by Taryn Belle
“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Amanda says. “James Carson wants you to find his grandson a wife?” She rubs her finger between her eyebrows, one of her cute quirks when she’s trying to wrap her brain around something. Her nose crinkles. “But you’re an event planner, not a matchmaker.”
“I know, and I don’t know the first thing about matchmaking. Cripes, the last time I used a dating site, I ended up with a narcissistic lawyer who probably feasted upon the dreams of innocent children.” I give a low, slow whistle. “Not going there again.”
Amanda laughs, and my stomach comes alive when the bell jingles again. By the time Alec arrives, I’m going to be a jittery mess. I need to keep it together, but facing the boy I once loved, the boy I gave my virginity to, is messing with my mind and body in the worst kind of way. Then again, he’s not a boy anymore and I’m not some innocent, naive love-struck teen. Truthfully, I never expected the grandson of billionaire magnate James Carson—a sweet, generous old man who always put family first—to walk away from me after a beautiful prom night in St. Moritz, without so much as a backward glance. We spent nearly all of senior year together, and I thought he was different. I thought we had something special. Thought he didn’t care that I was from the wrong side of the tracks.
I thought wrong.
He always teased that I was the girl-next-door type, and I thought he liked that about me. In the end, however, it was just another thing I was mistaken about. I guess bigger and better, more glamorous, was waiting for him at Harvard. He didn’t want the poor, parentless girl from Philly holding him back. Now he’s a financier at Blackstone Venture Partners, working his way through the ranks at the multimillion-dollar holding company, one harsh corporate takeover at a time.
Ah, what was that you just said about feasting upon the dreams of innocent children?
“And Alec actually agreed to this?” Amanda asks, her damp blond hair brushing over her shoulder as she shakes her head, incredulous.
I run my hand over my own curls, a frizzy mess from the weather, and work to make myself presentable. Jesus, am I seriously preening for the jerk? Suppressed anger surfaces as I reach for my latte, take another fast sip, irritated with myself.
“His granddad set this up, and Alec is meeting me here, so he must have agreed,” I say.
“I get why you’re doing it. You find him a wife and throw him the royal wedding of the century, no expenses spared. That will take you from obscurity in the event planning world to the most sought-after consultant in Manhattan, but why would he agree? What’s in it for him? From what I’ve read about ‘Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor’ in the tabloids, he doesn’t seem like the settling-down type.”
Not only does Amanda know him from the tabloids, as my best friend since college, she knows how close Alec and I once were, and how he ditched me after prom. I look past Amanda’s shoulder, and my heart jumps into my throat when Alec walks in. The air of authority about him draws the attention of every single woman in the room, and some not-so-single ones. Then there’s the impeccable suit he’s sporting, one that was undoubtedly tailor-made for his tall frame and athletic body. The men in the room begin to posture in his presence, but there’s no point. Alec is breathtaking, the most impressive guy here, and for a moment I can’t think, let alone breathe as he smooths his hands over his tie in much the same way his grandfather did during our meeting. With a laser focus, he casts a quick glance around the café. Intense blue eyes find mine, and the muscles in his square jaw ripple as he clenches down, giving me the impression that he had no idea it was me he was meeting.
Wouldn’t James have told him?
As our eyes hold and lock, my insides burn like I’ve just been hit with a high-voltage Taser. Damn, he hasn’t changed a bit. No, that’s not true. He’s grown from a boy to a man, his body wider, thicker, filling out his clothes in a way the young Alec never could. I swallow. Hard.
“I guess I’m about to find out what’s in it for him,” I squeak out.
Amanda’s eyes pop open again. “I take it he just arrived.” Her head angles, and I touch her hand and stop her before she can turn and gawk.
“Yes, he’s here. Right on time, as I suspected.” He always was conscious of the time, a stickler for the rules. Except now, something in my gut tells me he no longer plays by them. “Please don’t look.”
Amanda picks up her mug and half-eaten jelly doughnut. “Then I’m gone. Text me later,” she says. “I can’t wait to hear all about this.”
I stand with her, and run my damp hands over my skirt. No need to greet him with a wet palm and let him know what the sight of him is doing to me—even after all this time. It’s best I give a professional vibe, and the appearance that I’m completely unaffected by him.
If only that were true.
He nods to Amanda as she walks past him to put her mug in the tray, and his overwhelming presence weakens my traitorous knees as he crosses the room to stand over me. All six feet of pure power and testosterone takes my mind back to the night we made love. Scratch that. To the night we had sex. Yeah, lovemaking involves emotions. If there were emotions involved, he wouldn’t have walked away the next day, letting me know in no uncertain terms that there was nothing more between us. If only I’d gotten the memo back then, before I went to his hotel room and seduced him.
I lift my gaze to meet his, and even though he’s offering me a smile, I catch a hint of uncertainty in his gorgeous blue eyes as they roam my face. Obviously, this is as awkward for him as it is for me. His arms lift, like he’s about to embrace me, but professional event planner that I am, I keep it together and hold my hand out.
He stares at it for a moment, his smile dissolving, morphing into confusion, and then he gives me a tight, fast nod as he closes his big hand over mine.
Yeah, that’s right. That’s the way it’s going to be. I’m in charge here.
“Megan,” he says, his voice deeper than I remember it. “Nice to see you.”
“Alec,” I say. “Nice to see you, too. It’s been a long time. You’re well?” I say, always the master at small talk. A wedding planner has to be a good communicator, and I thank the Lord for my training.
Another tight nod. “Yes, you?”
“Never better,” I say and give him my best smile despite the storm raging inside me.
He gestures with a nod to Amanda as she disappears out the door. “Am I interrupting? Granddad told me to be here for two.”
“Two is correct and you’re not interrupting at all. I was just meeting with Amanda to go over some details for the upcoming Bar Mitzvah I’m planning. She’s a caterer. Perhaps you’ve heard of her business. Kitchen Door Catering, in Hell’s Kitchen. I actually rent office space from her.”
He gives a slow shake of his head. “Sorry, never heard of it.”
I’m not surprised, really; making a name in Manhattan and competing with already established businesses that own the core market share is hard. I can throw money at the marketing budget all day, but the rich and famous prefer the status quo, and rarely give newbies like Amanda and me a chance. Any company used by James Carson, however, will become a household name and that’s what I’m banking on.
Alec’s gaze moves from my face to my near-empty coffee mug with pink lipstick staining the rim. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Can I get you anything?”
“That’s my second cup. I’m already jittery,” I say, a little breathless as he gazes at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes.
One brow raises. “Lemon-filled doughnut?”
Okay, now I really can’t breathe. Why would he ask that, or even remember that? I open my mouth, but my damn voice is stuck in my tight throat, so I just shake my head no. He hesitates for a moment, and I take that opportunity to lower myself into my seat and dig my planner out from my bag. He smooths his hand over his tie again and turns, giving me a reprieve from his hot stare, and
even hotter body. I take a fast breath and fuel my lungs. Honest to God, a man who had sex with me, and then walked away, shouldn’t remember my favorite kind of doughnut, or my favorite kind of anything. Damn him for giving me a moment of hesitation, a seed of hope that he might have actually cared about me the night I gave myself to him.
I open my planner with a little too much force, grab my pen and scribble “Alec Carson” on the first blank page. I don’t need to look up to know he’s back at the table with his coffee. His presence, and the warm enticing scent of fresh soap and something uniquely Alec—a crisp new day after a hard summer rain—reaches my nostrils. My stomach squeezes slightly. I pinch my eyes shut for a second, to darken all the images that are clamoring to resurface. Alec is a world-class jerk, and I’m not going to waste a second remembering the way he touched me that night, with such deft, gentle hands. Or the way he talked to me, using sweet soothing words, as he fucked me. Over.
He sits, and my gaze goes to his big hands as he drinks his coffee. Still black, no sugar. Some things never change. Then again, some things do, and maybe that’s for the best. I’m not sure I could work with him if I was still harboring a stupid schoolgirl crush.
Oh, but it was so much more than that, Megan.
“Okay,” I say, shutting down that inner voice and working not to sound as breathless as I feel. “I want to be honest with you. I’m an event planner, not a matchmaker, but I’ll do my very best to set up an appealing online profile for you and help find your soul mate.” He goes perfectly still for a moment, and then he laughs, and the dark, jaded sound raises the hair on my neck. “What?” I ask.
“I’m not looking for a soul mate, Megan.” He leans toward me. “I don’t even believe in marriage.”
I sit up a little straighter, and let my gaze roam his handsome face. Every visible muscle is strained, like an overtightened wire about to snap. “If you don’t believe in marriage, what are we doing here?”
He goes quiet, thoughtful for a moment and takes a drink from his mug. He sets it on the table, leans back and folds thick arms over his chest.
“I’m here today because my aging grandfather won’t stop breathing down my neck. He doesn’t like my lifestyle, or my business practices. He says it’s bringing a bad name to the Carson family. He wants me to clean up my act and marry a nice girl.”
Appreciating his honesty, I tap my pen on my notepad and nod in understanding. The tabloids have been having a field day with Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor. He’s been photographed with different affluent women—far outside my social circle—on his arm every week. It can’t be easy having no privacy.
Don’t feel bad for him, Megan.
“I can understand that,” I say.
He angles his head, a thick lock of hair falling forward, and I note that he’s wearing it longer than usual. He rakes it back and asks, “Can you?”
“Sure,” I say and glance at my planner. “But what I don’t understand—”
His big warm hand closes over mine. The weight is heavy, and it takes my mind back to the way he once caressed me. Unnerved and aroused by his touch, my gaze flies to his. “It’s like this, Megan. I’ll get married, but it will be in name only. I’m not interested in anything more. A nice girl will get my granddad off my back, and the stability of marriage will look good to the board of directors who are handpicking Blackstone’s next chief financial officer.” My jaw drops open as he lays the cold, ugly truth out for me. So, this is what’s in it for him? He would actually marry to better his position in the company. What kind of a man would do that? Perhaps the better question is, how did I not see this side of him all those years ago? I pull my hand back fast and wipe my palm on my skirt.
His eyes darken, the black bleeding into the blue as he zeros in on me. “If you have a problem with that...”
Copyright © 2020 by Cathryn Fox
Keep reading for an excerpt from Undone by Kelly Rimmer.
Undone
by Kelly Rimmer
CHAPTER ONE
Jess
GRANDMA CHLOE, IF you can hear me from wherever you are, you better be proud of me for sticking this out.
My grandmother died four years ago, but I will always live my life by the principles she taught me. She used to say that when your friends or family need you, you move heaven and earth to be there for them. That’s one reason I’m putting myself through the sheer torture of attending a wedding tomorrow—one of my least favorite things to do, by the way, especially in this case, because I’m not just a guest, I’m a bridesmaid. Oh, and did I mention this is the second time I’ve been a bridesmaid for this couple? I’m basically a saint for doing this.
Or maybe I’m doing this because the bride is basically a saint.
Yeah, that’s more like it, and that brings me to the other reason I’m putting myself through this clusterfuck of a weekend: the bride is my best friend, Isabel.
Isabel has big blue eyes and natural curls in a startling shade of ash blond. She’s recently turned thirty-five, but she looks much younger even on rare occasions like this one, when she’s wearing a full face of makeup. I think her anti-aging secret is her wholesome lifestyle, which is obviously an extreme measure and not one I’d ever be willing to try myself. I’m thirty-five too, but when I’m not wearing makeup, I look like an aged, freckled version of Pippi Longstocking, if Pippi partied way too much in her twenties.
It’s fair to say that Isabel and I are the unlikeliest of friends. She’s sweet, I’m sharp. She’s kind and gentle and softhearted, I’m… Well, I’m just not. We’ve had a lot of great times together, but we also have very different approaches to life, and every now and again I wonder why she puts up with me at all. What I don’t wonder about is why I’ve kept her around. Izzy is the lite version of humanity—all of the goodness, none of the calories. She’s easy to love, and for the most part, quite uncomplicated when it comes to her friends—a rare trait, and one I value highly.
I’d be lost without her. Completely, hopelessly lost.
Right now, maybe for the first time ever, I wish that Isabel wasn’t an exceptional human being. In fact, I’m wishing that last year, when she abruptly decided to divorce my business partner Paul, I’d have done what I usually do when people around me do something stupid—told her exactly what I was thinking. If I’d been harsh enough, she’d probably have cut me out of her life. Yes, I’d have been lost and miserable and sad and I’d have missed her forever, but then again, even feeling miserable and lost and sad would have been preferable to what I’m feeling right now.
Anxious. I’m anxious, which isn’t like me at all. I have no idea what to do with such an uncomfortable feeling simmering away inside me, and that’s why I’ve decided to drown it in champagne.
Izzy and Paul sorted their shit out—only this happened just a little too late to stop the divorce, and now they want to get remarried. So here we all are, at their brownstone in Chelsea for the rehearsal dinner before their second wedding takes place tomorrow. There are fairy lights and candles and big vases of fragrant white roses on the long table that centers their dining room. There’s soft, orchestral music playing on the speakers. Isabel and Paul are both radiant. It’s all so joyous and romantic that it makes me a little ill.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m utterly delighted that they sorted their shit out and they’re both happy again. It’s just that all of his haste and love and joy and renewal means that instead of ordering my first wine for the night in a bar somewhere and scanning the room for a companion, I’m sitting here chugging champagne like it’s water and watching the door as if it’s about to burst open to reveal some kind of Jess Cohen kryptonite.
Which it kind of is.
Because Paul’s brother Jake is due to arrive any second now, fresh off a flight from the West Coast, where he now lives. And…okay. I’m not exactly thrilled about being a part of this wedding party tomorr
ow, but it’s maybe just a tiny bit possible that my imminent encounter with Jake has more to do with my anxiety than the festivities themselves.
“What’s up with you?” The voice belongs to Marcus, my other business partner, who’s sitting to my right. He speaks quietly—keeping his voice low, no doubt so as not to upset the other members of the wedding party. Paul and Isabel are opposite me, and Abby, Marcus’s fiancée, is in the restroom. She’s very pregnant with twins. As far as I can tell, being very pregnant with twins means you spend half your time looking exhausted and terrified, and the other half peeing.
“What’s up with you?” I snap at him unthinkingly, and he slowly raises an eyebrow.
“Ho-ly shit,” he whistles.
“What?”
“Jessica Cohen—are you upset about something?” The incredulity in his tone suggests that the very idea of this is impossible. I’m kind of pleased that I’ve managed to fool him into thinking I really am some kind of superwoman, and also immediately depressed that one of my best friends has no idea I have any emotional depth at all.
“Mind your own damn business, Marcus.”
His expression grows serious, and he leans even closer to whisper, “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“Things are clearly not fine,” Marcus says, frowning. He glances down at my hands, and I realize I’m tapping the table. I stop, but as soon as I do, my knee starts to bounce.
“Seriously, Marcus, leave it,” I whisper back to him, but the words come out as a half growl, half hiss, and he winces.
“Okay, okay,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. Just then, the doorbell rings and my heart is suddenly beating so hard and so fast I feel a little faint. I have butterflies in my tummy, and in my back. That’s not normal. Maybe I need medical attention.
