was twelve.” I make a face. God help me, I hope I’ve changed a lot since I was twelve. I was an awkward, messy child with braces and crazy hair.

  “What a coincidence. And you didn’t recognize him?”

  “Not at first,” I say with a shake of my head. “When I knew him, he was tall and gangly with pimples and braces and he wore glasses.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.” Stella makes a face.

  “No, it was just the typical teenage awkward stage, you know? He was actually really sweet.”

  We go quiet for a moment, both of us thinking our thoughts, until I finally have to ask something.

  “So…did he say anything else about me?” I try to make my voice sound casual, but it doesn’t work. I sound like a hyped-up teen who just sucked helium out of a balloon.

  “Not really.” Stella shrugs. “Maybe he’ll come into the café again tomorrow morning.”

  “And I won’t be there because I’m never there before eight,” I tell her.

  “Sometimes you are,” she points out, and I shake my head.

  “Rarely. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” I pluck at the blanket in my lap. Ugh, I hate how defeated I sound.

  Stella frowns. “Why not?”

  Wait. I never even told her how I know who he is. “You won’t believe what happened.”

  “What, what?” She reaches out and grabs hold of my foot, giving it a vigorous shake.

  So I explain to her the appointment. Snotty Tiffany. The fiancé who’s keeping us waiting, only to finally enter the shop and reveal himself as…

  “Turns out he was hot suit guy,” I finish. “Alex. Carter’s old best friend.”

  “Oh no. Are you serious?” Stella asks, her big brown eyes even bigger than normal.

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Yes, Stel. I’m serious.”

  “He’s Tiffany’s fiancé?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit!” Stella punches the top of the couch with enough force that I jump. Jeez, she can be violent sometimes. “I thought he was into you.”

  I can’t help the tiny thrill that courses through me at her words. “He’s definitely not into me.” Nope, he can’t be. “He has a fiancée. He’s getting married.” I add heavy emphasis on that last word.

  “He was flirting with you,” Stella says.

  “No.” I wave a hand, ignoring the hope blooming in my chest. See? I’m not the only one who noticed the flirting. “He was just being friendly. Probably trying to figure out who I was, since we sort of know each other.”

  “No. I know flirting when I see it.” Stella points at me. “And he was flirting. With. You.”

  “There is absolutely no reason for us to talk about this,” I say with a sigh and a pitiful little shake of my head. “He’s a taken man.”

  “But you said his fiancée sucks.”

  “She kind of does. But maybe he sucks now too? A lot can change in…” I calculate the last time I saw him. “Fourteen years. And he was friends with my brother.”

  “Right. Two fourteen-year-old boys hanging out are usually nothing but trouble,” Stella mutters, making me laugh.

  “Seriously. He doesn’t matter.” If I keep saying that, maybe I’ll believe it.

  “If you say so.” Stella scowls. “Maybe he’s a cheater.”

  “Jump to conclusions why don’t you.”

  “You never know.”

  “He doesn’t seem that into her.” When Stella sends me a look, I continue, “His fiancée. He’d rather interact on his phone than listen to her.”

  “What does he do?” When I send her a blank look, she continues. “For work?”

  “Oh. I guess his family owns a bunch of hotels?”

  “Huh.” Stella goes quiet, staring off into space for a few seconds before snapping her fingers. “Wait a minute. His name is Alex? Is his last name Wilder?”

  “Yeah…” How did she know that?”

  “Well, holy shit, Caroline. He’s part of the Wilder Corporation. They own hotels all over the country!” Stella starts bouncing in place. “He comes from big money. Huge.”

  “Yeah, I kind of already figured that out.” Well. Sort of. I knew his father was a hotel developer, I just didn’t realize that they were a corporation. More like I figured his family owned a couple of those rundown places in Monterey that charge an arm and a leg because of their location.

  “No wonder this Tiffany wants to marry him. He’s loaded.” There’s a gleam in Stella’s eye as she leans toward me. “How was the ring?”

  “What ring?”

  “Her engagement ring! Was it massive? I bet it was at least five carats. Maybe bigger?”

  Okay. Here’s what’s weird. “I don’t remember her wearing a ring.”

  “Say what? Come on. You can’t forget that type of thing.”

  “Exactly, and I’m saying I don’t remember her wearing one. At all.” And that’s something I would’ve noticed. Not that I’m hot to get married anytime soon, but I do notice diamonds, especially big ones on a woman’s ring finger. I see a lot of them in my business. Large, small, different colored stones, traditional settings, modern settings, I’ve seen it all.

  And I know I didn’t see a ring on Tiffany’s finger.

  “That’s freaking strange. I have a hard time believing he wouldn’t put a ring on it,” Stella says.

  “More like I have a hard time believing Tiffany wouldn’t demand he put a ring on it,” I add.

  We both laugh at that, and then my mind, like usual, starts to wander. I glance around our tiny apartment. Did I mention that it’s directly above the Sweet Dreams Café and Bakery? And that it always smells like coffee beans and butter up here? I can’t complain, though, because Stella’s parents only make us pay for utilities, and that’s it. I’m saving so much money living in this tiny place. Our bedrooms are basically the size of a walk-in closet, and our bathroom has a narrow shower stall, a pedestal sink and a toilet.

  It’s not much, but I can call it home and it only costs me on average about a hundred dollars a month.

  “I wish we could find decent guys to date,” Stella finally says, sounding sad. “It always seems like they’re taken by women who don’t deserve them.”

  Most of the time she wishes for a boyfriend more than I do, but at this very moment, I totally agree with her. The dating scene isn’t that great right now. I’ve put myself out there on the various apps, and the guys who swipe right on my profile don’t really do it for me. I’ve been on a few recent dates
, but meh. I’d rather be at home on a Friday night sharing a blanket with Stella and watching Kavinsky and Covey fall in love yet again.

  That never gets old.

  “I know. I wish we could too,” I say, offering her a weak smile. “But at least we have each other, right?” I don’t know what I would do without Stella in my life. She’s my best friend. My homie. I count on her for a lot.

  Maybe too much.

  “Yeah, but you’re not my type. I like them big and muscly.” She laughs. “And with a penis.”

  “Yeah, can’t help you there,” I say with a laugh.

  I prefer them to have a penis too.

  Chapter 4

  It’s the end of the work week, and I’m feeling contemplative. Self-defeating thoughts run through my mind and cause me to worry, which is never good. For instance, sometimes I wonder if I’m settling with this job at Noteworthy. I mean, I basically work retail, which in many people’s eyes, kind of sucks. And while I love my job, and I think Iris is the most kickass boss ever, I do look around every once in a while at the end of the day and think, is this it?

  I’m only twenty-five, almost twenty-six, so I firmly believe it’s okay if I don’t know my life’s calling yet, but there are people my age who are out there already conquering the world, starting their own businesses or studying to become doctors and lawyers. Those types of people make me feel woefully inadequate.

  I didn’t even graduate college. Oh, I went to the local community college after I graduated high school, but I had to work fulltime to survive, and I was a waitress back then at a crappy seafood restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey. The tips were great most of the time, but it was hard work dealing with grumpy tourists, my boss was kind of a perv, and the hours were terrible. All late nights and weekends, which didn’t give me a chance to have much of a social life.

  In high school, I was too busy partying and chasing after boys to worry about grades and getting into college, and I ended up screwing myself. I didn’t make good life choices, and that was my own fault. Once all that went down, my mom was like, figure it out on your own, kid, and essentially gave me no advice. She didn’t give me any money either, not that I expected her to. And my dad ditched our family a long time ago, so I have no idea where he’s at. Not that I’d ask for his help anyway.