Advice from a Jilted Bride

by Rayne, Piper

  “I’m guessing you heard the gossip about Brooklyn Bailey. Sad really. Jeff used to surprise her here with flowers and candy.” His eyes shoot out to the clear blue lake out the large window. “He proposed there.” He points to the arced overpass that I thought would be great to host wedding ceremonies under the first time my dad showed me pictures of this place.

  “Why here?” I ask.

  Mr. Clayton tilts his head. “Have you read the list I sent with everyone who works here and a little of their background?”

  I started to but got bored after two pages. I don’t need to know how many kids these people have, who married their high school sweetheart, and whether or not they usually attend the Christmas party. I just need to know if they can do their damn job.

  He realizes my answer without me responding.

  “Brooklyn Bailey works in housekeeping for us… well… for you now. She’s a sweet girl. Worked here ever since college. I was surprised that a Bailey would work here. I think it was meant to be temporary but after Jeff proposed and him being so tech savvy...”

  Here he goes again, telling me information I don’t care about.

  Okay, I care a little bit.

  “Why does everyone act like the Baileys are royalty?”

  He tilts his head. “You need to do some more research, Wyatt.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes.

  “The Baileys employ most of this town. They came here and saved it from disappearing off the map many decades ago. Bailey Timber Corp is the reason Lake Starlight is what it is today. But everyone really took to them even more after their parents died.”

  That explains why there weren’t any parents at her place the other night.

  “They died nine… no… ten years ago. The anniversary is this winter. There’s nine of them. Brooklyn is in the middle. The eldest, Austin, returned to town to raise the younger kids back when it happened and Savannah, the second eldest took over Bailey Timber Corp along with their grandmother Doris Bailey. It shocked and stunned most of Lake Starlight. I think everyone just knows them now and has a vested interest in their happiness.”

  I lean back and sip my drink, scanning the area.

  “Anyway, I’m guessing you heard, Brooklyn’s wedding didn’t happen and she’s off for two weeks. I heard she went on her honeymoon anyway. I really hope that’s the case. The girl works so hard she deserves the time off.”

  I nod knowing full well where she is and it’s not on a beach unless she poured sand in the apartment and started putting umbrellas in her drinks.

  “I vaguely heard about it. It’s amazing how small this town feels.”

  “Yeah, well, most people in this town are lifers.” He shrugs.

  Molly brings over our plates and leaves the ketchup, mayo, and mustard bottles on the table like we’re at a discount diner.

  Another note to self.

  “Anyone else you want to know about?” he asks.

  “Who’s the employee that’s missed the most time?” I ask right before I bite down on my burger.

  His face distorts again but recovers quickly. “We have one maid who has missed some time, but—”

  “I just need her name.” I take another swig of my drink.

  His shoulders deflate and he rests his spoon next to his bowl. “Can I offer some advice?”

  I’d like to say no. That his way of doing things ran this hotel into the ground. Now whether that was because of his wife’s health or not I don’t know, but the fact remains, Whitmore Hotels is famous for a reason. So, I don’t really need him to advise me on what we should be doing.

  “Sure.” I’m polite until someone gives me a reason not to be and there’s no sense getting this off to a bad start. He can offer his advice, but I don’t have to take it.

  “Get to know the employees. Don’t treat them as numbers, view them as people. People like you. After all, we all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

  His insult doesn’t go unregistered. I don’t think I’m better than these people just because I grew up with money. I simply think there are those with a work ethic and those without. And part of managing a successful enterprise means tough decisions. I’m not doing anyone any favors if this place doesn’t turn a profit and my dad decides to close it. Then everyone’s out of a job instead of just the dead weight.

  “Thank you.” I wash down what was a pretty amazing burger with my Diet Coke and wipe my mouth with my paper napkin. “I’ll consider it.”

  After my shift, I can’t wait to get into some more comfortable clothes that aren’t made of polyester. I trudge up my stairs with the paperwork Mr. Clayton gave me at the end of the day—everyone’s attendance records since they started. When I reach the third floor, my gaze shoots to Brooklyn’s door.

  I wasn’t considering screwing her, but the fact that she’s my employee now takes the option off the table completely.

  Like some creep, I briefly press my ear to the door. What? I’m only doing what I promised her grandma I would. But all seems quiet behind the door and I walk across the hall to my own door, hoping she’s finding the peace she needs.

  Eight

  Brooklyn

  My phone dings next to my bed.

  I’ve had it plastered next to me just in case my family gets the urge to call me.

  I scroll it over and see the string of messages my friend Reagan left me on doomsday and every day since.

  Reagan: Call me.

  Reagan: I knew he was an asshole.

  Reagan: I hope you’re okay.

  Reagan: Talked to Juno, if you need me, you know where I am.

  Reagan: Juno says you’re going on your honeymoon.

  Reagan: Have fun and call me when you get back.

  Reagan: Oh shit, you should see the new bellhop. Damn girl.

  Reagan: Oh, I just found out, he’s the new manager from that swanky hotel chain that bought us.

  Reagan: He has to learn every position in the company.

  Reagan: I might end up getting him tangled in the sheets when I show him how to make a bed. ;)

  Reagan: I miss you.

  Reagan: My days are boring without you.

  Reagan: Call me as soon as you get this.

  The guilt piles on reading her text string. Even if the last six were just sent within the last minute. The girl has a unique way of texting her thoughts one after the other instead of in one text.

  I take the comforter and pull it over my head.

  Darkness is my serenity.

  Nine

  Wyatt

  It’s been five days and I haven’t seen or heard anything from Brooklyn. There’s been no noise from her apartment. I haven’t heard the door open or shut.

  I should check on her.

  I open my door, staring across the empty hallway at her door.

  It’s none of my business.

  That’s not true, her grandma literally made me promise to check on her.

  Her happiness is none of my business. There’s nothing I can do that will make her feel better.

  That’s true.

  I shut my door.

  Ten

  Brooklyn

  My body is sore from stagnation. I didn’t even know that was possible until this week. Even so, I force myself to pick up my phone and text my family pictures of sunsets that someone else took on their honeymoon.

  Juno responds with a smiley face and words about how beautiful the pictures are for everyone.

  Savannah: Have you thought any more about what you want to do when you get back?

  Leave it to my eldest sister to make sure I have a plan in place.

  I sit up in bed, consider getting up for all of five seconds, but then plop back down.

  A knock hits my door and I startle, my eyes wide and my muscles tight while I lie there not moving a muscle.

  Another knock sounds.

  I climb out of bed and tiptoe to the door, praying whoever it is can’t hear me.

  Another knock hits the metal ri
ght when I look through the peephole.

  “Brooklyn!” a deep voice yells.

  Two bright blue eyes look back at me through the peephole.

  “I’ve given you a week.”

  I jolt back.

  Why does my new hot neighbor care how I’m doing? Then again, he is the only one who knows I’m in hiding.

  “I’m busy,” I say through the door.

  “No, you’re not.”

  I scrunch my forehead. “How do you know?” I yell and step farther back from the door, surprising myself.

  I don’t yell.

  Ever.

  Well… rarely.

  “Because your apartment has been as quiet as a monastery.”

  I lean closer to the door. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine, thank you.” I step back again.

  “I didn’t ask how you were. I knocked and I’m pretty sure the same rules apply in this town as they do everywhere else in the world—you open the door and we say hello face-to-face. Good job using the peephole, but let’s be real here—I don’t think you need to fear me. I have the scar to prove it.”

  I step closer, my hand on the doorknob. “I apologized.”

  “And you also said you’d repay me sometime. That time is now.”

  “You told me I didn’t have to.” I drop my forehead to the door.

  “Fucking hell, just open the door. I haven’t worked this hard to feed a woman since I was fifteen and the first girl I asked out on a date had more dietary restrictions than my ninety-year-old grandma.”

  I lift up on the balls of my feet and glance out the peephole one more time. He’s standing farther back now, with a brown paper bag in his hands.

  Wok For U.

  My mouth salivates. “I look like shit,” I grumble.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Orange chicken?”

  “You have to open the door to see, but you should be thankful this town is small, and they like to plaster pictures of its people proudly on the wall.”

  “What?” I spring open the door.

  His gaze travels down my body. I pull the edges of my cardigan sweater closed around myself and Wyatt’s eyes spring back up to mine.

  “I didn’t realize that you’re kind of a celebrity around here.” He steps in, places the brown bag on the kitchen table and opens drawer after drawer in my kitchen.

  “Buzz Wheel? Did they figure it out?”

  Fuck. If they know I’m not on my honeymoon that means my family will be here in minutes.

  “Buzz Wheel?” He looks skeptically over his shoulder and grabs two forks out of the drawer. “You won some kind of eating championship at Wok For U five years ago for eating orange chicken.”

  The tension wracking my body loosens and I can breathe again. Thank God. I’m not ready to handle all my siblings yet.

  “Right well, it wasn’t a huge thing.”

  “Well, the picture of you with your bib and all the sauce smeared on your face was enough to tip me off that you’re a fan of orange chicken.” He picks up the bag off the kitchen table and heads to the family room. “Come on.”

  “Thank you for the food, but…”

  “I get that you ate your weight in Orange Chicken five years ago, but I’m still a growing boy—I need my food.”

  “You’re planning on staying?” I double blink.

  He rounds the couch, deserting the food and grabs two waters from the fridge. “Looks like someone needs more food since they’re in hiding.” He stares into the fridge for a minute then turns and makes his way back to the family room. “Oh, and I figure you could use a little interaction with an actual human being. I won’t stay long.”

  “Okay. Maybe I should get presentable.” I walk toward the bathroom, but his long arm reaches over the edge of the couch and his hand grabs my wrist.

  “You need to eat before I can blow you over with one breath.”

  I stare down at myself. No bra. No panties. Pajama pants, a cami with a great big sweater and a pair of socks with dogs on the back. Lame, Brooklyn.

  I took off the nail polish from the pedicure I got before the wedding when I decided to strip myself of anything that reminded me of the wedding or Jeff. Now I just need hair to grow back between my legs so I can go back to having a small patch instead of being completely bare. Then I’ll feel like myself again.

  I feel like a fool sitting here such a hot mess when he’s all…perfect and put together. It’s not like I’m trying to date the guy, but after what happened it would be nice to have some pride left.

  “Come on. Stop fighting me.” He pulls out the containers leaving them on the coffee table.

  The one thing having to do with the wedding that I couldn’t get rid of because I know Holly put a lot of work into refinishing it.

  “Okay.” I sit down next to him. “Do you want plates?”

  He glances at me out of the side of his eye. “No one eats Chinese with plates unless it’s a business meeting. It’s meant to be eaten out of the container. I promise I don’t have cooties.” He winks.

  My stomach flips.

  I cover my belly with my hand. We do not flip over some charismatic man. We hate men. Remember?

  Wyatt clicks on the television, scrolling through the channels. “Since it’s your house, you get first pick.”

  “I thought you weren’t staying long?”

  He smiles. “For someone usually so polite, I feel a little offended right now. I bring you orange chicken. I grab the silverware and drinks. You act like you can’t stand me.” He’s teasing me, that million-watt grin shines on me and for a moment my problems fade into the background.

  “Fine.” I snatch the remote. “If you’re staying, I’m going to torment you.” I click through a few channels until it lands on Sex and the City.

  He grabs the remote. “I’m vetoing that.”

  “You can’t veto.” I reach to grab the remote from his hand, but he raises it up over his head. “That’s not fair. I’m not as tall as you.”

  “First of all. Everyone gets one veto. I’m not going to sit here with you and watch an entire television show about women trying to find the love of their life.”

  “You have no idea what Sex and the City is really about. It’s about female empowerment and the relationship you have with yourself and other women. So there.”

  I lean back into the couch, surprised by my lashing out.

  “You’re a lot sassier than I thought.”

  “I’m n—”

  He raises his hand to my lips. “It was a compliment.”

  “Oh.” His hand falls and he changes the channel on the remote.

  “Regardless of whether it’s about female empowerment or not, it has a hell of a lot about relationships in it. Let’s watch Paradise Lost.”

  “I’m not watching that.”

  Three men’s mug shots show up on screen.

  “It’s true crime.” He presses play and opens up the Orange Chicken, tossing a fork in and handing it to me. “Do you scare easily?”

  “No.” My tone makes it sound like I have a point to prove, but it’s true. I don’t scare at all usually. Except now I’m scared of any man I might have feelings for. I’m scared that my internal compass will point me to another snake again.

  “Great. Then eat your chicken and settle in. It’s a three-part series.”

  “You’re staying for the entire three parts?”

  “Do you have better plans?”

  I stick my tongue out like a true toddler and pick up my fork, stabbing a piece of chicken wishing it was Jeff’s dick. I guess I haven’t worked through the whole anger stage yet.

  Eleven

  Wyatt

  I should note that yes, Brooklyn does, in fact, scare easy.

  The only reason I put on a true crime story about three sickos was because I’ve helped my sister Haylee through enough heartbreaks to know that any show or movie about love isn’t a good idea right now.

  Now, I stare down at her head
on my shoulder and wonder if some sick part of me wants her. She’s suffering and the only thing that pops into my head is the fact that her left breast is pressed against my forearm and her lips are so close to mine it wouldn’t take much for me to kiss her.

  I blink my eyes.

  I need to get the fuck out of here before I do something I regret. Something that makes me the dickwad in her life rather than her ex-fiancé.

  Sliding out from under her, I guide her head to the pillow and lay the blanket over her body. I pick up all the Chinese food containers, closing them and put them in the fridge.

  On my way to the front door, I peek over the edge of the couch to find her fast asleep with her hands tucked under her cheek.

  It’s a shame really, we might’ve been a good fit because no woman I know would ever let me convince her to eat Chinese food without a plate and watch a true crime story. But she’s heartbroken, I’m essentially her boss and I won’t be in Lake Starlight long. Three strikes and I’m out.

  Opening her door, I flick the lock on the bottom and slowly shut it.

  “What the hell?”

  I spin around and jolt back against the door.

  Fuck. Is this Rome or Denver?

  “Shit. I really don’t want to know.” He shakes his head, glancing to his side at the blonde hanging off him.

  I’m pretty sure this is Rome.

  “Brooklyn asked me to water her plants.” I block the door as casually as I can so I don’t alarm him.

  “Her and all that herb shit.” Rome holds up a key. “You should see her garden at the family home.”

  At least my lie holds some weight.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  He checks out the woman again. “What does it look like? I figure Brooklyn is gone, so might as well use her place.” He shrugs.

  “How did you get a key?”

  “Okay Sherlock Holmes, step aside.” He motions with his hand, inching closer.