by Monroe, Lila
Today, I catch the eye of a hot guy on the train who has ‘fun and casual’ written all over him. Tattoos, muscles, workout gear… And a massive green smoothie in his hand. I flash a smile, and he smiles back, edging closer as people get on and off the train, so that by the time we’re another two stops along the ride, he’s somehow standing right next to me.
“’Sup,” he gives me a bro-ish nod, slurping on his green sludgy drink. “You like to work out?”
It takes me a minute he’s nodding to my tote bag – a freebie I got from a local gym way back when. “Um, sometimes,” I reply, which isn’t exactly a lie. I mean, sex counts as a workout. Especially if you’re doing it right.
“Cool,” the guy nods, smiling. “Me too.”
“Great.”
We fall silent. OK, so he’s definitely not soulmate material. But then again, those biceps…
“So,” I start. “Where are you heading?”
But before he can reply, the train jolts – sending the guy stumbling forwards, his smoothie spilling all down my front.
“Aww, man,” the guys whines, looking annoyed. “That was ten bucks! Extra chia!”
“I’m, umm, sorry for your loss,” I manage, as green sludge drips down my chest, and pools on the subway car floor. We reach the next stop, and get off together. “I should probably get cleaned up,” I say, but instead of offering to help me out, the guy just nods.
“Yeah, you really smell.” He disappears into the crowd, leaving me stinking like a sewer.
I sigh. That’s what I get for shallow lusting! I grab some tissues from my purse and try to mop myself down, but that only rubs the stench deeper. I love this shirt, but something tells me, I’m better off firing it into the sun than trying to get it clean again. I’m just about to admit defeat, and detour to the nearest GAP, when I hear my name being called behind me on the subway platform.
“Katie?”
I turn – and promptly take back everything I just said. Can I fire myself into the sun right now? Because this cannot be happening.
“It is you!” The guy in front of me breaks out into a massive smile. “Holy shit, it’s been forever. What, four years?”
“Five,” I reply, numbly, staring up into the sparkling blue eyes of Mr. Wrong himself. Him. The original ghost. The man who broke my heart so thoroughly, I had to launch a career as a self-help guru just to make sense of it all.
Wes Baxter.
Dammit, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. Because believe me, I’ve thought about running into him again. Except in those fantasies, I’m always gorgeous and polished, with a fresh blow-out, and a hot guy on my arm. I’m breezy, and casual, and act like I never once ate my body weight in ice-cream while sobbing over the heart he broke.
Some dream.
Because instead of that fabulous fantasy, I’m standing on a sweltering subway platform, which my bangs sticking to my forehead, looking like a small child just vomited all over me.
Wes’s eyes drift lower, to the green disaster all over my chest. “Are you OK?” he asks.
“Fine!” I blurt. “Just… extra chia seeds.”
“Oh. OK.” Wes pauses, and I can see the initial thrill of running into a familiar face blend into the memory of how exactly we left things.
Or rather, he left – the city – and I eventually found out. From his roommate. After leaving messages for a week, wondering where my boyfriend was.
Clear across the country, that’s where.
I gulp, my old humiliation suddenly roaring to life. Hello, rejection, it’s been a while. Thanks for coming, please never show your face again.
I can’t do this. I know I should be able to put on a happy face for all of five minutes, and pretend like I don’t still care about our history – because I definitely, absolutely, positively don’t – but getting ambushed like this has left me too flustered to turn in that kind of Oscar-worthy performance. My ‘fight or flight’ instinct is screaming at me right now, and flight is winning. Big time.
“I have to go!” I say quickly, backing away. “But, umm, take care!”
Take care?
I turn, disorientated– and almost walk straight off the platform. Wes grabs my arm just in time and yanks me back. “Careful,” he says, looking at me like I’m some kind of freak.
Which, right now, I am.
“Thanks!” I manage to yelp, before tearing free and racing for the exit. I don’t slow down, I don’t even pause for breath, until I’m back at street-level and three blocks away from my humiliation.
“It was terrible!” I wail to my friend Poppy, when we meet outside the Griffin Hotel. “Think of the most embarrassing, toe-curling, skin-peeling awful encounter you can think of, then multiply it by a factor of a thousand.”
“So, not great then,” she deadpans.
I cringe. “Look at me!” I gesture to the mess. She winces. “Is this how you want to run into the ex who broke your heart into a million pieces?”
“It was really him?” she shakes her head. “I can’t believe it. I thought he moved to Los Angeles.”
“It’s the West Coast, not Antarctica,” I sigh. “I knew I’d see him again someday, I just didn’t expect it to be like… this.”
“He probably didn’t notice,” Poppy says, comforting.
I snort. “They can smell me coming six blocks away.”
She laughs. “I think I have some spare clothes in the Presidential suite,” she says, leading me inside the hotel.
“I’m not going to ask why,” I shoot her a smirk. Poppy grins back. She’s been dating the owner of the hotel for a year now, and is prone to very racy PDAs, but I’m not about to give her a hard time about their sexcapades when she’s saving my ass from green goop. “Just point me to the running water and laundry supply.”
I follow her through the lobby, already dreaming of a hot shower, but she suddenly stops dead. “Oh my god,” Poppy whisper-squeals. “Is that Selena Banks?”
I turn to look at the gorgeous woman sitting at a table near the bar. Even incognito in jeans and Ray-Ban shades, there’s no missing her. “Now, why couldn’t I have run into Wes looking like that?” I ask, taking in the glossy dark hair and luminous skin.
Poppy grins. “Because you’re not a mega movie star, who probably spends five hours a day making her face look that perfect.”
“What’s five hours between friends? So, I’ll miss some sleep,” I quip, still staring. Me, and half the hotel lobby, too. Now I see why she’s always on the cover of some magazine, or being voted ‘Most Perfect Being to Ever Grace the Earth’: the woman is stunning, and exudes a kind of charisma that makes it hard to look away, even when all she’s doing is sipping on an iced tea, chatting to some guy.
“I love her,” Poppy sighs. “She was amazing in Vampire Quest, and she and Ryder are the hottest couple… Is that him?” she asks, squinting for a better view. The guy she’s with leans back, gesturing for a waiter, and my heart plummets to the sub-basement level.
Because seriously? Like I haven’t suffered enough today.
“That’s not Ryder,” I gulp, hit with resignation and dread all at once. “It’s him.”
“Who?” Poppy frowns.
“HIM!” I hiss again, ducking behind a potted plant. “Wes!”
“Your Wes?” Poppy gasps. “The ghost of ex-boyfriends past Wes? Oh my god, does he know Selena? Are they dating?”
“Don’t stare!” I try to yank her back, but it’s too late. Wes looks over, and sees her gawping. And then notices me standing there, too.
He raises his hand in a wave.
Mothertrucker.
“What should we do?” Poppy whispers, frozen beside me. Then Selena Banks – Selena Banks! – turns and follows his eye-line. She murmurs something to him, then smiles at us, beckoning.
“She’s inviting us over!” Poppy squeals.
“Don’t you dare go,” I try to stop her, but Poppy is like a deer in the headlights, powerless to resist the Hollywood cha
rm. She drifts towards their table like a woman possessed.
“Poppy!” I hiss. “Come back!”
“I can’t!” she says helplessly. “Her pores are so clear!”
I have no choice but to follow: still sweaty, still drenched in green smoothie, only now the mess on my shirt is congealed and drying, and the ‘mild whiff’ is a full-on sewage stink.
This is officially the worst day of my life.
“…And you should have totally been nominated for an Oscar,” Poppy is saying breathlessly when I arrive at the table. “You were robbed!”
“Well, thank you,” Selena gives us a friendly smile. “You guys know Wes?”
“Katie is… an old friend of mine,” Wes jumps in, and I try not to wince.
Friend.
I mean if your friend slept over four nights a week, and learned your breakfast order by heart, and knows the face you make when you orgasm, then sure, we’re just great pals.
“Wes is the best,” Selena coos. “He’s my knight in shining armor, aren’t you, babe?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Wes chuckles, because why not? Babe. If this was a contest in who won our breakup, he wouldn’t just be claiming the gold medal right now, he’d be taking a victory lap around the stadium, hoisted on the shoulders of the women’s relay team.
“Katie’s doing great, too.” Poppy blurts suddenly. “She has a blog. And a book deal. It’s coming out next month, she’s famous. I mean, not your kind of famous,” she adds, to Selena. “But she has millions of readers, and tons of clients. She’s brilliant,” she adds, giving Wes a pointed look.
God bless my friend.
“That’s awesome!” Selena exclaims. “What kind of blog?”
“Uh, it’s kind of a relationship/ human behavior thing…” I say vaguely, but Poppy jumps in again.
“She’s the Break-Up Artist.” She says proudly. “If you’re trying to get over someone, or figure out how to end things, she’s your girl. She’s helped thousands of people move on from the toxic assholes in their lives.”
Another glare at Wes, and I know I should stop her, but it’s not like I can brag about my own achievements. At least now, he knows I’m more than just a girl who can’t even drink a smoothie right.
“The Break-Up Artist…” Selena repeats thoughtfully. “What a great idea.”
There’s a pause. The place where Wes might say something pleasantly polite about my life, too. ‘Way to go, Katie.’ ‘Good for you.’ Hell, even a general murmur to acknowledge that I continued to exist after he decided to nope on out of our relationship. But instead, he just sits there, looking totally casual. Like I’m a former classmate, or someone he waved at a couple of times on the train. Not the girl who fell asleep in the crook of his arm, and tied herself up in knots trying to make him happy, who thought the sun shined out of his perfectly-formed derriere.
I guess I learned my lesson there.
“Well, it was great to meet you, but we should get going,” I say, before I can embarrass myself in some as-yet unknown way. “Good luck with, umm, everything.”
“You too!” Selena beams. “Hopefully, we’ll see you again soon!”
Sure, at the next swanky premiere, maybe. Or on the beach at St. Barts for New Year’s. I give another smile and nod, but as I drag Poppy away, I know, I’m never laying eyes on them again. Never mind that Wes clearly runs in different, gold-plated circles to me now; my self-esteem could never stand it.
The Gods of Romance would never be so cruel.
At least, that’s what I think…
TO BE CONTINUED…
What happens next? Katie and Wes’s sizzling rom-com is just getting started! THE BREAK-UP ARTIST is available to order now
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About the Author
Combining her love of writing, sex and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe weaves sex, humor and romance into tales about hard-headed men and the strong and sassy women who try to tame-slash-love-slash-tame them. Her books are extensions of her own fantasy life and take readers from the boardroom to the Berkshire Mountains, with keen character development, unique plot lines, and fanciful romance.
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Also by Lila:
Cupids Series:
1. Cupids Anonymous
2. What’s Your Sign?
3. The Romeo Effect
4. The Break-Up Artist
The Lucky in Love Series:
1. Get Lucky
2. Bet Me
3. Lovestruck
4. Mr Right Now
5. Perfect Match
6. Christmas with the Billionaire
The Chick Flick Club Series:
1. How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days
2. You’ve Got Male
3. Frisky Business
Billionaire Bachelors Series:
1. Very Irresistible Playboy
2. Hot Stuff
3. Wild Card
4. Man Candy
5. Mr Casanova
6. Best Man
The Billionaire Bargain series
The Billionaire Game series
Billionaire with a Twist series
Rugged Billionaire
Snowed in with the Billionaire (holiday novella)