It’s hard to believe the shift my life has taken in the last ten days. My days were pretty normal, and Mom continually added a few new orders to my schedule, which didn’t bother me. It was my evenings that became insane. While I’ve spent my days in the bakery, working with deliveries, and doing special drop-offs when needed, my nights have been a cyclone of meetings. Mostly with my family and Stephanie on speakerphone. Mom took to the role of my administrative assistant easily, but she slid into the role of my PR representative like a pro. She spent hours on the phone with the professional marketing and communications team at Brasher Resorts, outlining a plan for when our announcement goes public.
Brasher didn’t blink an eye when I explained how important it was to let my community know what’s happening. They spouted that my ability to form such close relationships with my clients was a high factoring reason in our impending partnership. With the help of a team of people, and my final approval, the press releases will be going live within the hour of my announcement in Aspen.
My local clients knew something big was happening because we had to decline event requests after August, and we stopped taking future orders more than thirty days out. I felt this was fair because we’d be loyal to our orders through the peak of tourist season in Charleston. And, hopefully, I’d be organized enough to get moving in time for peak season in Aspen. Expectations were loose, but I was up for the challenge.
All of it was more than I could dream of, except for one thing—Pierce. Since our conversation that night, he hasn’t been back to the shed. That was nine nights ago. I knew better than to allow myself to hope there was something blooming. The next morning, he proved me right when he met me at the bakery and said he was picking his children up from school that afternoon and they were staying with him indefinitely.
He explained this was the beginning of their loosely arranged summer custody agreement. They would float back and forth between Connie, Pierce, and the grandparents all summer, with a few camps thrown into the mix.
That hope I allowed to bloom died on the spot. This was exactly why I was serious when I told him we were doomed because nothing could ever work out in our favor. I tried to hide my disappointment, but he picked up on it. There was no repeat of sex on the prep table that morning, but there was a lot of kissing and more whispers of his commitment to make things right. Every night, he calls, and our conversations range from our days to filling in pieces of the last twelve years. It hasn’t always been easy, reliving major experiences of our lives, but neither of us has shied away from the other’s questions. The two subjects we have avoided are Connie and his children. Other than the casual mention of his life as a father, they are off-limits.
I know it makes me a total bitch, but I make a point to keep it that way. There are instances he starts a sentence and stops abruptly to change the subject. These are the times I know our lives can never head down a path for epic reconciliation. It’s impossible. I’ve accepted that and am sure that he has, too. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. It helps soothe the ache that he never mentioned coming to Aspen with me again after I told him they scheduled the announcement for Monday. They’ve set up two solid days of meetings, and with the long travel days, I’m leaving early Sunday morning. He had no reaction whatsoever, which led me to assume he’d decided it wasn’t a good idea to travel along.
One of the receptionists brings me a glass of champagne, which I accept gratefully. In preparation for my trip, Mom set up this day of pampering, starting with hair and makeup and ending the day at our favorite nail spa.
Most women like to sit in the center of the action, chatting with friends, greeting people they know when they walk in the door, and general socialization. In the past, I preferred this area because of the slight bit of privacy. Today, I’m looking for a few last hours of quiet. Not to mention, it gets exhausting trying to evade questions about my plans for DG Creations when I run into people.
The spa is busy for this time on a Friday afternoon, and as expected, most guests request the stations in the front and center. The bell attached to the door rings consistently with people coming and going, and I notice a cute blonde in her mid-twenties come in and speak to the receptionist, who points to an empty manicure station. She sits, smiling at her technician, and something strikes me as familiar about her I can’t pinpoint. Her voice travels in the air, and I think I’ve heard it before.
My own technician comes back, carrying a tray of scrubs, lotions, and gels, and I forget all about the woman at the manicure station. I sip my champagne and grab my phone to check my email and see the string of texts from Stephanie.
She did a fabulous job! I’m not kidding. You look like a supermodel! This is going on your website.
No shit, those highlights are the new you! I can’t stop staring.
Okay, I enlarged the picture, and your makeup is phenomenal. Those gold and green shadows are perfection on your eyes.
I smile at the phone, feeling a surge of confidence at her approval.
Me: Glad you like the makeup because, for what I paid for it, it’s going to need to be a business expense. Make note for the accountant.
Stephanie: Seriously, you look too good to go home and play with your dog. You need to play with your man… Have you sent him this picture?
Me: He’s not my man, and no, I didn’t send it to him. You better not either!
Stephanie: Making no promises. Scottie was meeting with me when the text came through. His jaw hit the floor. You may have converted him.
This time, I snort out loud, and my technician glances at me with amusement.
“My lawyer is trying to make a joke,” I chirp.
The entrance bell rings, but I’m too distracted thinking of a witty reply to look up. Just when the perfect reply comes to mind, a chill races down my spine. I peer to the wall of mirrors and catch a woman’s profile as she bends over the display of polishes. There’s no need to see her face to know who it is.
Constance Webber, with her best friend, Blaire. My eyes scan and see two pedicure chairs now open toward the front. For some reason, the blonde from earlier catches my eye, and I can’t miss the change in her attitude. The smiley, bright-eyed woman is now sitting stone-faced, her jaw set hard, her eyes blank, and she’s staring straight ahead. It strikes me as odd, but I don’t have to wonder long because, on the way to their chairs, Connie stops by the woman and sneers down at her, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Andi, funny seeing you here, considering I’m still waiting on that email.”
“I told you the last four times you asked. There is no information available.”
“And I told you to find a way to get it.”
I should look away, take measures to be invisible knowing Connie can’t possibly recognize me. It’s been a long time, and I’m a totally different person now. Hair, weight, shape, clothes, style… nothing about me is the same as the girl she once knew. But I can’t tear my eyes from the woman as she attempts to ignore Connie, who badgers her.
My eyes dash around the area, and for a split second, they cross Blaire. There’s a flicker of recognition, and she immediately bends forward to whisper something in Connie’s ear. I act fast, grabbing my earbuds out of my purse and popping them discreetly in my ears, then lean back and smile my best smile down to my technician as she smears exfoliator over my calves and wraps them in a warm towel. “That feels wonderful,” I tell her, not turning my head when the body stops beside my chair.
“Darby Graham,” Connie snarls, venom pouring from her voice, and causing heads to turn our way. Once again, I notice the look on the blonde’s face.
“Hello, Connie.” I throw my best saccharine-sweet greeting her way.
“Heard you showed your face back in town.”
“You heard right. Hello, Blaire.” I add the same sugar to the woman who used to be my friend.
She has the decency to look uncomfortable and taps Connie on the shoulder, gesturing to the chairs up near
the front. Connie shakes her head. “I think these two chairs will do fine. You don’t mind, do you, Darby, if Blaire and I sit here? We have so much to discuss, and this area is much better to carry on girl talk.”
“Oh, not at all.” I wave to the chairs. “By all means, enjoy yourselves. I happen to be working.” I tuck my hair behind one ear to show my earbud and go directly back to typing on my phone.
My technician gives the arch of my foot a deep push, bringing my attention to her, where she’s raised an unhappy eyebrow. I jerk my head once to let her know I am fine and lift my glass for a refill. She speaks over her shoulder, and in a second, another employee is at my side, refilling my flute.
“I want a glass of that,” Connie barks snidely.
“Sorry, Miss Graham is receiving the VIP package. I can offer you water or wine for a fee,” the lady tells her, and I hiccup down the giggle.
“I’ll have wine,” Connie grates out, and I begin typing quickly on my phone, which has been vibrating like crazy for the last few minutes, all messages from Stephanie.
Me: Chill your ass down. Connie Webber and Blaire just walked in and proceeded to sit next to me. We can talk about my hair and makeup later.
Stephanie: Perfect fucking timing. I couldn’t have planned this better. Wearing that outfit, looking like you do… this is the beginning of your sweet revenge. Do you need me to call?
Me: No, I’ve got this. Talk soon.
Stephanie’s right about my outfit. I thought twice this morning about choosing the one-shouldered, asymmetrical, short romper, thinking it was too dressy. It’s not completely formal, but the Gucci label and price tag make it a little much for a day of pampering in Charleston. However, catching a glimpse of envy in Connie’s eye has made this the perfect choice.
I bring the flute to my lips and mindlessly swipe through emails, making sure to keep focused on my phone. I feel the heat of Connie’s irritated stare and internally prepare.
She doesn’t disappoint, talking loudly to Blaire about Maya and Cole’s summer plans, their accomplishments, and taking every chance to brag about what wonderful children she and Pierce are raising. She drops his name so many times, I lose count, and it’s everything I can do to keep my face expressionless as I read today’s stock reports.
“Maya and Pierce decided….”
“Pierce and Cole built…”
“Our last family dinner…”
“The baseball banquet where Pierce…”
The tautness in my shoulder blades spreads high, taking over the tendons in my neck, and pretty soon, the vein in my forehead ticks. All the time, I keep my attention to my phone, throwing in a few exasperated sighs and ignoring her as if she isn’t there. Blaire doesn’t say much either.
My non-reaction pisses her off, and she moves onto more personal subjects.
“Our office has decided to do a health initiative, and I’m spearheading a group program. My first move is to eliminate all chocolate and sweets within the office. Then I’ll petition the building manager. All that sugar, fat, and calories are gross. Even Pierce thinks so; he hates chocolate.”
Not anymore, bitch. I think to myself, knowing he’s a big fan of chocolate these days. This is a direct dig at me, and she’s itching for a response.
I keep my mouth shut and swallow the cry of relief when the technician starts to paint my toenails. A few more minutes, and I’ll be out of this chair and away from hell. My technician inspects the bottle I handed her earlier and curls a finger at me to bend closer.
“This is beautiful,” she comments quietly.
“Thanks, it’s one of a kind. It was made especially for me by a cosmetology company in Paris.”
I don’t have to look at her to feel the daggers piercing into my flesh when I sit back, dropping my earbuds in my purse. Connie takes this opportunity to ramble on more, and I restart the massage chair, hoping it will drown her out. No such luck.
I try another tactic, forcing my thoughts to the explosive night Pierce came to the shed. The way he kissed me, held me close, dominated my body in proof that it belonged to him. The words he whispered, the loving way he looked while moving inside me, all of it combined with the knowledge he never gave that to anyone else. Connie will never know what it’s like to have Pierce’s strong hands roaming over her in worship. She’ll never feel the soft touch of his lips or the warmth of his embrace after him fucking her senseless.
I’m jarred out of my thoughts. A tingling sensation travels over my skin from head to toe, and my stomach dips low, curling and turning in a way that sends my heart racing. Call it subconscious spirit, or ESP, whatever it is; my mind is aware and alert, telling me to be ready. I’m so lost in the stir happening inside that I barely hear the ringing of the bell. But I can’t miss the quiet hush that falls over the spa. The air leaves my lungs when I spot Pierce sauntering my way.
His bright blue eyes are locked on mine, filled with intent and purpose. He’s wearing his jeans, Kendrick Construction shirt, work boots, and has his hat backward with his glasses perched on top.
God, a woman could fall in love with him based on his hotness alone.
My brain finally takes over, firing on all cylinders, and it hits me what’s happening.
Connie…
Pierce…
Me…
The anger, the heartbreak, the jealousy, the betrayal, and the three of us all together with an audience. I may not know all the women in here, but the silence and gawking tell me they know Pierce.
He doesn’t acknowledge anyone, doesn’t break his stride, and doesn’t take his eyes off me. There’s confidence in his steps, and I know he’s made a decision that’s about to change both our lives. I swear sparks are crackling in the air the closer he gets.
He sidesteps Connie’s chair without even a glance, wraps his hand around my neck, dips down, and crashes his mouth to mine. My body reacts on its own, pressing up into him and giving in to the kiss. His tongue strokes around mine, teasingly, then dives deeper as he slants my head for full access. It doesn’t take long for my blood to race through my veins, the heat spreading through my body. This isn’t a quick, happy-to-see-you kiss. It’s much more. This is the kind of kiss a man gives a woman when he’s making a statement.
That’s what Pierce is doing. He’s making a statement to me and to anyone watching.
I never saw myself as the kind of woman that would openly make out in public, but down in my soul, I need this.
My lungs fight for oxygen, and I slow down, breaking away. He doesn’t let me go far, holding my face close.
“Baby, you’re always gorgeous, but you look fucking amazing.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“The champagne would taste much better with some chocolate.” He brushes his lips across mine once more and stands, keeping his back to Connie, whose fury is surrounding us. I steal a sideways glance and wonder if she’s going to blow the roof off.
He takes my hand, inspecting my nails, and kisses along my knuckles. Then he glances at my feet, and I know immediately he approves of the color. I wasn’t kidding when I told the technician the polish was one of a kind. It was created to match the electrifying blue in my logo design. “Very appropriate,” he comments.
“Where the hell are our children?” Connie shrieks so loud the shrill sound vibrates in my ears.
He doesn’t glance her way. “With your parents, as you requested, getting ready for the Art Festival tonight.”
“You weren’t supposed to drop them off until six.”
“Your mom called and wanted them earlier.”
“Any deviations in our children’s schedule need to have my approval.”
She puts emphasis on the words our children, still trying to get under my skin.
“When they’re under my care, I make the decisions. They wanted to go to their grandparents’ early. Never been a problem before, and it’s not going to be a problem now.” His voice is steady, but there’s a sharp undertone that gives me a sli
ght tremor. He’s holding his patience by a string, and I’m not sure we need that kind of scene.
“How much has she had to drink?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been paying attention to her.” It’s a lie, and he knows it by the sly grin he flashes. But it does the trick of pissing her off more.
“You want to know something about me, ask me. Not your ex-girlfriend, cookie maker,” she spits out.
Ex-girlfriend, cookie maker? That’s the best she can come up with? I drain the rest of my champagne to try to hide my amusement, but she catches on.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Her screech is annoying.
I shrug nonchalantly. “I graduated from cookies a long time ago.”
He chuckles, squeezing my hand, and looks down at the technician. “How much longer?”
“All done.” She sets up an oscillating fan in front of my feet. “Five minutes of drying time.”
“You want another glass of champagne?” He motions to the empty glass.
“I’m driving.”
“Not tonight, you aren’t. We have dinner reservations. Evin and I will swing by and get your truck in the morning before the horses arrive.”
I try to hide the shock at the mention of Evin helping him and the fact that he still is going to help with the horses. I figured he’d be wrapped up with his kids. But I’m not going to question him. “Okay, I’ll wait until dinner for more champagne.”
He kisses my hand once more before letting go and pulling out his wallet. He hands a credit card to the woman, telling her to take care of my services. Once again, it’s in me to argue, but I hold back.
“Are you kidding me? The mother of your children is sitting right here, and you don’t even offer to pay?”
There she goes with the children thing again. Suddenly, I don’t feel guilty about his generosity.
“Nope. Because you’re their mother is probably why you are sitting here. I pay handsomely each month for their care, and let’s not forget your mortgage.”
Pierced Hearts (Southern Charmers Book 1) Page 14
