She sits across next to me on the other equally wobbly stool. “Tell me everything.”
I do, not leaving one detail out. I mention the drive, the gorgeous house, the mystery guy with Tiffany who has nice abs, and that she’s with this guy in her fiancé’s house and whoops, he’s not her fiancé.
“So she’s cheating on him,” she says when I finish.
I pour the remaining contents from the blender jar into my nearly empty glass. “Yes.”
“And you know for a fact the guy she was with wasn’t Alex Wilder.”
“I saw his face,” I tell her. “It wasn’t him. I’d remember that face.”
“I would too,” Stella says with a nod. “It was a good face.”
“The mystery guy has a good face too, don’t get me wrong. He’s very attractive. But he’s not Alex.”
“And you’re sure about that.”
“Stella. Come on. Are you not believing me?” I’m a little incredulous. She believes everything I say because hello, I’m not a liar. And neither is she. We’re best friends.
We trust each other.
She holds her hands up in the air like I’m going to arrest her. “Don’t get mad. I just want to make sure that the man you saw really wasn’t her fiancé, you know? Because what you’re implying is a major accusation.”
“Trust me, I know.” I sound miserable because I feel miserable about this entire situation. She’s cheating on Alex Wilder. What did he do to deserve this? He seems like a nice guy. Back in the day, I thought he was a nice guy.
Nice guys don’t deserve to get cheated on.
“You’re going to have to tell him, you know,” Stella says, pushing me out of my brain fog.
“Tell who?”
“Alex Wilder. He has every right to know what his fiancée is doing.”
I grab my glass and down the contents. Like I literally drink every last drop of cold, slushy margarita before I slam the glass back onto the counter with a loud clang. “I can’t do that.”
“You have to, Caroline! He deserves to know. He’s going to marry that cheating bitch in three months!”
“Less than three months,” I point out.
She shakes her head. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she’s cheating on him, and you saw it with your own eyes, and you have to tell him.”
“God, I wish I’d never peeked inside the window,” I moan, staring at my empty glass with longing. “I want more margaritas, please.”
“Eat some chips first.” She shoves the bag in my direction. “And don’t get drunk over this. It’s not worth it.”
“It’s so worth it.” I grab some chips and start munching. “You’re not the one who saw her prancing around with some strange dude only wearing panties.”
“Wait a minute.” Stella frowns. “The guy was wearing panties?”
I start giggling. “No, no, no. Tiffany was wearing the panties. The guy was wearing black pants. No shirt.”
“And she wasn’t wearing a shirt either.”
“Right. I saw her boobs. They were really perky. Not too big, not too small. They’re just right.” I glance down at my chest, which isn’t the perkiest, but only because I’m not blessed with a big chest. “She had really big nipples, though.”
Stella giggles, then I’m giggling again, and it eventually turns into uncontrollable laughter for at least five minutes. Until finally Stella sobers up first and she’s watching me with concern in her eyes.
“You must tell him, Caroline. It’s the right thing to do. Plus, you know him. You have history. He was Carter’s friend. He deserves to know.”
“Does he really?” I drop my arms at my sides. “I don’t really want to be the one to tell him. The conversation will be super awkward.”
“You know what’s super awkward? Knowing those two are getting married and she’s totally cheating on him. Now that is what I call awkward.” Stella slaps the edge of the counter, making me jump. “You have to be upfront with him. I know it won’t be an easy conversation, but he needs to know the truth.”
“There is such a thing as minding your own business, you know,” I remind her. “As in, I mind my own business, and pretend I never saw anything.”
“True, but do you want that guilt hanging above your head for the rest of your days? Knowing what you know, yet you didn’t stop their wedding, and now he’s married to a cheater?”
Her explanation does make sense, but… “He flirted with me.”
“So what?” Stella grabs a chip from the bag, piles it with salsa, and shoves it into her mouth.
“I don’t know, it’s kind of weird that he did that, don’t you think? He flirted with me about my cutting in line. He wanted a Fast Pass. Remember?” He was so freaking attractive in that suit, the smile, his voice. Everything about him screamed sexy hot guy.
Too bad it didn’t scream sexy hot taken guy. Then I would’ve left him alone.
“It was harmless flirting.” Stella waves a hand, dismissing my words. “Seriously, that was nothing.”
“He might be a cheater too.” I don’t even like thinking of Tiffany as a cheater, though I saw it with my own two eyes.
“A cheater would’ve not just flirted with you, he would’ve tried to get your number and ask you out. He didn’t do any of that. Just made flirtatious conversation with you, asked about you after you were gone, and that was that. End of story,” Stella says, sounding perfectly logical.
But I hate the part that he asked about me. That shows interest, doesn’t it? Though he was trying to figure out who I was, since he recognized me.
So yeah. That doesn’t matter. It was harmless flirting . He has a fiancée.
A fiancée who is cheating on him…
“We need more margaritas,” I tell Stella before grabbing the bottle of tequila. “Like now.”
Chapter 6
Alex
“Hello. Did you have a good weekend?” I pull Tiffany in for a quick embrace before I press a kiss to her cheek, and she quickly steps away from me, a faint smile curling her bright, pink-glossed lips.
“It was fine, though I missed you so much.” She settles into the chair across from me and cracks open the menu.
Her words don’t ring true. It’s the addition of so much that sounds false.
I choose to ignore it.
“You know I wanted to be here.” Work kept me in New York longer than expected. I’d originally planned on returning home Friday night, but an unexpected all-day meeting was called for Saturday, and by the time we finished, I was exhausted.
So I flew home first thing Sunday morning and now I’m back in California, tired and running on only a few hours’ sleep, meeting my fiancée for brunch at my family’s hotel near Pebble Beach.
This was what she wanted. To make an appearance, to ensure everyone sees us together. I can’t blame her. She’s staked her claim, and she wants everyone to know she’s the fiancée of Alex Wilder.
“I know, Alex. And you were missed.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, her gaze too focused on the menu before her. I take the moment to study her, the long, wavy red hair, the flawless skin, the hint of cleavage peeking from the deep V of her dress. It’s a tantalizing view, yet I feel…
Nothing.
When was the last time we had sex?
I can’t remember.
“How was New York?” she asks, knocking me from my thoughts.
“Boring.” She doesn’t want to hear about the endless meetings, the discussions on where we’re taking the Wilder Hotel Corporation next.
Well. There is one tiny bit of information she’ll be interested in hearing.
“I’m going to Paris,” I tell her.
She lifts her head, her eyes widening the slightest bit. “When?”
“In a few weeks. We’re hoping to acquire a property there.”
“A few weeks? But we still have so much to plan for the wedding…” Her voice drifts, her expression full of concern.
“You hired a wedding planner, correct?” At her nod, I continue. “Let her plan everything, and she can consult with you when needed.”
Tiffany sighs, irritation flickering in her golden-brown eyes. We always tend to argue over the wedding plans. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It should be. We’re paying her enough money to put this together.” We’re paying all of them enough money. I can’t fucking believe how much a wedding costs, not that I should be surprised. I see the invoices come across my desk when we host charity galas at the hotel. The prices we’re charged are astronomical. I’d secretly hoped with setting the wedding date so last-minute, she might want to elope, or at the very least have a small wedding, but that didn’t happen.
Tiffany deftly changes the subject. “When you go to Paris, will you be staying at the property in question?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s closed. Actually, it’s completely rundown. Hasn’t been in use for years, so if we do acquire it, we’d have to completely renovate the building.”
“That sounds exciting,” she says carefully.
“It is.” It’s the most excited I’ve felt about a project in a long time. “You should come with me.”
Her eyes flash with surprise. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting that. “To Paris?”
I nod, knowing my offer will please her.
Lately it feels as if nothing pleases her. From the start of our relationship I’d warned her that my job, my duties to the family business, take up the majority of my time. She’d agreed not to be too demanding, reassured me she’d be perfectly happy with whatever time I could give her, but lately, it doesn’t seem like that it’s enough.
Nothing is enough for Tiffany. Worse, my parents, specifically my mother, warned me about her,.
“I don’t think she cares about you in the way you want her to,” she’d said, a worried expression on her face, her fingers twisted in that long pearl necklace she loves to wear.
I’d given my mother a kiss on the cheek. “We have an understanding,” I’d told her, which only seemed to make her even more worried.
“I would love to go with you.” Tiffany is beaming. “I’ve never been to Paris before. I hear the shopping there is fabulous.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“The prices are less there for all the designer pieces. Chanel, Vuitton, Dior.” She presses her hands together in front of her mouth, almost as if she were praying. “Maybe we can finally find a ring for me.”
I wince. I’m a terrible fiancé who hasn’t given her an engagement ring yet, though my excuse is that the engagement only just happened—over a month ago, but still. My mother claims to have plenty of rings for me to choose from, though we haven’t made the time to view them yet. That was the route I wanted to take. Traditional, keep it in the family, a ring passed down from generation to generation.
But Tiffany has other ideas. She wants something extravagant and modern, sparkly and large.
Very large. And brand new. No “used” diamonds for her.
“Perhaps.” I resume reading the menu, though I already know what I want—the brunch buffet. We offer it every Sunday, and the food rivals any fine restaurant in the area. I’d even say it rivals any restaurant in San Francisco as well.
“Alex.” I glance up at her surprisingly stern tone to find she’s frowning at me, her pink lips pursed in a glossy pout. I stiffen, preparing myself for what she’s about to say next. “I feel foolish telling everyone we’re engaged, planning our wedding, yet I have no actual proof of the engagement.”
“You live in my house,” I point out. “How much more proof do you want?”
“You know what I mean.” She glances around before lowering her voice. “I want a ring on my finger as a sign of your commitment. It’s been over a month since you asked me to marry you. How much longer am I going to have to wait?”
We’ve been over this multiple times. Her impatience is annoying, though I know I should be more understanding. “I’ll get together with my mother later this week, and I’ll find a ring for you.”
The annoyance on her face is undeniable. “You know how I feel about taking one of your mother’s rings.”
“It’s not my mother’s ring. It’s a family ring. An heirloom, one that’s been in our family for generations,” I gently remind her.
She shakes her head, her gaze growing distant. “I just don’t know why you can’t purchase me my own ring.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t see a family ring as having more meaning,” I return, irritated. “Enough of this. I don’t want to talk about the ring anymore.”
“Of course you don’t. It doesn’t matter to you.” She snaps her menu shut and slaps it on the table. “I’m tired of you putting it off.”
“And I’m tired of you nagging me about it.” Perhaps my mother is right. We might not be a good match after all.
We remain quiet, me checking my phone while Tiffany rifles through the Fendi bag I purchased for her the last time I went to New York—my assistant picked it out for her—pulling out the shiny pink lip gloss and mirror so she can apply it right at the table.
It appears I’ll have to be the one to break the ice first.
“You sent out the save the date cards, right? That’s definitely a firm sign of my commitment.” I thought those cards were a stupid waste of time and money, but Tiffany definitely did not. So rather than argue with her and cause yet another problem, I went along with the decision.
“I haven’t sent them out yet.” She nibbles on her freshly glossed lower lip, a move I used to find sexy. Now, it just seems…
Contrived?
“Why not?” I ask. “I thought that was your plan for this weekend, getting them ready to mail.”
“I became occupied with other…things. There is truly so much involved when planning a wedding, Alex. I don’t think you can comprehend exactly how much I’m dealing with at the moment.”
“I’m sure it’s a lot.” I reach across the table to take her hand, but before I can grab it, she settles them both in her lap.
“Though thank goodness we have the location already.” She glances around the restaurant, taking it all in. We’re getting married outdoors on the hotel grounds and holding our reception in one of the ballrooms on site. “That’s such a huge relief.”
“You should send out those save the date cards before it gets too late. We’re running out of time,” I remind Tiffany before smiling at the server as she makes her approach. “Hello, Nina.”
“Mr. Wilder. So good to see you again. Are you and Ms. Ratcliffe ready to order?” Nina asks, smiling at the both of us.
Tiffany doesn’t even bother to say hello.
“We’ll both take the buffet,” I tell Nina, not bothering to check if that’s what Tiffany actually wants. Not that she’ll protest.
She goes along with everything I want. Just as I do for her.
Mostly.
Chapter 7
Caroline
First thing Monday morning and I’m at Noteworthy twenty minutes early, knowing full well Iris will already be there. The situation with Tiffany and Alex has been weighing on my mind all freaking weekend, to the point that I feel like I’m about to burst from the stress of it all.
I need Iris’s opinion. She’ll know what to do.
“Caroline,” she greets me when I find her in her office, bent over her datebook. She frowns when I assume she sees the stressed out expression on my face, and closes the datebook, setting her silver pen beside it on the desk. “You’re here early. Are you all right, dear?”
“No.” I enter her office and sit in the seat opposite her desk. “No, I’m not all right. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
I proceed to tell her everything I saw late Friday afternoon at the Wilder house. Iris’s face grows more and more horrified the more details I add, especially when I mention that I saw Tiffany clad in a pair of panties and nothing else.
“Are you sure it wasn’t
her fiancé with her?” Iris asks when I finish.
She sounds just like Stella. “It wasn’t him,” I say firmly. “I know it wasn’t. It was another man.”
“Oh my.” She shakes her head and sighs. “This is quite the predicament.”
“What should I do? Should I tell him? Should I go to her first and tell her I know? Warn her that if she doesn’t tell him first, I will?”
“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Iris asks gently.
Again, Stella said the same thing. Told me I watch too much reality TV and no way in hell would Tiffany appreciate me threatening her like that. I had to run it by Iris, though, just in case she thought it was a good idea.
Clearly, it’s not.
“If you were in this situation, what would you do?” I ask.
Iris grabs her silver pen, tapping it against the edge of her desk as she contemplates my question. “I think I would tell him,” she finally says. “It would be a terrible conversation to have, and he most likely wouldn’t believe you and possibly even consider you’re behaving like a jealous shrew, but I would definitely tell him. Just so you’re able to get rid of that guilty feeling I’m sure you’re carrying around.”
“Wait a minute, you believe he’d consider me a jealous shrew?” I’m a bit taken aback at that statement. “Why would he think that?”
“Oh, absolutely he might think so. If he’s madly in love with her and eager to make this woman his wife, do you really think he’s going to believe the girl who ordered his invitations when she comes to him and says his future wife is cheating on him?”
“Wow, you make me sound so…menial.” I’m a little hurt over it too, I can’t lie. “I do know him.”
Iris’s brows rise. “You do? How?”
“He was my older brother’s best friend when they were in middle school,” I explain. “He recognized me first.”
“That was so long ago, though, wasn’t it? Too many years have passed. He doesn’t really know you,” Iris says.
“I guess,” I say with a shrug.
Take Me To The Beach Page 95