“I’m not trying to make you feel less than, Caroline. I’m just simplifying the situation as best I can from his perspective. I know and adore you, darling, but Alexander Wilder doesn’t really know you at all. And he comes from a very powerful family in the area. I’m sure he’d dismiss your sordid little tale as jealous gossip and carry on with his wedding as planned.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Would he really do that? Even after everything I told him?
“I know, I agree. But you have to realize that she’ll surely convince him that you’re lying.”
“I’m not, though.”
“We know this,” Iris reassures me. “They don’t.”
I don’t want to be thought of as a liar. What if he tells his friends and colleagues that I lie? Convinces them that I’m some psycho who’s hot for him and made up stories about his fiancée? Then they tell their friends and so on and so forth until Noteworthy’s business is…
Ruined.
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell him,” I say tentatively. “I don’t want him—or Tiffany—spreading rumors about me. Or saying damaging things that could ruin the store’s reputation.”
“He won’t. I don’t believe he’d take it that far. He doesn’t have time for that. Trust me, I know his father, though we haven’t spoken in years. And if he’s anything like his father, he’s not the type to gossip—his father is a very private person. Tiffany, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about. I don’t know her at all—is she even from the area?” After I shake my head, Iris continues, “Well, if she’s smart, she’ll keep her mouth shut since she’s the guilty party.”
My mind is seriously spinning with all of this information that I want nothing to do with. “This entire situation is so…insane,” I say, sounding a little dazed and confused.
Maybe because I feel a little dazed and confused.
“Isn’t it? Oh, I haven’t had this much commotion with a wedding since that one a few years ago, when the father of the bride brought a loaded shotgun to the ceremony and threatened his daughter’s new husband with it.” Iris claps her hands together, the pleasure on her face unmistakable. “I do enjoy a little drama here now and then.”
“This is way too much drama for me,” I mutter.
“Yes, it is.” Iris reaches across the table and clasps my hand with hers. “But I know you can handle it.”
My heart is beating so hard I swear it’s going to pop out of my chest, and my palms are sweaty. But here I am at Wilder Hotel on Pebble Beach, the most exclusive hotel in the area, sitting in the foyer of Alex Wilder’s office and waiting for him to see me.
That he even agreed to an appointment with me this afternoon is still a surprise. I figured he’d have no time to see me. Or, at the very most, I’d meet with him next week. That would’ve been plenty of time for me to figure out how to approach this touchy situation, and what to say.
But nope, when I made the call, his assistant put me on hold, then came back on the line and said he had a half hour slot this afternoon available to meet with him at three o’clock, and that was it for the week. Iris had no problem with me leaving work to meet with him either, damn it. How I wish I’d had a three o’clock appointment too, but alas, my afternoon is completely free.
So here I am, fidgeting in my seat, picking at my pale pink nail polish, a nervous habit I thought I broke myself of years ago.
As I make the pink flakes continuously rain onto my knee, I realize the annoying habit is just as strong as ever.
“Miss Abbott.” I glance up to see his assistant smiling at me from where she sits behind her desk. She’s absolutely stunning, with long, straight black hair that falls far beyond her shoulders, and deep blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. I wonder if he has certain criteria when hiring people who work for him. I bet he does. I bet there’s not one plain person who works at this hotel or its offices either. “Mr. Wilder is ready to see you now.”
I rise to my feet, brushing away the pink flakes of polish from my black pants. I’m also wiping my sweaty palms on my pants too, so it’s like killing two birds with one nervous stone. “Thank you.”
When I don’t move, the assistant tilts her head, her delicate brows wrinkling. “His office is right there.” She indicates the closed door to her right with her hand.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. Exhale loudly. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” She seems ready to say something else, but the phone rings, distracting her.
Taking another deep breath, I approach the door, my fingers clasping around the handle, slipping a little before I can give it a turn. This causes me to fumble with the door, and I practically stumble my way into his office, gripping the edge of the door so I don’t fall on my ass in front of him.
Thank God, I’m not wearing a skirt or a dress.
When I right myself, I see Alex has risen from his chair and is rounding his desk, headed right for me. Next thing I know, he’s standing in front of me, his hand touching mine, concern etched in his face. “Are you all right?”
My cheeks are so hot, they surely must look like they’re on fire. He reaches behind me with his other hand, so close I can feel his body heat, inhale the scent of his cologne as he shuts the office door.
“Sorry. I guess your door handle is giving me a hard time.” I wave a hand, like it’s no big deal, causing his hand to fall away from mine. My cheeks are still warm, and I’m sure I look flustered. I know I certainly feel flustered.
His lips tip up at the corners, a barely-there smile that is still dazzling, damn him. Why does he have to be so extraordinarily good looking? It’s the most annoying thing ever. He’s not wearing a suit today, though I see the jacket hanging on a nearby coatrack. His trousers are navy blue. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick tanned forearms. A silver tie hangs loose around his neck. His dark hair is a little mussed.
Looks like he might be having a rough day.
I’m afraid I’m about to make it even rougher.
Chapter 8
Alex
There’s something about Caroline Abbott that always appealed to me, even when I was a kid. Especially when I was a kid. In middle school, I was painfully shy. Insecure about how I looked, insecure around girls. I didn’t know how to talk to them, even though I have a sister—and my little sister was more popular than I was at that time.
Caroline was always nice to me. I thought she was funny. And sweet. Carter gave her endless shit, but I always hung back, didn’t want her to think I was giving her shit too. After a while, I developed a little crush on her. Even though she was in the sixth grade and I was in the eighth, I was drawn to her. To the point that one summer night while hiding out together in a neighborhood game of hide and seek, the darkness made me bold and I kissed her.
She kissed me back. We kept kissing each other until someone banged on the side of the shed. The noise startled us, we sprang apart from each other and…that was it.
We never kissed again. Hell, we never saw each other again. My grandfather told my parents they were finished playing at being regular people and living in a normal neighborhood. He wanted them closer. He wanted our family to move to Carmel, even though we weren’t that far, and he wanted us kids in the best schools in the area.
So we moved. I never saw the Abbotts again.
Until now.
I thought of her off and on throughout the years. Where was she? Did she grow up to be a beautiful woman? Did she even still live in the same area? Does she still remember our kiss with fondness, or is it a bad memory she’d rather forget?
I could ask her, but now is not the time. Currently she’s standing before me with bright red cheeks and a vaguely frazzled air about her, her shirt wrinkled, and there are odd flakes of pink dusting her black pants. She’s reminding me of how she was all those years ago. A little bit of a mess—a pretty one.
If Carter ever knew I liked her when we were kids, he would’ve made fun of me for days. We
eks. Probably months, if not years.
But she was cute back then. And funny. She had a way of talking that I found interesting, and I liked the same TV shows she watched. Sometimes we’d all sit together in their living room and watch TV, and I liked those moments.
They felt so normal.
She’d grown up to be a beautiful woman, there’s no denying that. Sleek brown hair that’s parted in the middle and stops just above her shoulders. Dark brown eyes that flash with curiosity as her gaze wanders about my office. She has sharp cheekbones and a sharp nose, lush lips and a pointy little chin. Smooth skin and a lean body.
She reminds me of a cat, if a cat came in human form.
“I’m sorry to bother you at the last minute like this,” she says, her gaze looking everywhere but never meeting mine.
She seems terribly nervous. Do I make her nervous? I tend to do that to people, but usually only when I’m trying to close a business deal and I’m playing hardball.
Or is she nervous because of our shared past? Should I bring it up? Should I bring up the kiss? If I do, and she doesn’t remember it, then I look like a freak fixated on a moment that happened over ten years ago. Closer to fourteen years ago. And while she was my first kiss, and I have a feeling I was hers, it’s not normal to be hung up on someone you kissed when you were fourteen.
Especially when I’m engaged to be married to someone else.
I realize she said something and I never answered her. Jesus.
“It’s not a problem. Would you care to sit down?” I have exactly thirty minutes to speak with her, which is a damn shame. I wouldn’t mind catching up.
“Sure.” She settles into the chair opposite my desk while I sit, leaning back to take her in. She’s fidgety. Still not really looking at me.
“What exactly brings you here to my office, Miss…” My voice drifts because it feels strange to call her Miss Abbott. I still think of her as Caroline, or Carrie. That’s what her mother called her.
“Abbott,” Caroline finishes for me. “Caroline Abbott. You do remember I’m from Noteworthy, right?”
“Of course.” I scowl at her, annoyed that she’d think I actually forgot who she was. “I know who you are, Caroline. I was going to call you Miss Abbott, but that felt strange, what with me knowing you when you were twelve and your hair was always in braids.”
Now it’s her turn to scowl at me. “Braids? That’s what you remember about me?”
“I remember lots of things about you,” I tell her, and from the look on her face, I just shocked her silent. Good. I need to cut to the chase, not dwell in the past. “Is there a problem with our invitation order? The payment?” We all know the only part I played in the order is that my credit card paid for everything.
Her irritation is long gone. She is all business. “No, there was no problem. Well.” She bites her lower lip, and while I find the move contrived from Tiffany, when Caroline does it, I find it…
Intriguing. I remember what that mouth tasted like. Sunshine and strawberries. She used a strawberry lip balm that was so fragrant, I always knew when she slicked it on her lips. I’ve had a fondness for strawberry scented anything ever since.
“Well?” I prompt when she remains silent.
She sighs and shakes her head, her hair swinging gently, sleek and shiny. “This is so hard for me to discuss, I’m sorry. Let me start from the beginning. Your fiancée called me Friday afternoon saying she hadn’t received the save the date cards.”
“Right. And they were supposed to be delivered on Friday afternoon.” Irritation flashes through me at the idea of that not happening. I paid a fortune in shipping fees to ensure we’d get those stupid cards by the end of the week. She was so damn insistent we get them by Friday, yet she didn’t bother addressing and stamping any of those cards over the weekend. The delivery fee I paid turned out to be a waste of money.
“They were delivered Friday afternoon, they were just somehow delivered to the store and not your house. So your fiancée requested that I bring them to your home.” She takes another shaky breath.
“What happened? Were they the wrong cards after all? I know Tiffany didn’t send them out yet. She told me,” I say.
“You’ve seen Tiffany?” She looks surprised.
“Of course I have,” I snap, vaguely annoyed. Why wouldn’t I see my fiancée? She lives at my house, for Christ’s sake.
“I just figured you were out of town this weekend…”
How would she know that? “I was. I was in New York until Sunday morning.”
“Oh.”
I lean forward in my chair, resting my arms on my desk, impatience making me fidget. An old habit my father drove out of me when I was younger. “Will you get to the point, please? All this hemming and hawing is setting me on edge.”
She jumps a little in her seat, and I immediately feel like an asshole. “I’m sorry. Like I said, this is extremely difficult for me to say. Okay.” She takes a deep breath, pursing her lips to exhale, and I can’t help but study those lips. They’re not over glossed, and I like that. I like it a lot. “When I went to your house to deliver the cards, I—saw something.”
She’s quiet, her head bent. I notice that she’s absently picking at her nail polish, and it’s pink.
“What exactly did you see?” I ask.
“Tiffany.” She hesitates, her gaze lifting to mine. “Half naked.” Another hesitation. “With another man. Who was also half naked.”
I sit there in stunned silence, blinking at her, trying to comprehend what she just told me. “You saw my fiancée with another man?”
Caroline nods, her expression pained, her cheeks still pink. This is incredibly embarrassing for her, I assume.
It’s also rather embarrassing for me.
“On Friday afternoon?”
She nods again.
I was gone. In New York. Working my ass off while Tiffany was being unfaithful.
And here I was beating myself up over my interest in Caroline. Seeing her stirred up old memories, that was all. I certainly didn’t act on those past feelings. Why would I? What happened between us occurred when we were children.
Yet my fiancée is entertaining another man while half naked in my house.
Anger surges, but I press my lips together, mentally tamping it down. I open the top desk drawer and pull out the recorder I still use on occasion when I have an idea that I don’t want to forget, or when I need to dictate a letter for my assistant Kelsey to draw up and I want to get the wording just right.
Caroline’s eyes go wide when she spots the recorder. “What’s that?”
“Are you willing to retell every single sordid detail of what you saw last Friday afternoon?” When she nods slowly, I add, “May I record you while you tell it?”
The wary expression on her face doesn’t surprise me. “Who are you going to replay this tape for?”
“It’ll be for my own personal use,” I reassure her.
“Tiffany won’t hear it?”
“I don’t want Tiffany to know you’re involved.” I’ll keep her out of it if I can, but no guarantees.
We’re both silent for a moment, and all I can hear is my racing heart. No one ever likes to learn they’ve been lied to and cheated on, but for some particular reason, I have to admit that when it comes to Tiffany…
I’m not surprised.
How sad is that?
“All right,” Caroline finally agrees with a little nod. “You can record me.”
“Perfect.” I hit the proper button and set the recorder in the middle of the desk. “If you could start from the beginning…”
Chapter 9
Caroline
“…and that’s when I ran to my car and left,” I finish, reaching for the bottle of water Alex brought to me about halfway through my story. He’d canceled the rest of his appointments for the day, sent his assistant Kelsey home early, locked his office door and then watched me with the keen intent of a hawk studying its prey while Friday aft
ernoon’s events at his house poured out of me.
I drain the rest of the water and he turns off the recorder, his expression void of any emotion. How he can hold it together while I mentioned all of those embarrassing details about the woman he loves, I’m not sure, but he does. He sat behind his desk as still as a statue while I talked about Tiffany in her black lacy panties and nothing else, and the man who hauled her over his shoulder, making her squeal.
There’s no way I would’ve ever said this to Alex, but she looked like she was having…fun. Not that it’s right for her to betray him like this, but if it’s so easy for her to be with someone else and they’re not even married yet, why in the world are they engaged? Do they even love each other? Like really?
Doubtful.
Alex exhales slowly. Loudly. I place the lid back on my now empty water bottle and clutch it in my hands, giving it a squeeze so it makes that weird crackly sound. It’s so loud in the otherwise still of the room. I don’t know what to do or what to say. This moment is about as awkward as it gets, and we had our share of middle school awkward moments, trust me.
“Thank you for repeating your story,” he finally says, his voice low, his expression shuttered. He is as closed off as a person can get. “I know that was difficult.”
“I’m sure it was even more difficult for you to hear,” I say. I need a reaction, just to see that he’s human. But he offers up nothing.
He pauses before admitting, “It was.”
“What are you going to do next?” The moment the question is out, I regret it. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. We don’t really even know each other, so please, forget I asked.”
“No, it’s okay. We share a past.” He smiles at me, but it feels fake. Like a quick stretch of his lip muscles and that’s it. “You’re allowed to ask that question.”
“All because of a childhood friendship?” I’m trying to lighten the moment, and I swear his smile grows. To the point that it appears a little more real.
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