So here I am, figuring it out on my own.
Iris has mentioned she wants to retire someday, and she doesn’t have any kids of her own. She’s even hinted that she might want me to take over the business, but that sort of freaks me out, so I don’t know. Am I up for the challenge? Would I be able to run this business and not run it into the ground? I know business in general isn’t the best—the internet has taken a chunk of it, and the lease on this building is expensive considering its prime location, which Iris is constantly grumbling about. Plus, owning a business is so much responsibility.
I’m not one for major responsibility. That sort of thing scares me.
It’s past four, which means I have less than an hour to go at Noteworthy, and Cassie is already here. She’s the part time sales associate who closes most weeknights, and I adore her. She’s barely twenty, and such a wide-eyed innocent sometimes. She reminds me of me when I was twenty. When I firmly believed I could do no wrong and everyone I knew liked me.
That was also before I started working with future brides, who will remind you real quick that they don’t have to like you if they don’t want to.
The store phone rings and Cassie answers it, then puts it on mute to tell me, “It’s for you, Caroline.”
“Thanks.” I go to my desk and answer the call to find Tiffany on the other end.
“Carolyn, thank God you’re there.” I don’t bother correcting her on my name. Besides, she sounds completely frazzled. “I’m checking to see if our save the date cards ended up shipping to the store.”
“I had them shipped to your fiancé’s house,” I remind her as I grab my iPad and bring up their order to double check myself. “Yes, it states right here that they’re shipping to Alex Wilder’s address in Carmel.”
“But they aren’t here.” Now she sounds panicked. And maybe a little pissed too. “You promised me they were supposed to arrive today.”
Uh oh. I don’t like her choice of the word promise. I don’t promise anything. I’m not that crazy.
“That’s right, they’re supposed to arrive by the end of today. It’s still early—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“No, not really. It’s almost five, and UPS is done delivering for the day in our area. I already checked.” Tiffany’s stern voice tells me she’s not messing around, and my stomach drops. “It’s imperative those invitations arrive today. We plan on sending them out by the end of the weekend. The labels are already printed and ready to go. The only thing we’re waiting on is the cards.”
Shit.
“Did you check the shipping status? Hold on, let me do that.” I copy the UPS tracking number and open up their site, pasting the number into the required box before hitting send. “I’m sure they’re going to arrive today. I’ve double and triple checked the order for the last few days, keeping track of every step.”
“Maybe you haven’t stayed on top of it enough, Carolyn.” Her snooty tone indicates she doesn’t believe me.
And I swear she gets my name wrong on purpose.
The information starts to load on the website screen and I tap my fingers against the edge of the iPad, nervous anticipation making my stomach twist. This is the one order I can’t screw up, and I’m scared I already did. I know I made sure the cards were sent to the Wilder residence. Why would I have them sent here?
Maybe she’s not looking in the right spot around the house, or maybe they went to his workplace? Though I don’t know how that could happen…
“Well? Where are they?” Tiffany practically screeches after I’m silent for too long.
I scan the information on the website, relief flooding me. “They were sent here. They delivered earlier today.” Again, not sure how that happened, but all that matters is that someone has them, thank God.
“And you didn’t see them when they arrived?”
“I’m not the one who checks the deliveries.” That’s usually up to Iris, or our stock guy Jim.
“Well, someone fell down on the job,” Tiffany says snottily. “Where exactly are they?”
“Most likely in our stockroom.”
“Will you please go check and let me know right away?” Tiffany asks.
“Of course. I’ll go check right now,” I tell her.
“Good. Call me back.”
She ends the call before I can even say anything in reply.
I head for our tiny stockroom, stopping short when I see the stack of boxes awaiting me. It’s a Friday, and I know sometimes on Fridays Iris has Jim do other stuff around the store. So then she sorts through all the boxes on Saturday, when the store is fully staffed and she can spend her morning behind the scenes.
Looks like I’m the one who’s going to sort through all the boxes today. And I’m not dressed for it either, what with me wearing my white eyelet top I got on clearance at the end of last summer and trendy wide-leg jeans Stella gave me because she’s got shorter legs and they looked weird on her.
Not clothes I want to open a bunch of dusty boxes in. Doesn’t matter how long those boxes have been sitting around, they are always, without a doubt, dusty. And dirty.
Ugh.
After opening box after box and digging through their contents, I finally find the save the date cards, and I am so freaking relieved, I give a little cry of joy when I spot them. I open the box with my trusty box cutter and check the cards, making sure the information is correct.
All looks good, which means all is right with the world.
Grabbing the box, I settle it on my hip and exit the stockroom, heading for my desk so I can call Tiffany back and let her know her cards are here. But she’s not as enthused as I thought she might be when I make the call, and when I ask her how she wants to get the cards, she doesn’t hesitate with her request.
“Bring them to Alex’s house,” she says.
“Right now?” I glance at my phone for the time. It’s almost five, meaning I’m almost done for the weekend. I don’t have any Saturday appointments this week, so I’m excited to actually have the day off for once.
“Right now,” Tiffany says firmly. “It’s the least you can do to make up for this major screw up, Carolyn.”
“It’s Caroline,” I correct her, fed up with her yet again calling me by the wrong name.
“I expect you within the hour, Caroline.” Again, she hangs up before I can say another word, and I’m so annoyed I almost want to scream.
Almost.
I don’t scream. Instead, I tell Cassie I’m leaving a little early to deliver something to a client, grab the heavy box of three hundred save the date cards, and then call Stella to ask if I can borrow her car.
Of course Alexander Wilder lives on 17-Mile Drive, though at least his home is closer to the Carmel side, so I don’t have to drive too deep in. But it’s still quite the drive, and since it’s a gorgeous, sunny late Friday afternoon, the tourists are out in force, driving extra slow so they can check out the beautiful views of the ocean and all the gorgeous homes along the way.
I’ve only been on 17-Mile Drive a few times, and I’ve lived in this area my entire life. But why would I want to go on a scenic route that costs money to drive? That’s crazy talk, no matter how famous and beautiful it is. Plus, none of my friends lived up here. This area is way too fancypants for my blood. The wealthiest person I know is Stella, since her family makes a fortune with their café/bakery.
But we live in the tiny apartment above the bakery and Stella loves a good sale like everyone else I know. She’s the least fanciest fancy person I know.
Signing, I restrain the temptation to lay on the horn and instead I hit the brakes, waiting for the car ahead of me to finish taking photos of the sprawling home on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the Pacific. I may have grown up in the Monterey Bay area, but I lived first in Monterey, then in Seaside, where the income levels are way lower and the ocean views are pretty much nonexistent. This type of living was the stuff of dreams for me when I was a kid. The castle on the hill above the sea, t
he handsome rich prince who dwelled inside…
Fantasy, all of it.
Siri tells me I need to turn left in a mile, so I’m actually thankful for the slow tourists ahead of me, their speed helping me not miss my turnoff. I put on my blinker and turn onto the narrow road, my jaw dropping at the opulent houses that surround me. Though I can barely see them, what with the tall gates and fences that protect the homes from curious onlookers. These homes aren’t just for rich people. They belong to the top-level CEOs, billionaires, even old money.
I spot the Wilder address and slowly pull into the driveway, rolling down my window so I can enter the gate code Tiffany texted me right before I left Noteworthy. She also texted me very specific instructions.
Please make sure you leave the box in the alcove to the right of the front door so no one can see the box. Not that we have porch robbers in the neighborhood, but you can’t be too safe! Thank you!
I was surprised by the thank you, but I’ll take what I can get from her.
The driveway is long and curvy, lined by thick redwoods that open up every once in a while to offer a teasing glimpse of the ocean. I keep my window rolled down, the scent of the sea washing over me, mixed with the rich fragrance of the redwoods, and I breathe in deep, relishing the brief moment.
What would it be like, to live like this? To have an endless supply of money, to never have to worry about…anything?
The driveway ends in a circle directly in front of the house, which is freakin’ unbelievable. It’s a split level, all lean angles and clean lines, and has so many freaking windows, it’s almost as if the entire house is made of glass.
I put the car in park and climb out, heading for the trunk to get the box of save the date cards. Before I grab it, I glance down at myself, noting the brown smudges on the front of my white shirt from carrying the box earlier. I try to brush them off, but it’s no use. My shirt is kind of wrinkled too, and my makeup is probably all sweated off from when I was tearing through the boxes in the stockroom. I’m sure I look like a wreck.
Good thing I’m not seeing Alex today.
Tucking my hair behind my right ear, I haul the box into my arms, somehow manage to shut the trunk with my elbow, and start my approach toward the vast front door.
Correction, make that doors, since there are two. They’re tall, at least ten feet, maybe taller, incredibly imposing, and made of a solid wood that’s stained a dark, rich brown. The color reminds me of the color of Alex’s hair.
Lord, woman, you need to stop with the Alex thoughts!
I’m being ridiculous. I barely know him. I talked to him for only a couple of minutes, dealt with him at work, knew him when I was a kid, we shared a somewhat meaningless kiss, yet I’m somehow drawn to him? It makes no sense. I mean, yes, he’s good looking, I understand that reason for being attracted to him. But why this weird fascination with him? I mean, he’s engaged.
We always want what we can’t have.
Isn’t that the truth?
Determination pushing me forward, I climb the four steps that lead to the front doors and spot the tiny alcove Tiffany mentioned in her text. I set the box down carefully, tucking it into the alcove as best as I can.
Rising to my full and not so impressive height, I catch movement in the window closest to me, and like the curious person I’ve always been, I lean forward, trying to see what it was.
Listen, I need to make something clear at this point. There aren’t any coverings on the windows. No blinds, no curtains, nothing. So it shouldn’t be surprising that I saw something—or someone. And that I wanted to examine it further, because hello, I think if you were in the same situation, you would do the same damn thing, am I right?
So yeah. I lean forward, crane my neck to the right, and lo and behold I see Tiffany standing in what looks like a living room, wearing…
A pair of black lacy panties. And that’s it.
I shift away from the window, my heart racing. I wasn’t supposed to see that. I’m being a creeper during an intimate moment, and that’s kind of gross. I take a step back, ready to turn and hightail it out of there, but then I hear high-pitched laughter, accompanied by a man’s voice saying something I can’t quite make out. My curiosity comes back full force, and yep, I’m creepin’ again, hoping for a glimpse of Alex Wilder without his shirt on, maybe?
Please. No judgment.
Unfortunately, Alex has his back to me. And it’s an impressive one, not that I’m surprised, all wide and muscly. Yes, I can see it in all its bare glory, considering he’s wearing a pair of black lounge pants that rest low on his hips and nothing else. Tiffany is facing him, and while I can’t see her entire face, I can see her mouth, and it’s stretched wide with a smile.
I’d smile like that at Alex too if I was alone with him shirtless, the lucky B.
He grabs hold of her waist, and she squeals again. Louder this time. He tosses her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing, which she probably does since she’s so skinny. Her long red hair covers her face and she pummels his back with her fists, but it’s a lighthearted protest. I can tell she’s loving it.
They turn and I duck down, just the very top of my head peering through the window, right at eye level so I can still watch. They don’t even notice me, they’re too into each other. I hold my breath as they complete the turn, and now he’s facing me. My gaze wanders up the half of stomach and chest that’s on display (the other half is covered by Tiffany draped across him) and it’s a nice view. He has a six-pack. Muscles on muscles. And a very nice face—
Wait a minute.
I squint. Blink slowly three times. Shake my head a little.
That’s not Alexander Wilder.
That’s.
That’s…
Another man?
I duck completely down, so fast I fall on my ass on the cold concrete. My shaky fingers are covering my mouth and I sit there for a moment, horrified. Trying to absorb what I just saw.
No. It couldn’t be a different guy. No freaking way.
Without thought I get back on my feet but remain in an uncomfortable crouch, peering over the edge of the window again to try to see them.
But they’re gone.
What the shit?
What the shit!
Tiffany is cheating on her future husband.
Chapter 5
I drive like a bat out of hell all the way back to my apartment, not even caring if Tiffany and the guy she’s with heard me pull out of the driveway. I’m gonna guess they were too wrapped up in each other to notice much, considering they never heard me approach in the first place.
My mind races the entire drive home, filled with scandalous thoughts I don’t know how to deal with. Like:
Tiffany is a cheater.
She’s going to marry Alex in less than two months.
Yet she’s prancing around half naked with another guy.
In Alex’s house.
While demanding I bring the save the date wedding cards over ASAP!
The absolute nerve of this chick is stunning. I mean, seriously.
Luckily I find parking not too terribly far from my place and I hightail it down the sidewalk, bumping into tourists who are wandering along Ocean Avenue at a leisurely pace on a beautiful early spring evening. I envy their carefree lives, because my world has just been rocked.
Rocked.
I enter the apartment not five minutes later to find Stella barefoot in the kitchen, clad in jean shorts and a cropped white T-shirt, pouring tequila in the blender I found at a thrift store for five bucks.
“Oh my God, are you making margaritas?” This is my greeting to her as I shut and then lock the front door.
“It’s Margarita Friday, bitch! I’m bringing it back!” She dumps in more tequila, puts the lid on the jar, and hits a button, the loud whirring of the blender drowning out all other sound.
We had Margarita Fridays last summer, and they were the best thing ever. After the afternoon I just had, I need a serious d
rink. Stat.
I drop my bag on the couch and go to my tiny bedroom, where I strip out of my work clothes and put on a faded black T-shirt and a pair of black sweats I got at Victoria’s Secret like five years ago. The word P I N K is spelled out in silver sequins across my butt. Obnoxious as hell, they’re pants I’d never be caught in public in, but they’re totally comfortable.
“Remember when we used to get all made up and go out on a Friday night?” Stella says to me when I make my way back to the kitchen. She’s already poured a drink for me and even added a straw to the glass. I grab it and start slurping it down, my eager drinking making her eyes widen. “Easy there, partner. There’s more where that came from.”
“I do remember when we used to do that,” I tell her after I swallow the cold, frothy goodness. “We’d hang out at the bars downtown and pray someone would notice us.”
“They would totally notice us. Right?” She sounds like she’s questioning me.
“Sometimes.” I shrug. Take another drink. I can already feel the alcohol coursing through my veins, and I know it’s not going to take much for me to get a little tipsy. I’m a total lightweight.
“We’d also meet up with guys we connected with on dating sites,” Stella reminds me after she’s downed half her drink.
“Yeah, those always went so well.” I roll my eyes and make my way to our tiny pantry, where I know a brand-new bag of tortilla chips is stashed. I rip the bag open and set it on the counter, then grab the salsa from the fridge.
“Fiesta!” Stella exclaims as she takes a sip from her drink, her gaze snagging on mine. I must look crazed because she slowly sets her glass down and takes a step forward, resting her hand on my forearm. “Car. Are you all right?”
I settle my butt on one of our wobbly stools and exhale a shaky breath. “You won’t believe what happened to me.”
Take Me To The Beach Page 94