by Wood, Vivian
Kiss Me Again
Vivian Wood
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
About Vivian Wood
Thank you so much to the people who helped make this book happen. To my editors — Becca and Gemma. To my beta readers — Patricia, Chele, and Shelly. And to Rachel, for lending me your name.
Chapter One
Rachel
Current day
“You have to choose one,” my personal assistant Sarah informs me.
As we walk into the penthouse, I grab the sheet of photo proofs and set it down on the marble kitchen counter, indecisive.
My mother hates that I don’t live under her roof anymore, but that was just a step too far down the path they have laid out for me. After a metric ton of pleading with my mom and my dad, I finally received this penthouse and moved out of their estate.
Here at least I am comfortable and alone. Well, except for my boyfriend Clay. But he works so much that he is barely home anyway.
He’s usually working at Civicore, the multinational corporation that doubles as my family business. I’m supposed to join him soon, with an office beside my father’s.
If only this little voice in the back of my head shouting get out while you can would just… go away. I know what I am. I know what I need to do.
Settle down, start a family, work for the company.
It’s just hard to accept that I have reached the end of grad school and the beginning of my actual life, I guess.
I stare at the photos. Twelve little versions of me stare back, each worst than the last. My hair in the top left one is a mess. In one on the bottom row, a bra strap peeks out of my dress. In another, I look like I’m about to fall asleep.
“This photo is going to be representative of me for years to come.” I take off my Chanel sunglasses and tap them against my lips. “Whenever people ask, ‘But who is Rachel Black?’ I want to be able to point to this photo. I can say, ‘See? I’m a real person!’”
Sarah wrinkles her nose. “Okay, pretend I’m one of these unknown people who you’re talking about. I’ll be like, ‘Who is the only daughter of Graham and Leigh Black, the family that owns the largest multinational chemical corporation?’ Then you’ll pull out one of these photos. Which one screams, ‘I’m a legitimate heir’ but not ‘I’m a spoiled princess’?”
I peer down at the photo proofs, trying to decide which one has the least number of flaws. In my head, the voice of my mother echoes.
You’re standing weird here. Your lips look like they are fake in this one. When did you gain ten pounds?
My mother and father stand just behind me in most of the pictures. I’m wearing my cap and gown and looking at the camera with a tired smile. We are standing under a banner that says “Congrats 2018 NYU Tadon Graduates!” I just graduated summa cum laude from Tadon with my master’s degree in environmental engineering, the first woman in my family to do so. Coupled with doing my undergrad at Columbia, I have a pretty impressive resume.
Well, on paper, at least.
“Hmm.” I look at the photo proofs. “I honestly don’t like any of them.”
I can see Sarah trying not to roll her eyes. “I’m sure that you kind of like at least one of them.”
I pull a face and look again. In each shot, my mother and I are standing a little differently, emphasizing different parts of our bodies. In the photos I am a younger version of my mother, tanned and blonde, in a fitted white chiffon dress that ends just below my knee. My father stands between us, darkly handsome, grinning as though he has a secret.
I narrow my eyes and cock my head, drumming my nails on my kitchen counter.
“Rachel… you just have to choose one. Here, I like this one a lot,” Sarah says, tapping her finger against one of the photos. “You look very poised.”
She’s trying to be helpful, but these things can’t be rushed.
“Whichever photo I choose will be sent out to everyone, including the board members of Civicore. My future co-workers, in other words.” I pause to let out a breath. “My mother has stressed to me time and again the importance of doing everything perfectly the first time, not rushing anything. So I’m going to take my time to choose the picture.”
“Your mother, god bless her, would judge a saint. There isn’t really any way to please her. I should know, I was her assistant for a week when her assistant went out of town.” Sarah shivers a little. “That woman is only focused on what other people will hear, see, and feel. She’s… vain.”
That gets a rare smile out of me. “Yes. But then again, she has this uncanny sort of knack for knowing what other people are thinking.”
Sarah snorts. “No. She just tells people what to think. There is a big difference. I wish you wouldn’t give her so much power over you.”
I put down my Chanel sunglasses with a sigh. “I know. It’s just… five years ago—”
She puts her hand up. “Let me stop you there. When some guy left you, you were destroyed. You naturally turned to your mom. Your mother taught you to be more like her. I get that, really I do. It’s just…” She bites her lip. “I think that you have this weird thing where you internalize every little thing she says about you and you make it a bigger deal than it is. Remember when she commented on women that dye their hair? The next day, you were in the salon, getting all traces of the pink out of your hair. Same thing with people who do their nails.”
My mouth twists. “The Queen of England doesn’t let women in the royal family do their nails fun colors either.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Yeah. I mean… your mother and the Queen of England may have a ton in common, but they aren’t the same person.”
I can’t disagree with that. Although every time someone in the royal family does something out of line, I feel a weird sort of kinship with them. I know what it’s like to be scorned and mocked by your own family.
She’s helping you, I remind myself firmly. Sort of.
“Okay. I feel like we’re getting off topic here. We are supposed to be deciding on the picture.”
Blowing out a breath, I refocus on the proof sheet.
Even though I could think of a thousand other things I would rather be doing right now. Not the least of which is running away as fast as I can.
Where would I go, though?
Standing in the gorgeous kitchen of my very expensive and very large New York City penthouse, I realize I shouldn’t complain. I have the whole top floor all to myself. There are a lot of people that have much tougher decisions to make than what photo of them to use.
Sarah clears her throat. “It’s just that the photo you cho
ose will probably be distributed to all the newspapers—”
“Shh,” I warn her. I won’t have Sarah acting as my mother’s stand in. I rub my temple. “I have a roaring headache. Let me think, please.”
Sarah backs down right away. I stare at the photos for another minute in silence before picking up my choice.
“This one.” I hand it over to her, a vague smile on my lips. Glancing at the massive window, my smile twists in a sour expression. “And you can go for the day. I know it’s only noon, but I am ready to change into my pajamas and lay around for the rest of today.”
Sarah lifts a brow. “Well… all right. We do have such a busy day tomorrow. Should we go over the schedule?”
I stop her with a raised hand, shaking my head. “No thank you. Just email me the schedule instead. I’ll try to go over it today.”
She bows her head. “See you tomorrow.”
I smile but don’t answer. Waiting until she hurries out of the room, I take off my high heels with a sigh of relief. They look good and they make my ass look like heaven, but they hurt so badly.
Before I can walk away from the kitchen counter though, a stack of mail catches my eye. Sarah must’ve left it here for me and forgotten to mention it.
Flipping through the envelopes, I find most of it is invitations to charity events and solicitations for donations. All of them are hand-addressed and made out of heavy linen paper. I put them aside for Sarah to go through.
One letter does stick out to my eye though. It’s a plain envelope, the address done by a computer. At the top left it says that it’s from the national park service.
I flush, though there is no one around to see. It’s obviously a response to the last-minute application I entered to be an environmental scientist in the parks, testing various water sources for pollution. I mailed it with little thought, right while I was in the middle of exams.
It just sounded so good and refreshing to be outdoors in nature. At least, I convinced myself of that while I was practically living in the library, cramming to finish my master’s degree.
Looking at the envelope, feeling how light it is, I know that they somehow figured out the situation surrounding my application and rejected me. I can just tell.
When I open the letter, I read the brief note.
Dear Ms. Black,
Congratulations! You have been accepted to work in our national parks program for the summer of 2018. We have openings at the following parks: Olympic, Everglades, Zion, Badlands, and Pinnacles. Please respond with the park of your choosing to the following phone number…
Stunned, I put the letter on the counter. I never thought that I would be accepted, not even when I was a stressed out student, dreaming of living a different life. But here it is.
My mouth twists. I will have to turn down the offer, of course. It’s barely a job, earning a paltry stipend. What this job makes in a month I earn in a day by doing absolutely nothing, due to my family’s complicated trust structure. Besides, I have a job already.
I’m lined up to step into a job at Civicore. On top of that, I have a place on the board that I’ve had since I turned eighteen.
Not to mention the fact that Clay, my boyfriend of almost two years, has dropped some unsubtle hints that he’s ready to put a ring on my finger and start a family. He’s a friend of the family and he has a strong job at Civicore.
I purse my lips, thinking of Clay. He’s handsome in the blandest way, forgettable at best. I know that. It’s why my mother recommended him and why I chose him.
I’m not in the business of picking unforgettable men anymore.
Clay and I are already living together here in this huge penthouse. We just have to make it official, according to Clay. I don’t really know that I’m super excited to be Mrs. Clay Attenborough but… everyone else seems excited. So I’m going with the flow.
After all, it has been well documented that I don’t make the best choices when I lead with my heart. It’s better if I just step back and let life wash over me, allow myself to be submerged in it.
Sighing, I leave the letter on the kitchen counter. I scoop up my heels and head toward my bedroom, already unzipping the pastel pink sheath dress I’m wearing. My pajamas are seriously calling me.
A few feet from my bedroom, I hear a noise. A muffled laugh, maybe. The door is open just a crack. I frown, slowing down.
No one should be here. It’s the middle of the day. I am usually not home either, but the charity meeting I was planning to attend got cancelled.
Maybe I’m hearing things.
But no, that laughter comes again, accompanied by a sultry, feminine moan. Then a man’s voice, saying something in low tones. What in the world is happening in my bedroom?
Stepping forward, I push the door open a few inches.
“I love you, baby,” the woman whispers.
“You know I love you too.”
I stiffen. That was Clay’s voice, talking to a woman that isn’t me.
For a second, it isn’t real to me. I just can’t believe it.
The penthouse. Promotions at Civicore. A snazzy corner office. All things that Clay got from being my boyfriend. My parents like him for me and they have been grooming him from the get go. All he has to do is make me happy.
I mean, Clay would have to be insane to do anything but dote on me. And yet here I am, walking in on something nefarious.
That absolute bastard.
Slamming the door the rest of the way open, I’m treated to a view of Clay’s bare back as he thrusts into a moaning brunette. They both pause for just a second before reacting. Then Clay turns and sees me, his eyes widening in his handsome face.
“Oh, fuck,” he mumbles, clambering off the bed. “Rachel…”
I’m so disgusted that I can’t even see straight. His brunette sits up, covering herself.
“Is that her?” she asks.
For some reason, the fact that she would address me so makes me go crazy.
“Get the hell out!” I threaten, tears already coming to my eyes. “Both of you!”
The brunette rushes to get off the bed, grabbing her things. She takes the sheet off the bed and I don’t say a word. She comes to the doorway and I step aside, allowing her to pass. She isn’t the problem here.
Clay grabs a pillow and covers his cock. He has the audacity to sound reasonable as he turns toward me. “Now Rachel, let’s not lose our heads here…”
I swear, if I had the power to just strike him down where he stands, I would do it. Bunching my fists, I imagine lightning bolts gathering at my will. I could kill him, here and now.
But instead, I grit my teeth.
“I let you live here,” I say, my mood threatening. “You had it so good. You just seriously messed up.”
Clay blanches. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t sweetheart me,” I growl. “You are lucky that I’m not the stabbing type. Now get out.”
He shakes his head. “And go where?”
That gets me. I was shaking mad before, but now I scream at him. “A hotel room, like you should’ve done with that… that woman you were just fucking!”
“If you would just listen to me—”
I’ve had enough. “You know what? I’ll leave. When I come back, you had better have packed your bags and left. Tonight, I’m going to burn anything I see that belongs to you.”
“Baby, wait…” he tries again.
But I’m not listening.
Tears prick my eyes as I turn and walk down the hallway. I zip my sheath dress back up and when I get to the kitchen, I put my heels back on. I grab my phone off the counter, and the note of congratulations from the parks service.
Sniffing, I march out of my penthouse apartment, heading downstairs mindlessly.
How dare Clay do this to me?
And what’s worse is I don’t even know where to go with this information or who to tell. My heartless mother will just tell me to ignore Clay’s behavior and go shopping. My father will s
ay that boys will be boys.
All my friends, if you could call them that, are too jealous of my apartment and my lifestyle to be any help.
My heart beats painfully. I wish like hell that I knew someone real, someone who would react to this news like a human being.
Today is one of those days that I really, really miss Grayson.
Wiping away my tears, I look at the paper I’m clutching. The National Park Service acceptance letter wavers before my eyes. And before I really even think it through, I dial the number listed at the bottom.
A woman picks up right away.
“National Park Service, Tina speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi,” I say tearfully. “My name is Rachel Black. I would like to officially accept…”
Chapter Two
Grayson
Thwack. Heave. Thwack. Heave. Thwack. Heave.
There is a rhythm to driving a pole deep into the ground.
Thwack. My axe lands on the top of the pole, flat side down.
Heave. I go through the motion again, a lurching reach over my head. Then I bring the axe back down.
Thwack.
It’s soothing, the rhythm. Or at least it doesn’t allow for thought outside of this moment. That is the best thing that I know how to do.
Find a million of these little activities, these things that need to be done with little or no talking or thinking. Do them all day long or until I think my back will break or my legs might give out.
