The Right Guy

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I didn’t have the staff I could trust or the relationships with the wholesalers I thought I had. In short, I got shafted, not so much by other people but by my own stupid arrogance.

  I won’t be making that mistake again in a hurry.

  Penny turns up, and between the three of us, we manage the four steaks and accompaniments. We’re just about to serve up a collection of desserts we had left over from lunch when I realize I won’t make it to my flight unless I leave right now.

  “Have a great time, boss,” Isabella says as I hang my white chef’s top up on the back of my office door. “And don’t think about this place, unless it’s about that thing I said.”

  “What thing?” Penny asks.

  “He knows.” Isabella shoots me a look before returning her attention to the desserts.

  Yeah, I do. But unless I stumble across a large wad of cash somewhere on my way to Cabo San Lucas, I’m going to have to stick with the likes of Frederick for now.

  CHAPTER 5

  Taylor

  Ashley and I are standing on the balcony of my hotel room in Cabo San Lucas as we take in the stunning view. The resort sprawls three levels below us in a V-shape, reaching the edges of the golden sand beach at its widest, the glistening turquoise blue of the sea beyond.

  “Wow, Ash! This place is picture-postcard perfect.” From the palm trees to the sun sitting low in the sky, soft music floating up from the poolside bar below, it’s nothing short of a tropical paradise.

  “I know, right? I want the best for my B.F.F.” She gives me a hug. “Oh, my God, Taylor. I still can’t believe I managed to convert you!”

  Although I had serious fears she would dance around a cauldron, chanting in some weird language or something equally egregious, I told Ash I had made a decision—the decision to believe the psychic’s prediction. The decision that I’m going to try to find him, in earnest. I’m going to try to find the guy Kosmic Kandi told me about in all those scant details. The right guy. Or at least, the right guy for me.

  “That’s right, Ash. This cynic with the perpetually raised skeptical eyebrow has fallen for the psychic’s B.S.”

  “Only you don’t think it’s B.S. at all, do you? You believe her. You believe in her prediction.” Ashley could not look happier.

  I shake my head. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Taylor Jennings: former rational, thinking human being, who now believes some middle-aged woman in a tent on Fisherman’s Wharf can see her future in a crystal ball.”

  Ash applauds, and I take a bow. When I told her a few short hours ago, she squealed so loud, I think the people sitting near us on the plane thought I’d done her some sort of serious harm. We had to assure them she was, in fact, okay—just extremely, extremely excited.

  “Converted,” Ashley sing-songs.

  “You haven’t converted me, exactly. I just think this particular psychic might be onto something, that’s all.”

  She shakes her head, grinning. “Play it down all you like. You believe what she told you. I see this as a personal victory. After twenty-six years of being the Queen of Cynicism, you need to hand back your crown.” She stretches her hand out to me, palm up.

  I laugh. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “Ha! Remember that time I got that sash printed for you?”

  An image of the Miss America-style sash Ash gave me for my birthday with the words “Skeptics Anonymous” printed in gold lettering flashes before my eyes. “I wasn’t that bad. Was I?”

  “Oh, yes you were. And I love you for it. Anyway, what swayed you?”

  “Fluffy,” I say simply, although I know it’s much more than just the cat. It was Nana’s question, are you happy with the way you live your life? It’s played on my mind all week, sitting uncomfortably inside. And I know why she asked it. There’s a part of me I’ve kept locked away for a long time. A part of me I’ve tried not to think about. It’s the me who wants to take a chance.

  The me who wants to find love.

  Only, I’ve been so cautious. I’ve held back, not letting myself fall for anyone in a long, long time. Because the last time I did that, it was far from pretty. And now, with Ashley—my roommate, B.F.F., and surrogate sister—leaving to marry Tim, I’ll be all alone. Sure, I know she’s not dying or anything, but she is moving out of our apartment, so it’s like a death. At least to me.

  And you know what? Seeing your best friend get engaged to a great guy, seeing how happy she is, their lives stretching out before them, it can be . . . confronting. It can make you question what you’re doing with your own life, as Nana might have put it.

  Ashley grins at me, leaning up against the railing of the hotel balcony. “Now you’re going to meet the man of your dreams and sail off into the sunset together.” She lets out a sigh, her hand on her heart. “It’s so romantic.”

  Hope mingled with dread churns in my belly. “I hope so.”

  “I know so.” She turns to look out at the view once more. “Who knows? You might meet him here. This hotel has three restaurants, two bars, a bunch of swimming pools, and as much sun as we can take. Plus, it has a gorgeous beach. Plenty of places to ‘lock eyes’ with the man of your dreams.”

  I let out a sigh. “After the week I’ve had, some relaxation in the sun sounds fantastic.”

  The lunch with Jorge Dvorak earlier in the week went well. By the end of it, he’d told Julia and me he was interested in heading up marketing at Trikal, and that he hoped we could make it happen for him. Since then, I’ve been working my butt off doing whatever Julia has needed, from tactics planning to Chinese food runs and everything in between. It’s been exhausting but exciting. I’ve finally begun to achieve my goal of working at the executive search end of the recruitment spectrum rather than wading through the geek quagmire to get those endless proverbial butts in techie seats.

  “We have a packed schedule. Relaxation time is scheduled for tomorrow. I’ve got it all planned out.” Ash waves her phone at me.

  I shake my head, smiling. Of course, she has it all planned out. She wouldn’t be Ashley Harrison if she didn’t.

  “Okay, you get yourself settled in. I’ve told people to meet up at El Toro Bar at seven.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I do a mock salute. “Fun scheduled for nineteen hundred hours. Gotcha.”

  She laughs. “Don’t you start in on that. Tim already thinks I’ve gone O.C.D. over all things wedding. I don’t need you to think that, too.”

  “I’m just messing with you, babe.”

  “Sure.” She shoots me a smile.

  “Hey there, party people!” a voice calls from inside the room.

  We step off the balcony, through the light net curtains, and back inside, blinking as our eyes adjust to the dim light. I’m immediately collected in a hug by Lacey, another one of the bridesmaids and my roomie for the next two nights. We three met in college, and we’ve been great friends ever since.

  Lacey leaves me in a cloud of Mon Paris perfume as she moves on to hug Ash. “Wow, this place is amazeballs! Great choice, Bridezilla.”

  “I am not a bridezilla,” Ash protests despite her smile, hugging her bridesmaid back.

  “Oh, you so are.” Lacey takes Ash by the shoulders. “But I’m going to let it slide because you totally hit the jackpot with this place. That and I love you.”

  Ash glances at her watch. “Gotta go, girls.” She heads toward the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she turns and says, “See you down there at seven sharp, got it?”

  She frames it as a question, but both Lacey and I know it’s nothing short of a royal command. Ignore at your peril. Dun dun daaa!

  Thirty minutes later, Lacey and I are all dressed up and ready to par-tay. Thanks to our long, wavy dark hair and similar physiques, people have often commented that Lacey and I could be sisters. Usually, she’s the one with the amped-up va-va-voom in her figure-hugging dresses and killer heels. Not tonight. Tonight, I’ve gone all out. I’ve got on a super flattering “body con” dress, which makes me feel j
ust like a fifties movie siren, and a pair of killer heels.

  Operation: Find the One is well and truly underway.

  We wander into El Toro Bar, a large room with arched windows looking out over the spectacular beach and ocean below. Although it’s early evening, the bar is already humming with patrons. Some are dressed like us, ready for a night out, and others are clearly grabbing a post-swim drink, still in their casual beachwear.

  I spot Ash and Tim together at the bar, talking with a couple of Tim’s groomsmen along with Chloe, one of the bridesmaids. Ash sees us and waves us over.

  “Would you look at you two.” Tim grins at Lacey and me as we join the small group. “The guys around here had better watch out tonight.”

  “Are you checking out my girlfriends?” Ash playfully slaps her fiancé on the arm.

  Tim is the last person on the planet to cheat on his woman. He’s loyal to a fault, and what’s more, he’s completely besotted with Ash. As he should be, considering the fact he’s marrying her next Saturday and all.

  “It’s just research,” one of the groomsmen, Greg, replies, leaping to his defense and winking at me. “He already knows you’re the woman for him, Ashley. He’s just making doubly sure before he marries you.”

  Tim shoots Greg a look. “Not helping, man.”

  “You’re gross, Greg,” Lacey comments, echoing my very thought. “Now you need to buy us each a mojito to make up for it. Isn’t that right, Taylor?”

  I cross my arms and stare Greg down. “It sure is. Extra-large mojitos.”

  His face breaks into a grin. “Two extra-large coming up.”

  As he turns to order our drinks from the barman, we greet the rest of the group already assembled. There’s Sean, a guy not much taller than me I’ve met once or twice. He seems nice enough, if a little on the dull side. He plays baseball with Tim and seems incapable of talking about little else.

  Then there’s Chloe. She greets Lacey and me with a cool “hello,” looking us both up and down disapprovingly. I mean, the girl doesn’t even try to hide her dislike of us. What’s up with that?

  Chloe has never been friendly toward either Lacey or me. In fact, she’s been outwardly hostile on more than one occasion. But for reasons known only to Ash, they’re great friends. Go figure.

  I place my purse and camera on the bar. I’ve come prepared for catching those natural, unposed shots of the happy couple I adore. I treated myself to a top-of-the-line Canon when I got my job with Julia. Up until then, I’d been getting by with a second-hand camera I’d bought off Craig’s List that seemed to have a mind of its own. I’d learned its quirks over the years, but it still managed to surprise me at times—like when it failed to take photos when I clicked, or the self-timer would take two hundred shots rather than one. That sort of completely non-irritating fun quirk.

  “Here you go, ladies.” Greg hands Lacey and me a mojito each.

  “Thanks.” I take the cold glass in my hand and immediately have a sip. The limey-mint flavored drink slips down my throat easily, cooling me down in the warm Mexican evening.

  “So, what’s the plan for tonight, Bridez… Bride?” Lacey catches herself before the offending label slips out completely.

  If Ash notices this time, she doesn’t let on. “We’re going to have a few drinks here before going to the Tierra y Mar restaurant. Which is just over there.” She points across the terrace to a group of tables and chairs by one of the pools.

  “Not far to stumble back to the room, right?” Lacey waggles her eyebrows at me.

  Lacey didn’t get her reputation as a party-girl-slash-man-slayer by sitting at home scrapbooking in her PJs and slippers. Far from it. Having her as my roommate this weekend may be something I grow to regret.

  “There will be no stumbling.” Ash glares at Lacey. “Tonight is just a quiet dinner. We’ve got a packed schedule on this trip, you know. Tomorrow is the big party after we’ve been on the boat trip to El Arco and gone snorkelling.” Ash’s tone is just like her mom’s was when she was laying down the law to us, which happened a little too often where Ash, Jake, and I were concerned. But with an absent, erratic, unreliable mother of my own, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The way I saw it, she wouldn’t have bothered if she hadn’t loved us. And for me, that was the best feeling in the world.

  “Are we allowed any pool time?” Lacey asks.

  “Of course! We’re in Mexico, not the Arctic Circle. Once we’re back tomorrow from El Arco, you can get as much pool time as you like. Well, until the evening’s big party.”

  “So for about twenty-three minutes, then?” Lacey jokes.

  I feel an arm slip around my waist from behind. The next thing I know I’m hoisted off the floor up into the air, my drink slopping over the side of the glass. “Hey!” I call out as some of my mojito splashes against my arm.

  “Hey, yourself,” a deep voice replies as I’m placed back on the ground. “Still waiting on that growth spurt, huh?”

  I turn and face my assailant. Finn, a.k.a. Big Red, is grinning down at me, a cheeky glint in his blue eyes.

  I narrow my own eyes at him. “Growth spurt? I may be one and three-quarter inches shorter than the average, but at least that’s from my height, not elsewhere.” I glance down at his pants to ensure he gets my point.

  He does. “Oooh, fighting talk. I like me a feisty one.” Big Red flashes his grin. He slings his arm around my shoulders. “How are you, Taylor? You are looking fine tonight, you sexy mamacita.”

  If it were anyone else, I would remove the uninvited arm. But Finn’s completely harmless, despite the fact he’s as much a player as Jake. We’ve known each other for a long time, and he’s great fun to be around.

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Never gonna happen, Big Red. Never gonna happen.”

  He shrugs. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  Finn’s arm slips from my shoulders as he greets the rest of the group: fist bumps and handshakes for the men, bear hugs and compliments for the women.

  I take another sip from my mojito. I scan the room for Jake.

  Wait, what?

  I bite my lip. Why am I looking for Jake? I tell myself it means nothing—but the butterflies in my belly at the thought of him being in the room suggest otherwise.

  I need a distraction, something to do to take my mind off him. I spy my camera, still sitting on the bar. I pick it up, pop the lens cap off, and start to snap a few candid shots of Ash, Tim, and the wedding party.

  I turn the lens away from my friends and capture a few photos of the bar. After snapping a few more shots my camera finds a man dressed in an orange button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An orange shirt . . . almost blood-red orange. Interesting.

  The guy has got his back to me, sitting at one of the high bar tables, nodding as the man opposite him talks. I lower my camera and watch as he tilts his head back and laughs. He slips off the bar stool, standing up and turning away from his friend.

  He looks right at me.

  Before I can question the sanity of what I’m doing, I lift my camera and take a quick shot of him. Lowering it again, I drink him in. He’s got dark blonde hair, cropped short at the sides, the top messily flicked over to one side. With his linen shirt tucked into a pair of khaki shorts that show off toned, tanned legs, I can tell he’s in great shape: strong and athletic.

  He’s too far away for me to tell what color his eyes are, but with his orange shirt, I’m already half way there.

  He smiles at me. I smile back, the heat rising in my cheeks. Too soon, he turns away and walks casually to the bar. I toss my long hair and take another sip of my mojito as I watch him through my lashes, willing him to turn and look at me once more.

  It works.

  He tilts his head over in my direction, and our gazes lock. He smiles at me once more, and my heart rate kicks up a notch.

  This guy could be him. He could be “the one.”

  Just as I’m about to step over toward him, I feel
a hand on my arm. “Oh, my God. Taylor!”

  I drag my eyes from Orange Shirt Guy to see who’s squeaking my name excitedly beside me.

  “Hey,” I manage as I’m pulled into a hug, balancing my drink in one hand and my camera in the other. It’s the one missing bridesmaid: Phoebe. She’s a tall, slim blonde with those archetypal California good looks my state is known for. We’ve been friends since we took Business Administration together at college. She’s gone on to great things in her career at a coffee company, just as I’m hoping I will do in my career soon, too.

  “I can’t believe we’re finally here,” Phoebe says into my ear as I breathe in her perfume. She pulls away, holding me at arms’ length. “We need to give Ash and Tim the best weekend ever!”

  “With Big Red on board, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” I steal another look at the guy in the orange shirt. He’s no longer at the bar, replaced instead by a large, older woman in a brightly-colored Mumu.

  I do a quick check of the table where I’d first spotted him. Both he and his friend are nowhere to be seen. Disappointment stabs me in the chest.

  Doesn’t he know he could be the right guy for me?

  “You looking for someone?” Phoebe asks, her eyebrows raised.

  “No, I-I thought I saw someone I know, that’s all.” I let out a puff of air and plaster on a smile. “When did you get here?”

  “Literally now. I raced.” She lifts her hand, shielding her lips and pointing discretely at Ashley. “We didn’t want to upset the bride.”

  “No, good point. Who’s ‘we?’”

  “Me and Jake.”

  My chest tightens. “Right. Of course.” Jake and Phoebe have a thing? When did this happen? How did this happen? I mean, of course I get it. She’s totally his type. He’s always gone for the blonde bombshells, even though Phoebe is probably a good twenty points up the I.Q. scale than his usual. “Phoebes, you and Jake?”

  As his name falls from my lips, I’m hit by a flash of something . . . jealousy? No, it can’t be. But, if I’m honest, it does feel a lot like it.