The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  She shook hers. “Sometimes you can be so stubborn.”

  “Wonder who I take after?”

  She gave me a smile, it was faint and weak, but it was still a smile. “All I’m trying to tell you, Jake, is you can stop waiting around. Rory will be married soon, and you won’t have to take care of her anymore. And me, well—”

  I cut her off. I couldn’t hear the words. “Mimi, you will still be the same hard-headed mule you’ve always been.”

  Fighting a smile, she drew in a breath. “Go to New York, Jake. Live your life.”

  “I am living my life.”

  The look she tossed at me was doubtful. “You work and spend time with me. That isn’t living your life.”

  “I think it is.”

  She waved a hand “You’re a bad liar. You always have been. Go to New York. Look up Bridget. Maybe things will be different when you see her again. Perhaps the chemistry will pop the second time around.”

  “Nothing will have changed. We want different things. That’s the end of our story.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” she sighed. “I wish I could see you fall in love and get married.”

  I gave her hand another squeeze. “Mimi, don’t ask me for something I can’t give you. You know I’m not looking for love.”

  This time her sigh was resolute. “Someday, Jake, love will find you. And when it does, you won’t have a choice but to accept it.”

  “I will always have a choice.”

  She shook her head. “Just wait and see,” she said almost wistfully. “Just wait and see.”

  I let her have the last word.

  She always made sure she did.

  “Jake.”

  “Yes?”

  “You didn’t get one of those letters this year, did you?”

  Those letters. The ones I’d gotten every year for fourteen years on off-white heavy stock paper tri-folded in the oddest way with the same six typed words,

  I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault.

  The letters postmarked from New York City. “No, I didn’t get one last year or this year so far, anyway.”

  “Good,” she said.

  After that she closed her eyes, and when she did, I knew that I had to make my sister’s wedding happen fast.

  Time was running out.

  It was in the sound of her voice.

  The distance in her eyes.

  And the sad way she looked at me.

  Yet the words fast and wedding weren’t synonymous, unless you hopped on a plane to Vegas. Every wedding planner my sister and I had met with was booked out for months. They had also stressed that it was going to take more than a year to plan the type of affair my sister wanted.

  A thought came to mind, and I wanted to set it on fire.

  The wedding planner from yesterday.

  God help me, but she was the only one we’d met with who was more than accommodating to our schedules. It appeared that perhaps her schedule was wide open. She also seemed like the most likely person to help me do what I needed to do, quickly. She was eager, and spunky, and maybe even an over-achiever.

  Juliette.

  Jules.

  Shoot. Me. Now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Take Your Head Out of Your Ass

  JULES

  ROSEWOOD!

  Rory Kissinger was at the house known as Rosewood. The McMansion on West Paces Ferry Road was located across the street from the Governor’s estate. And I used the term across the street loosely. It was actually more like across half a mile.

  Coincidence?

  I highly doubted it.

  Stopping at the entrance located in the affluent neighborhood of Tuxedo Park in Buckhead, I pressed the button to gain access, and while I waited, I quickly brought up Google and typed in Beatrice Crawford.

  As the gates began to open, I scanned through her biography. The article I was reading called her a recluse. A heartless woman who only tolerated perfection. Someone who’d divorced her husband because of his sex addiction and disowned her only daughter because of her issues with alcohol. And then there it was, the estranged daughter named Monica, who had two children.

  Were Jake and Rory her grandchildren?

  I read on, and there it was.

  Jake and Rory were her grandchildren!

  I thumped my palm against my forehead as I pulled through the massive iron gates, and then I gazed up at the two-story white brick manse in awe.

  Rory was a Crawford.

  A Crawford.

  One of the founding families and the most influential names in Atlanta.

  And I hadn’t had a clue.

  Uncle Edward was so right. I really did have my head up my you know what these days. Clearly, I hadn’t done enough research on my lost client. Here I thought the draw of the event would be Rory marrying the Governor’s son, but it was definitely the other way around.

  And the wedding was going to be so much bigger than I had initially anticipated.

  A Crawford getting married would be front page, Page Six news, across the country news.

  Putting my little Miata in park, I slowly climbed out and breathed in the warmth. The dense air smelled as fragrant as a bouquet of flowers, and I knew there had to be a rather large garden around back.

  As soon as I took my first step, one of my heels caught in the crevices between the cobblestones of the walkway. I made a mental note to slow my ordinarily quick pace in these shoes. The nude pumps were all I had to go with my navy silk dress. I figured after the previous day’s debacle, polished and professional was the way to go.

  I’d even pulled my shoulder-length dirty blonde locks back into a low chignon. Then again, I hadn’t much time to do much else.

  The residence sat in the middle of the property, almost on top of a hill. The beautifully landscaped grounds were shaded with maple and spruce trees and birdbaths, and angel’s wings could be seen in the pockets of lush green grass.

  Walking painstakingly slow, I used the extra time to glance around. There were fountains on either side of the house, boxwood hedges that seemed to wind through pathways for miles, and I thought I could see the tops of some colossal stone statues through the dozens of Magnolia trees.

  The grounds were absolutely breathtaking.

  Ringing the bell, I stared at the large glossy red doors and waited patiently. I had no idea why I was there, but I hoped it was for a second chance. I wished I could have a do-over, but my head wasn’t in the clouds. That only happened in the movies.

  When I heard the purr of an engine, I glanced over my shoulder. I was surprised to see a vintage black Jaguar pulling in with the top down. It was already so hot. Still, the car was totally awesome. The sun was blinding me, and I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel. Before I could catch a glimpse of who was driving it, the front door opened wide.

  “You made it.” Rory threw her arms around me and then practically pulled me inside.

  Tripping over a tangle of leashes and landing in a mound of suitcases in the grand foyer, I really wished I’d gone for the flats. You’d think I would have known better by now not to wear heels. I was just too clumsy in them. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t walk very well in them.

  “I am so sorry. Are you okay?” Rory asked, with that slight sliver of a southern drawl she had.

  I shook it off and smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, phew. I’d hate to have to call my brother.”

  Light from crystal chandeliers glinted off the gilt-framed oil paintings that hung on the walls, and I marveled at how beautiful they were. “Should we move them out of the way?”

  She shook her head. “Remy will be here soon, and he’ll be loading them in the SUV. He would have been here by now to meet with you, but his father’s security detail hung him up. Something about our new apartment needing to be cleared.”

  Security detail.

  Go figure.

  It was such a different kind of life.

  As was this place. I couldn’t
help but look all around me. “Oh, that’s right. I overheard you yesterday when you told your brother you were headed back to college today. Isn’t it early for school to start?”

  With a wave of her hand, she led me past the grand staircase. “Yes, you’re right. Classes don’t start for two more weeks, but since it’s my senior year and I’m the sorority president, I have way too much to do, and thought it would be best to get started early.”

  Taking small steps, I tried my best not to slide across the highly polished black and white tiled floor. “Wow, president. I bet that keeps you pretty busy.”

  She stopped at a set of large wooden doors and turned the ornate brass handles. “It does, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

  My eyes were flickering all around. “You peaked my interest, for sure, but first, I have to ask, do you live here?”

  With a push of both doors, she answered me. “Yes. It’s my grandmother’s house.”

  “I remember reading online that this house has twelve bedrooms and each is painted a different shade of blue?”

  She laughed. “Yes, it’s true, but that’s probably about the only thing you read that is. My grandmother wasn’t trying to ward off evil spirits, nor does she sleep in a different bed every night. Her mother loved the color blue and decorated each one. Mimi just never changed them. There was no need to, she said.”

  I nodded. “I can understand that.”

  She shrugged. “Well, you haven’t seen them yet. They are a bit extravagant and over the top, but really beautiful at the same time.”

  Extravagant.

  Interesting.

  The room we walked into had at least a twelve-foot ornately carved wooden table in the middle of it. It had to be the formal dining room, and it too was extravagant with its silk wallpaper, sterling silver, and chinaware.

  Rory spoke to an older man in his sixties who was dressed in traditional butler attire. He wore black tails, a white shirt, cufflinks, and gloves, and he was setting a bowl of fruit on the sideboard next to several large covered silver platters. “Hi, Roger. My guest has arrived.”

  “Miss Rory,” he greeted and then bowed. His voice was deep, proper, but still very Southern. “Breakfast is ready. Would you care for tea this morning?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “And you, madam?” he asked me.

  Madam.

  I wanted to giggle. “Coffee for me, please,” I managed without an embarrassing sound.

  “And we’ll both have orange juice,” Rory told him.

  “Of course.” He bowed once again and then disappeared through a door in the back of the room.

  Rory went over to the buffet and picked up two plates.

  On her heels, I took one from her, and because I was impatient, I couldn’t wait any longer. “So,” I said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  I crossed my fingers.

  She lifted the lid to the first serving dish to uncover pancakes. “Well, I thought that was obvious, I want to hire you.”

  My heart started to pound. “What about your brother?”

  Lifting a pancake with the giant fork, she looked it over. They appeared to be buckwheat, and she scrunched her nose as she set it back down. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. After meeting with you yesterday, I think you get my style more than anyone else. Actually, I think you get me.”

  Not picky myself, I took a pancake. “That’s really sweet of you. I appreciate it.”

  She opened the next serving dish and grinned at the waffles. “It’s true. And like I told you yesterday, Remy and I have been together since we were fourteen. He’s my soulmate.”

  Soulmates?

  Did they really exist?

  “How do you know?” I asked, unfiltered and inappropriate. I wanted to slap my hand over my mouth as soon as the words left it. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sure it’s not only personal but complicated.”

  Then again when was love anything but?

  “No, no, it’s fine,” she said with a wave of her free hand. “I don’t mind answering. It’s simple really. We’re best friends, we challenge each other, and we can’t stand to be apart. What else matters?”

  I stared down at my plate in thought. She had a point. What else did matter?

  “I know I’ve been all over the place with what I want. But that’s because I want our wedding to be perfect, which is why I want you to help me convince my brother to hire you.”

  Jerking my head toward her, I almost dropped my plate. “Rory, I smashed cake in his face yesterday. I don’t think I can come back from that. He probably hates me.”

  “Hate is a strong word.”

  “Dislike,” I restated. “Either way, I really doubt there’s anything I can do to sway him my way.”

  I had to be honest.

  Scooping scrambled eggs onto the gold-rimmed china, she said matter of factly, “Oh, he’ll get over it. In fact, if I know my brother, he probably already has.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I responded, and used the tongs to pick up a piece of toast. “He looked pretty angry the way his brow creased and his lips pouted.”

  She popped a croissant onto her dish with her fingers. “Oh, you mean that brooding look he has going on,” she laughed. “It’s nothing. He’s been wearing it a lot lately. He has a lot on his mind, that’s all. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, what you did wasn’t that bad. And, if he takes the time to really think about it, it was almost commendable.”

  When I lifted the lid of the next silver dish, the smell of bacon wafted under my nose. It smelled so good, but my stomach was still upset, and I knew better than to overeat. “I’m not sure he’ll ever see it that way,” I laughed and closed the lid.

  “Well,” Rory said. “As a matter of fact, that is why I asked you to come over. Now hurry up and finish getting your food so we can get to work. We don’t have much time.”

  All I could do was what she’d told me to do—hurry.

  Grabbing an apple, she practically pranced over to the long table. With her shiny long brown locks pulled back in a hairband, and her bright pink pants with white halter-top, she looked like an actual modern southern bell.

  Quickly placing some peach slices on my plate, I traipsed over and sat next to her. Once I put my napkin on my lap, I said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Just when she was about to speak, a text went off on her phone. “Give me one sec, that’s Remy.”

  Roger had already served the coffee, tea, and juice. As I poured cream into my cup, I glanced down at the notebook Rory had laid on the table, and my heart started to pound.

  On the page it had fallen open to, Rory had written different ways to invite the guests to her event. It wasn’t the phrasing I was staring at though, but the names she had scribed. They read, “Rory Beatrice & Kyle Remington.”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Monty must have done his research and known that Kyle went by the name Remington, or maybe he even knew her fiancé preferred to be called Remy.

  Google hadn’t failed me.

  I had failed me.

  Setting the creamer down, I felt like the pit in my stomach had morphed into a tennis ball.

  All of a sudden it became crystal clear why I wasn’t able to sign clients and make a go out of running my own business. I was focusing on all the wrong things. Whereas, my uncle had always focused on the couple first and the business second, I had been spending most of my time on the dynamics of running the business. It was so time-consuming. The thing was I wasn’t sure I could do both and do them well, and that worried me.

  I wasn’t programmed that way.

  “Okay,” Rory said, setting her phone back down. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes to pick me up. That doesn’t give us much time to strategize about my brother.”

  With my hand already shaking on my glass, I found myself once again jerking my head in her direction. “What exactly do you mean by strategize about
your brother?”

  She took a bite of her croissant and chewed it. “Well, the term strategize might be a stretch. All we need to do is come up with a way for you to win my brother over. And the best place to start is to appeal to his bleeding heart.”

  I practically choked on my glass of juice. “His bleeding heart?”

  “Yes, he’s a bleeding heart.”

  I chuckled. “He seemed anything but.”

  Again, I had to be honest.

  “No, really, he is. I promise you,” she reassured me, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “It’s the whole doctor thing. He’s a lot like our father was in that way. I wish I could be more patient and kind like him, but I’ve always been business minded. There’s no changing that. Anyway, here’s what I’m thinking.”

  As we ate breakfast, she disclosed her plan to get her brother on board. It not only included me apologizing, but appealing to his humanity. According to her, the doctor in him couldn’t turn away from a person in need.

  I didn’t quite understand if I was supposed to feign being ill or if she thought I was so off-the-wall crazy that all I had to do was talk to him, and he’d feel sorry for me when he took the time to listen.

  “Finish your coffee,” she said. “I’ll give you a tour of the bedrooms in the west wing, and then we’ll finish talking while I wait for Remy.”

  Setting my cup down, I lifted my napkin and placed it beside my plate. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Although I wasn’t certain, I was.

  The conversation had turned what I had eaten into sludge. Her brother didn’t like me, and she wanted me to turn that around.

  Like I could do that.

  The thing was, she was convinced I could.

  And I wanted to believe I could too, but really . . . talk about a long shot.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Picture Paints a Thousand Words

  JULES

  THE OLD STAIRCASE CREAKED UNDER my feet as I climbed it.

  At the landing, Rory and I had the option of going right or left. “This way,” she declared and veered to the right.

  I followed without question. I was anxious for a look. Curious, was probably a better word.

  “My bedroom and my grandmother’s are to the left, but they are not blue, and not nearly as fun to look at,” she laughed. “Mine is pink, and Mimi’s is gold.”