“Come on, beautiful, stop staring at your scar. We need to get going if we aren’t going to be late.” I may have my own place, but Brodie and I spend the vast majority of our nights together. I stick my tongue out at him. Although I stopped wearing the bandage the week Jackson and I signed the lease agreement for our new offices, I’m still not used to seeing my scar out in the open. Okay, fine, I’ll admit I still wear the bandage sometimes if I go to the mall and Brodie’s not around.
The scars on my leg are a completely different matter. It’s not one two-inch long scar. Nope. There are several long-ass scars crisscrossing my leg. Shelby’s little stunt at the swimming pool, notwithstanding, I will never wear shorts and short skirts again. Even three-quarter pants are out of the question as you can see two scars peeking out from below the hem. My wardrobe is now full of seven-eighths pants in every color and fabric available.
“You look beautiful as usual.” I’m wearing one of my pairs of seven-eighths pants. This pair is black linen. On top, I’m wearing a tunic blouse with a cool graffiti design. I stare at the boring flats on my feet. Heels of more than a half an inch are still beyond me. I have an entire collection of stilettos gathering dust in my closet. “Let’s go. You don’t want to be late to your own grand opening, do you?”
I roll my eyes. We are not going to be late. The party doesn’t start for another hour and a half, but I want to get there early as I have a few last minute prep things to take care of. Although I spent the entire day on location making sure everything is perfect, there’s always tons of stuff to do last minute especially when you are serving food and drinks.
I’m surprised to see the lights dimmed when we arrive at the office. “What’s going on?” I grab my phone. “I need to find out why the catering isn’t here yet. This is a disaster.” The caterers were scheduled to arrive two hours in advance. Jackson was supposed to be here to greet them.
Brodie snatches my phone from my hands. I glare at him. “Let’s go inside and see what’s going on before you start barking orders and threatening to fire people.” I may have been a tiny bit stressed about opening the business and may have threatened to fire one or two people. It’s not like I would have actually followed through, though. Probably.
I climb out of the car and stare daggers into his back as we walk to the front door, but my daggers have no effect on the sexy man walking in front of me. “After you.” He opens the door and motions me in.
“Congratulations!”
I scream as the place is flooded with lights and everyone in the world I know yells congratulations. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a party.”
“Yes, I’m aware it’s a party.” I point to myself. “Party planner. But this is not the party I planned.”
“I thought it would be nice to have a little pre-party to celebrate how much you’ve accomplished. We both know as soon as the first potential customer walks through the door you’re going to switch on working mode and not have any fun.” Yeah, okay, I may be a little anal when it comes to my work. I did warn Brodie I was a workaholic. “Congratulations, baby. I’m unbelievably proud of you.” His lips find mine for a sweet kiss.
“Hey, now, none of that kissing stuff until you make an honest woman of my granddaughter,” Grandma shouts as she somehow manages to shove her way in between Brodie and me to separate us.
“What?” I sputter. “Aren’t you the one who told me to have some fun?”
Grandma crosses her arms over her chest. “A little fun is okay, but you’ve given away way too much milk for free. He’s never going to put a ring on the cow if the milk is always free.”
“I think your analogy ran away from you. What have you been drinking?”
“This punch.” She holds up her glass and smacks her lips. “It’s delicious.”
I scowl. At least there’s nothing alcoholic in the punch unless … “You don’t spike the punch did you, Grandma?”
She shrugs. “A little vodka never hurt anyone.”
Oh crap. This is not good. We can’t have potential customers drinking spiked punch. Before I have a chance to have a complete freak-out, Jackson arrives. “It’s okay. I have an extra punchbowl and punch for when the opening starts.”
“Let’s get back to the original problem,” Grandma slurs a bit and I search the crowd for Grandpa. He can control her. Well, mostly. Okay, sometimes. Let’s hope today is one of those times. I spot Grandpa standing nearby. I motion to him to come get his wife. He gives me a smile and a thumbs up. Oh great, looks like someone else has been in the punch.
“Well?” Grandma points at Brodie with the hand holding her glass and punch spills all over the floor. “What are going to do about this? You can’t continue to deflower my granddaughter.”
“Grandma, there was no deflowering involved.” I try to grab her glass away, but she holds it close to her chest and growls at me.
I turn to Brodie to ask him to carry Grandma out of here. He’s strong and she’s an itty-bitty thing. She might fight him, but I have faith he’ll prevail. Brodie isn’t standing there. Nope, he’s kneeling. I groan. “Oh no, no way, you aren’t going to propose because Grandma is in her cups and decided she wants to see me married off.”
“Listen to the man,” Grandma says in a remarkably clear voice. I narrow my eyes at her. What is going on?
“Beautiful,” Brodie calls and I look back at him. “I wanted to ask you something in front of all your friends and family.”
My eyes widen. “You wanted to ask me in front of my family and friends?”
A slight brush of pink can be seen on his cheeks. “I wanted to. Your grandma blackmailed me. Same thing,” he shrugs, “And I am not prepared to live a life without her lasagna. I swear. That woman has spies everywhere.”
“What did you say, sonny? I can’t hear you,” Grandma shouts.
I giggle. “This is crazy.”
He chuckles. “I’m crazy. About you. From the first moment you hobbled into the hospital looking scared and all pissed off at the same time. You refused – absolutely refused – to show any pain during our entire first therapy session and I know you had to have been in agony. I knew I had to get to know this woman who was not only the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen but the strongest as well. With every layer I peeled away, I fell deeper and deeper.” He stops speaking to pull a small black jewelry box out of his pocket. My eyes widen. This is really happening. “I love you. What do you say? Will you become Mrs. Russell?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “No way. I will not be Mrs. Russell.”
I can hear someone gasp in the crowd, but my eyes are pinned on Brodie who looks like he swallowed something sour. “No? You don’t want to marry me?”
Another shake of my head. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to marry you. You asked if I’d become Mrs. Russel. That’s a hard no.” I shrug. “But marriage? Who knows? You didn’t ask.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Will you marry me, smart ass?”
And now I’m smiling. “Of course, I’ll marry you. I love you.” How could I not love this man? He saw me at my worst and didn’t hesitate to help me put myself back together.
Brodie immediately jumps up and pulls me into his arms. He twirls me in his arms as he lets out a loud whoop! “She said yes!”
I giggle. “I think everyone figured that out when you yelled loud enough to shatter an eardrum.”
Brodie ignores my smart-alec comment. His lips find mine and his tongue weaves its way into my mouth. I bury my hands in his hair and hold on for the ride. Brodie angles his head for better access, and I moan.
“Frankie, I’m really sorry to bother you.” Bailey pulls on my sleeve. Yep, Bailey’s still around. Once I pulled my head out of my ass and realized Bailey was a true friend unlike two other women who shall remain nameless, I decided to take her up on her offer to come work for me. As of this morning, she is officially the office manager. “But the caterers have some questions and I don’t know what to t
ell them.”
“Where’s Jackson?”
She points to the corner of the room where Shelby and Jackson are caught in a heated argument. Jackson has Shelby pinned against the wall, and he’s practically yelling in her face. Those two. Since the day we looked at this property, they have been at loggerheads. I have no idea what’s going on with them and now is not the time to figure it out.
“It’s okay. I got this,” I tell Bailey before returning my attention to Brodie. I open my mouth to apologize, but he stops me with a kiss on my nose.
“No apologies. I knew proposing to you tonight meant I had to share you with the world, but I did it anyway. I wanted to propose in front of your family.” He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “We have all night to celebrate.” He kisses that spot behind my ear, and I shiver. “And then we have the rest of our lives together.”
I stare at this wonderful man. I can’t believe I’m marrying him. Nine months ago, when I woke up in the hospital with a shattered leg and a scarred face, I thought my life was over. My life wasn’t over. It just took a twist I couldn’t have expected. A twist, which led me here today to a place where I am surrounded by family and love. Best twist ever.
Thank you for reading About Face. Word-of-mouth is crucial in the cutthroat world of publishing. Seriously, it’s totally cutthroat. Too bad there’s no swashbuckling. That sounds like fun. Spoiler alert: I have no idea what swashbuckling is. But seriously, it would be a huge help if you could leave a review of About Face. It doesn’t have to be more than a sentence, maybe two. Just follow this LINK.
Eager to dive into another romantic comedy? Jackson and Shelby’s story is next. Until then, you can read the first chapter of another one of my romantic comedies, Fat Girl Begone!
An Excerpt from Fat Girl Begone!
Chapter 1
My positive thought for the day is: I’m never going to freaking survive this ‘journey’ if I have to have a flipping positive thought every day.
“It’s not that I don’t love you.”
What? I struggle for breath. The man I love doesn’t want to be with me anymore, but it’s not because he doesn’t love me. I don’t understand what’s going on right now. “Let me get this straight – you love me, but you don’t want to be with me?”
My boyfriend, Josh, the guy I thought was the one, sighs in frustration at my lack of understanding what in the frick frack is going on. Well, excuse me. “I just can’t take it anymore.” I stare at him. Completely lost. His blond, impeccably styled hair together with his button-down shirt and khaki pants form the epitome of a nice guy image. He doesn’t look the least bit ruffled by this conversation. A conversation that is slowly ripping my heart out.
I finally manage to ask what in the world he’s talking about. “Take what anymore?”
He stares at the floor for such a long time I become convinced he won’t answer. When I’m about to start hitting something, or should I say someone, he speaks. “Your lack of self-esteem. Your refusal to love yourself.” Everything stops. What? I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but this isn’t it. “I don’t care how much you weigh or what size you wear, but it rules your life. There’s always some crazy new diet you want to try. Then, after two days of bitching about how hard it is, you give up and drown your sorrows in a gallon of ice cream. It goes on and on, and I can’t take it anymore.”
I throw my hip out, plant one hand on it, and point a finger from the other hand at him. “Let me get this straight. You’re not dumping me because I’m fat. You’re dumping me because I diet too much.” Color me confused.
Josh growls. “I don’t care if you want to diet every day for the rest of your life. I care that dieting and your weight rule your life. I love you, but you can’t seem to love yourself.”
Huh? He loves me but can’t be with me because I don’t love myself? Talk about baffling behavior. I’m still frozen in place when Josh leans over and kisses my cheek. He whispers something about always loving me and then he’s gone. Just. Like. That.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
What is that sound? I try to open my eyes, but they’re glued together. Seeing is overrated. I throw my arm out in search of whatever’s making that gawd awful racket. My arm only meets air, and I reach further. Still nothing. I stretch my arm out as far as it will go and Bam! I roll right off my sleeping place onto the floor. My eyes unglue from the jarring motion, and I find myself staring up at my coffee table. What in the world…?
My stomach gurgles, and I taste acid in my mouth. In a flash, the memories of the previous night resurface. Josh dumping me. My best friend, Blaze, coming over to comfort me – a bottle of tequila in her hands. Tequila! I stand as quickly as my shaky limbs will allow and stumble to the bathroom. Pizza, beer, and tequila shots are not as pleasant coming up as going down. A fact I seem to forget on a regular basis.
I’m sitting on the bathroom floor with my forehead resting on the toilet when I hear my phone alarm go off again. Why in the world is my alarm going off on a Saturday morning? I scroll through my memories of the previous night, but, after the third shot of tequila, it’s all a big blank. That can’t be good.
The alarm isn’t excessively loud. It’ll eventually stop because there’s no way I’m getting up from this floor. The toilet bowl is my friend. I have no plans to abandon it. Maybe I’ll just hug it for a while.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“I know you’re in there!” Blaze’s voice slices with a vengeance through my foggy brain. I lift my head and notice I’m still in the bathroom. Guess I fell asleep.
Before I have a chance to even try to turn my legs from noodles into supporting limbs, the door to the bathroom smashes open. “There you are!” Blaze rushes in and grabs me under the arms. It’s amazing how easily she lifts my lard ass considering what a petite thing she is. Is she part terminator or something?
She pushes me into the shower and turns on the water. “What the hell, Blaze?” I sputter but don’t move. I’m not certain my legs will support me yet. Instead, I peel my now waterlogged clothing off me and throw it onto the bathroom floor.
The water feels like heaven. I should have thought of forcing my hungover ass into the shower before. Just when I think I may survive the world’s worst hangover, the water turns ice cold. “What the fuck?” I turn evil eyes on Blaze who’s standing next to the shower with a wicked grin on her face.
“No time to dilly-dally,” she practically sings before turning the water off.
“Dilly-dally?” I mutter as I grab a towel and start to dry off. Once I’m dry and I’ve somewhat tamed my hair with a comb, I walk into my bedroom to find Blaze waiting on me. She throws a bundle of clothes at me. I take the clothes and start to dress without thinking until I come to the sports bra. I throw that back at her and walk to my dresser for a more comfortable option. Sports bras and big boobs are torture, if you must know.
“You’ll want to keep that on.”
I turn on Blaze and glare at her. “What’s going on? What are you doing here? Why are you dressing me?”
She cocks her head at me and stares. “You honestly don’t remember?” I continue to glare until an evil grin appears on her face. That can’t be good. “You have an appointment this morning.”
“Appointment? It’s Saturday morning.” I look at the clothes she handed me. This doesn’t make any sense. Sports clothes and an appointment. What in the world is she talking about? A tiny memory starts to surface. Oh no. “Tell me we didn’t go on the gym website and scroll through hot trainers last night.”
“That’s not all we did.” Blaze’s chipper voice is starting to freak me out.
I search my memories, but the only thing that pops up is giggling and making very inappropriate comments about the personal trainers at Blaze’s gym. I stare at the clothes I’m wearing and sweat pops out on my forehead. Oh no. “Please tell me I’m not going on a date with a hot guy from your gym.”
She giggles. “No, better.”
“Oh god,
I didn’t hire an escort last night, did I?” Because that’s the only thing I can think of that would be better than going out on a date with one of the sex gods from her gym. Oh, my god, I’m actually considering paying for sex. I’m going to blame that on the tequila. Not that I won’t take advantage, mind you. I’m obviously more hung over than I thought if I’m entertaining these kinds of thoughts.
“Nope. You have your first personal training session this morning.” Her eyes positively gleam as she shares the news.
I stop riffling through my bra drawer and turn to her. “What?” She couldn’t possibly have said I have a personal training session this morning. The gym, working out, being fit – that’s Blaze’s thing. She may be a mild-mannered kindergarten teacher by day, but, in the evenings, she turns into a fitness fanatic. Not me. “No. No. No.” I shake my head and rush to the kitchen. I need coffee for this conversation. Once I’m in the kitchen, I realize coffee isn’t going to cut it. I need chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.
I open my secret stash drawer, only to find it empty. I shake my head. That can’t be right. I madly open and close cabinets and drawers. They’re all empty. Everything’s empty! There is no food in my house. In a last-ditch effort, I open the refrigerator. No way. I must be dreaming. This has to be a nightmare brought on by tequila poisoning. There’s no other possible explanation.
Blaze pulls me away from the kitchen. She forces me into a chair and then stands in front of me with her arms crossed. “Seriously, you don’t remember?” When I shake my head, she continues. “You were all revved up about changing your life last night. You’re going to lose weight, get in shape, and then when Josh wants you back – bam! – you’re going to turn him away.”
About Face (Love in the Suburbs Book 1) Page 17
