About Face (Love in the Suburbs Book 1)

by D. E. Haggerty

  “I’ll see you soon, beautiful girl.”

  I stand with my mouth hanging open as I watch him hop into his truck. He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he rolls down the passenger side window. “Get inside,” he shouts. I mumble whatever before opening the door and hopping inside the house. He waits until the door is closed before he starts up his truck and leaves.

  I lean against the front door and sigh. What the heck did he go and kiss me for? It only confused things. Was he being friendly? Or did he mean something more?

  Chapter 13

  A lady should always be nice to everyone.

  I bite my lip as I stare at my made-up reflection in the mirror. I can’t believe I’m doing this – again. Setting myself up for failure. I promised myself after my awesome evening of sitting at a table by myself while my girlfriends danced their troubles away, I wasn’t going to go into the city to party again until I was at least able to walk without crutches. But somehow, here I am. With crutches. All dolled up for another event in the city.

  ‘All dolled up’ may be a slight exaggeration. I’m wearing another mid-calf length fitted skirt. Don’t get me wrong. I like this skirt. But it looks like I’m headed to the boardroom and not a day out. If I could only hike the skirt up a bit to knee-length, it might work. But that’s not happening. It’s bad enough I have crutches and a bandage on my face. I don’t need anyone asking why there’s a brace on my leg. It may not be a bulky brace, but it still practically covers all of my leg from mid-calf to the mid-thigh.

  My phone beeps to let me know my Uber is about to arrive. Time to pull on the big girl panties and do this thing. Grandma shakes her head as I pass her. “I don’t understand why you’re taking a cab into the city. Why can’t your friends come and get you?”

  Because they don’t know I’m coming. But I’m not admitting anything to Grandma. She doesn’t know why I’m going into the city. She thinks I’m meeting my friends for a day out. It’s not a total lie. I am meeting my friends. They just don’t know it yet. And it’s certainly not for a day out. At least not for me.

  “It’s fine, Grandma. They didn’t have the time to come out here and pick me up. I’ll see them at the party.”

  She huffs. “Well, have a good time and be careful.”

  I lean over and kiss her cheek before making my way to the Uber. As soon as I’m in the car, I pull out my phone and re-read the messages.

  OMG! Wish you were here. Tara’s throwing an awesome party on Sunday.

  When did they meet Tara?

  You have to meet Tara. She’s totally awesome. You’ll love her.

  I think not.

  Please, you have to come on Sunday. The party for Just You is to die for!

  My blood boils as I read the last message. Just You is a cosmetics brand I’ve been working with for several years. The launch of their new product line today is the culmination of years of my hard work. And who gets credit? The bitch Tara who is trying to steal my job. She’s also apparently trying to steal my friends and my life. What did I ever do to her? I’ve never even met the woman.

  As soon as I saw the words Just You, I knew I had to come into the city. I called Jackson and he managed to get me an invite. He was a little too excited. I think he’s hoping for a confrontation between Tara and me. Not going to happen.

  I send Jackson a message when I’m five minutes out from the venue. When I arrive, he’s waiting at the curb for me. He practically drags me out of the taxi and engulfs me in a hug. When he pulls away, his eyes take in my outfit. I squirm. This outfit is not anything close to what I would typically wear for an event. Especially not the stupid ballerina slippers. But there’s no way I can use crutches and wear heels. Although I do admit the ribbons winding around my ankles lift the slippers from boring to whimsical. Not fancy stilettos but the best I could do.

  “You look stunning!”

  I scowl. Yeah, right. “I look like I’m headed to a meeting. Not a party.”

  “Um, no.” He shakes his head. “You look sexy. Gaining some weight has done you a world of good.” I nearly fall over. He did not say that! “Oh, hush. You were way too skinny. Mere skin and bones. But now? Now, you’ve got curves, girl.”

  My face heats. Not only is Jackson completely delusional, but this conversation is highly inappropriate between two work colleagues. I open my mouth to scold him, but Jackson continues to talk as if I’m not standing there with my mouth hanging open.

  “I’m glad you decided to come. I can’t wait until you meet Tara.” He smirks. “Come on.” He leads the way into the building.

  As soon as we enter, someone approaches carrying gift bags. “Welcome! Please enjoy a sampling of our new product line.” She hands Jackson a blue bag and reaches out to hand me a pink one but halts when she sees my hands are otherwise preoccupied with my crutches. Jackson grabs the bag from her with a roll of his eyes.

  “You can—”

  Jackson interrupts her. “We know the spiel. This woman put this party together.” He beams at me. I didn’t put this event together. Well, not entirely at least. He drags me away before I have a chance to berate him.

  We don’t make it more than a few feet before I see them. Suzanne, Becky, and Bailey are chatting with a tall blonde woman. I study the blonde as they chat away. There’s no denying how gorgeous she is. Her long blonde hair shimmers and her cheekbones are to die for. She’s wearing a red dress, which shouldn’t look good with her light skin tone, but she makes it work. Every man in the place is staring at her ass.

  Bailey is the first to notice me. Her eyes widen and a smile spreads across her face. “Frankie! You made it!” She rushes to me and pulls me into a hug. I nearly fall over from the force of it. Someone has had more than one glass of champagne this afternoon.

  Becky and Suzanne join us. Fortunately, their hugs are more careful, and I’m able to remain standing. “You’ve got to meet Tara,” Becky insists. She motions to the blonde woman. Of course, the catty bitch is flipping gorgeous. Proving once again how unfair life is.

  “Tara, this is Frankie.” Becky introduces us with a gleam in her eyes.

  I ignore the look and force a smile on my face before reaching my hand out to Tara. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve been dying to meet you,” Tara gushes as she pumps my hand. Yeah, right. Her eyes narrow as she studies my face. She looks disappointed, but the look is there and gone before I can be sure I’m not imagining things.

  “Isn’t this awesome?” Suzanne asks. “Tara did such a great job putting this together.”

  I raise an eyebrow at Tara, waiting to see if she corrects Suzanne’s assumption, but she’s already moving on. “Come on, ladies. You can get a free makeup consultation.” She looks at me. “Or makeover.”

  I hear a hiss and look at Jackson to see his hand forming a paw as he pretends to rake claws down her back. I motion with my hand across my throat for him to cut it out. I may hate Tara on sight, but these are my friends. I’m not going to lose them over some bitch who wants to steal my job.

  We arrive at an area crowded with make-up artists and counters overflowing with every type of make-up you can imagine. It looks like a Hollywood set, exactly as I envisioned it when I came up with the idea. I smile as I take it all in. Tara leads us through the throngs until we reach a woman with a large area dedicated to her alone. I recognize her name. She’s one of the lead product developers of the new line of Just You make-up.

  “Joanna,” Tara gushes at her. “I was hoping you could give us some personal advice.”

  Joanna paints a smile on her face and nods. “Of course.” She takes in our group and her eyes narrow in on me. Uh oh. She makes a beeline for me. “Is that a permanent scar?” She asks pointing at my bandage.

  “Scar? Deformity? Potato. Potahto.”

  I hear a gasp at Tara’s catty remark, but Johanna completely ignores her. “I’ve been working on some make-up products for scar tissue.” She pulls a business card from her pocket. “If you’re
interested, I’d love to work with you.”

  “Johanna, are you recruiting guinea pigs again?” I hear a voice call. I look behind her to see an older man I recognize approaching us. It’s Mr. Ward, founder and CEO of Just You.

  “Mr. Ward.” Tara pushes her way forward. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

  He ignores her as he looks me. “You look familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”

  I reach my hand out. “Frankie McMillan, I work for—”

  “Of course, of course! I remember you.” He pumps my hand. “A damn shame about your accident, but I’m happy to see you’re back at work.”

  “Actually—”

  My words are cut off by Tara. “She’s not. I’m the one who put this party together.”

  Jackson laughs but quickly coughs to cover it up when Tara sends him a glare promising retribution.

  “Well, well, I assume it won’t be much longer now.” He nods to my crutches. “You seem to be getting around well enough.”

  Tara tries to cut in again, but he turns his back towards her. “Give me a call when you’re back in the office. I want to discuss some marketing ideas I had with you.” He hands me a business card before nodding at our group and walking away.

  “We’re going to dance. Sorry you can’t join us.” Tara’s snide voice certainly doesn’t sound sorry. She takes off in a huff. Suzanne and Becky follow. Bailey smiles at me before shrugging and following as well.

  “Girl, that was classic!” Jackson holds his hand up for a high five, but I ignore him. My friends took off with my rival with barely a glance back at me. What the hell!

  Chapter 14

  A lady should always handle herself with grace.

  Looking forward to seeing you later today.

  I stare at the phone unsure of how to reply to Brodie’s text. Of course, I can’t wait to see him. Merely looking at him gets my blood pumping in all kinds of exciting, naughty ways. The guy could give a nun a stroke. But he’s not really interested in me. He only took me out on a date because he felt sorry for me.

  Yep! See you later.

  I press send. There. That didn’t sound clingy or anything.

  I spend the rest of the morning texting back and forth with Shelby. She’s pissed I didn’t invite her into the city for the party. To be honest, the thought never crossed my mind. I wasn’t going to party, after all. I was going to get a glimpse at my archenemy. Yes, I’m now calling Tara my archenemy. I’ve decided she is the enemy to beat all enemies.

  Oh god, I sound like I’m a comic book hero. What am I going to do? Buy a pleather Catwoman suit and whip Tara? I wouldn’t have the first clue where to even buy a Catwoman suit. And a whip? I can barely manage to walk and not fall on my face at the moment. How am I going to manage to whip someone? Where does one go to learn to use a whip anyway? Dominatrix school?

  Grandpa sticks his head in my bedroom. “It’s time to go.”

  My heart starts to pound for an entirely different reason. Brodie. How am I going to face him and not think about the kiss? It wasn’t even a real kiss. Just a brief meeting of our lips. Although it was enough to get my blood flowing. I feel my face heat at the memory. This situation has disaster written all over it.

  Brodie is waiting at the entrance to the physical torture area … err… therapy room when I arrive. I wrinkle my brow at him. “Is something wrong?” He’s not usually waiting for me. Oh no. He’s quitting as my therapist. He’s probably embarrassed he took the cripple on a date and now he doesn’t know how to face me.

  “Stop.” I look up at him in confusion. He smiles and points to my head. “Whatever is going on in that brain of yours, tell it to stop.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Such. A. Liar.

  Brodie looks around him before taking a step closer to me and crowding me. “Hey,” he murmurs before leaning down and giving me a soft kiss. I’m too stunned to react. What is going on here? “Come on. Let’s get started.”

  Get started? Get started with what? Taking our clothes off? I’m down with that. Brodie waves his arm towards the therapy area. Oh yeah. That’s why I’m here.

  This has got to be one of the worst physical therapy sessions I’ve had. And not because of the torture. Sure, there’s torture. There’s always torture. But the pain isn’t a blip on my radar today. Not a single blip. How can it be when every single touch from Brodie is causing my body to go into overdrive? Every time he touches me, my breath catches and goosebumps form. Although he tries to hide his reaction, I see him smirk each and every time the goosebumps form. Jerk.

  “Okay.” Brodie slaps my foot. “Time to work on some strength training.”

  Strength training? Haven’t we been doing strength training? I must look confused because he smiles and points to the equipment in the corner of the room. Equipment I’ve been pointedly ignoring since my first day of therapy as I’m pretty sure hangmen in the middle ages used the same equipment to torture their victims before chopping off their heads. Isn’t the stretching or whatever it was we were doing enough? I slowly sit up and hang my legs over the therapy table.

  “You got this.” Brodie hands me my crutches and then motions towards the equipment. He chuckles when he sees the look on my face. “You look like it’s a snake’s den ready to strike you.”

  I shiver. Ugh! I hate snakes.

  Brodie pulls an exercise ball from behind the equipment. I release the breath I’ve been holding since he pointed to the torture machines. “We’re going to start simple.”

  I scowl. I’ve heard that before. Trust me. It never ends well.

  “All you have to do is sit on the ball.”

  Sitting I can do. I gingerly lower myself. Hey, this isn’t too bad. I hand my crutches off to Brodie, and the ball starts to roll to the side. Oh crap. I spoke too soon. Mayday! Mayday! Ship going down. Brodie’s there before I manage to land flat on my face. “Engage your core muscles to remain balanced and centered on the ball,” he orders.

  “My core muscles?”

  He touches my stomach and back, forcing me to lengthen my backbone and sit up straight. I try to ignore the tingles his touch on my naked skin create. Why in the world did I think it was a good idea to wear a top with an open back? The tank top is super cute but doesn’t help to keep my mind from flying straight to the gutter especially when god’s gift to physical therapy touches me.

  “You good?” I nod and he releases me. I immediately miss his heat. “I’m going to time you. Sit still for two minutes and then we’ll start on the next exercise.”

  I clamp my mouth shut to stop from shouting, oh goodie, I can’t wait.

  My core muscles, once I realized what the heck I was doing at least, seem to be fairly strong as I have no problem holding this position for two minutes.

  “Now, we’re going to do some knee marches. These will help strengthen your quad muscles.”

  I look down at my puny thigh muscle. My yoga pants can’t hide how tiny the muscle is. I don’t think my leg has ever been this skinny, but skinny is no good if you can’t walk because your muscle is too weak to support your body weight. Crutches are not sexy. Not at all.

  “Put your hands on your knees. Start with your injured leg and lift it up toward your chest keeping it bent.” I pick up my leg and the ball starts to wobble. I take a deep breath and pull in my core muscles to make sure I don’t go toppling over. I don’t manage to pull my leg all the way to my chest. I don’t have the flexibility for that type of move – yet. “Good, good, Hold it there for a few seconds.” Sweat starts to form on my brow. “A few more seconds.”

  “Can you count? Do you understand what the word ‘few’ means?”

  “Yes,” he chuckles. “Ms. Smarty Pants. I know what few means. Slower lower your leg. Now, pick up your right leg and pull it towards your chest.”

  I gasp. “But then I’ll have to use my bad leg for balance.”

  He smirks. “Which is the point.”

  I take a moment to gather my
courage before gritting my teeth and slowly lifting my right leg off the floor. The exercise ball immediately begins to wobble. I tense my ab muscles as much as possible and lift my leg higher. My knee nearly reaches my chest before the wobbling becomes intense. What’s more intense than wobbling? Whatever it is, that’s what I’m doing.

  “You’re okay.” Brodie reaches forward and steadies me with his hands on my shoulders. This time his touch has no effect on my body except to steady me. “Go ahead and lower your knee.”

  “Phew. Glad we’re done,” I say once both legs are firmly on the ground.

  “Not done.” Crap. I was worried he’d say that. “Let’s do ten lifts on each leg.” I narrow my eyes at him. He can’t be serious. “Chop. Chop. Get going.”

  An eternity later, buckets of sweat are pouring off me and my leg is killing me. My jaw is sore from gritting my teeth to avoid yelling out in pain. Finally, Brodie smiles. “You’re done.” He grabs my crutches and helps me to my feet. I start to stand but then hear a rip and feel a cold breeze waft across my butt cheeks. Uh oh. I freeze.

  “Frankie,” Brodie calls and wiggles my crutches in front of me. I don’t reach for them. I can’t.

  “I ripped my pants,” I whisper. His eyes widen at my declaration and I feel a flush explode on my face.

  “Don’t move.” I roll my eyes. Seriously? Where am I going with a rip in the butt of my yoga pants? He shoves my crutches at me before rushing off. I place a hand over the rip. I try to act casual, but I’m sure I look like a doofus feeling herself up while standing in the corner of the room with my hand on my ass. I wish I could run out of here and hide, but I can barely stand up straight with exhaustion from today’s session bearing down on me. Brodie returns less than a minute later with a sweatshirt. “Wrap this around you.”

  You don’t have to tell me twice. I grab the shirt. As soon as I’ve covered myself, I start heading for the exit anxious to make my getaway. Brodie’s words stop me.