by Ava Claire
If it wasn’t so quiet, Denise would have likely followed the statement with some incredulous sound that reverberated from the back of her throat but instead, she sat up tall in her seat like a queen on her throne. “It appears our best man-”
“Is ready to give his speech,” I finished for her.
I took great enjoyment from her indignant reaction to my interjection. She even shot her beady eyes to Scott, her eyebrows lurching like she was sending him a not-so-silent message to handle his friend.
When I’d accepted this best man gig, I’d googled ‘Best Man Toasts’ and the running theme seemed to be to speak from the heart.
I looked out into the sea of expectant faces. “Anybody who knows me knows that Scott and I are cut from the same cloth. Bright, hell on wheels when it comes to coding, and lethal when it comes to women.”
Chuckles drifted around the room after my last bit and I took the opportunity to wing it, emboldened by the booze and the fact that this would be my last chance to really say how I felt about this whole thing. “Scott is like the brother I never had. We’ve been through it all.” A wary smile was glued to my best friend’s lips. “Remember after Hawaii junior year and I was worried about that rash?”
A bonafide gasp erupted from the bride’s side of the table. Probably from Denise’s equally uptight mother.
“I kid, I kid. But not about what matters. I’d do anything for you, man. Including standing by while you marry Satan’s spawn because she decided it was time to start a family.”
Now the gasps were echoing from everyone in the room, along with some uncomfortable laughter.
“Congratulations on the beginning of the end!” I finished. I held up my glass, but no one else lifted theirs...including Natalee.
She looked horrified.
My stomach dropped as I realized that I’d seen that look before.
It was the same look she had in the elevator, the moment I showed her just how big of a jerk I could be.
CHAPTER FIVE: NATALEE
"He can't be that bad. He runs a non profit that teaches underprivileged kids how to code."
I almost snapped my pencil in half, but I settled for pausing on my sketch pad. The lead was laser focused on the second tier of an upcoming Game of Thrones themed cake I was working on. I'd literally squealed at the opportunity to channel all the drama and intrigue of Westeros in buttercream and chocolate. I had no idea that the Mitchell wedding would devolve into a clusterfuck that even the Lannisters would balk at.
Even though Tamara had been right there with me when Jason Cox had unceremoniously announced that the Mitchell's were expecting, which was swiftly followed by Denise hurling her drink in his smug face, she was still trying to sell me on giving the jerk a second chance. I had a feeling it was less about my best interests and more about living vicariously through me since she'd been finding shirtless pictures of him lounging in exotic locales like Greece and Japan ever since.
"And according to this shot snagged by TMZ, he is definitely packing some major heat in the dick department."
She was clearly ignoring my attempts at ignoring her. She hopped up from her station at the end of our work table and sauntered over, all teeth. I followed her quick commute and refused to look at the phone she was holding out.
"Do you have amnesia?" I countered. She didn't budge, so I jutted out my pencil, eraser first at her phone. Trying to not think about the fact that whatever photo they'd snapped was only telling half the story because I knew exactly what was going on down south. "The owner of that penis is the same man who decided it was a good idea to tell everyone the bride was knocked up during his toast."
Tamara's face fell, like a child who'd just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. "I know, but-"
"Do you even remember the look on Denise's mother's face? On her father's?"
Tamara slowly lowered her arm, a shudder rattling her petite frame. "Her mom was in complete and utter shock. And her dad?" She bulged her baby blues from their sockets, much like the father of the bride had done...right before he lunged towards Jason with murder in his eyes.
It looked like my friend was finally getting the picture and calling off her attempts at playing matchmaker, but I wasn't letting her off the hook that easy.
"And after what I told you about New Year's-" I dropped the pencil and raked both hands through my hair, tugging at the strands because I couldn't actually choke her, even if she deserved it sometimes. "How could you possibly think that having him in my life right now is a good idea?"
She held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, boss lady! My bad."
I glared at her for a good minute before I scooted from my seat and headed over to our Nespresso machine for my caffeine fix. I swiped one of my favorite mugs, chips and all, and perched it beneath the spout and let the machine work its magic. She only whipped out 'boss lady' when I was on the rampage. It was the one thing that could alleviate our rare arguments, forcing me to pause and take a breath.
I picked up my coffee and I did just that. I inhaled the robust aroma of my fresh cup, foregoing the sugar and cream that was a must for Tamara, and sipped the dark brew nice and slow.
I took in our headquarters, a small commercial space that had evoked spooky music worthy of a scary movie when I first saw it. There’d been no walls back then, exposed rafters jutting out like broken teeth. Even inhaling seemed like a bad idea because dust and god knows what else glittered in the patchy light. But after I signed the lease, standing out front and looking through the broken glass at the new home for Madison Creations, I envisioned a space that combined rustic energy and home cooking with sleek, modern gadgets and furnishings. I wanted a space where we could bake our wares and customers could come in and pick up ready made baked goods or put in orders that they'd take to their family, friends, or coworkers. They'd walk into the room with our polka dot box and everyone's face would light up, knowing they were in for a treat.
I leaned against the chrome table and swept my eyes over the room, resting on the sole seating area in the front, a long mahogany bench and two matching benches. I wanted people to gather, to get to know their neighbors if they popped by the shop, instead of snagging a tiny nook in a busy cafe and popping their earbuds in. The best part about food was sharing it, and all the warm colors and the sweet and hearty smell of the sticky buns in the oven personified that. We were closed two days a week for prep, special orders, and appointments. That aroma alone had a line stretched out the door when we were open to the public.
From Easy Bake Ovens to my own business. I smiled against the rim of my mug. A smile that faltered when I saw Tamara at the end of the table. It was a stark reminder that while we were kicking ass and taking names in the professional arena, all was not well for either of us in the love department.
After my shut down, her face was missing its usual glow. Her eyes were dimmed with melancholy. Her blood red lips were turned down into the beginning stages of a frown. She had her chin perched on her palm and she even let out a bone weary sigh to drill home her depression. The phrase 'woe is me' came to mind.
I cupped my mug with both hands and just inhaled, hoping the caffeine would perk me up because the energy in the room was definitely pulling me down.
Both of us shied away from commitment. For me it all started with Scott, and after what happened with Jason, I knew that if I wanted to maintain my sanity and avoid another devastating heartbreak, the answer was to keep men at a distance. To bask in singledom and get what I needed when my vibrator just wasn't doing the trick.
With a few exceptions, Tamara preferred to keep it casual. I even remembered once she told me that she had a guy coming over and essentially warned me that if I decided to come home before dinner, I may or may not encounter some sex going down. When I later asked for the guy’s name, she’d paused, settled back in her seat for a good two minutes, then shrugged and told me she didn't remember his real name, but she could totally give me his profile name.
Maybe
it was the sudden influx of weddings. Maybe it was the fact that we were getting close to high school reunions and bombarded with Facebook photos of perfect little families, but she'd bitten the bullet first and set up a profile on some dating site. I wasn't there yet, and it was clear she was more than willing to give me a nudge in the right direction, whether I wanted it or not.
I decided to be the first to lay down my arms, closing my sketchbook and taking my coffee and apology to her end of the table. "I'm sorry, Tam. I know you're just trying to be helpful-"
"I mean, what's the worst that could happen if you guys got to know each other?" She interjected with a shrug. "He'll live up to his reputation. And maybe you'll get a trip to Europe and some climaxes out of it."
"Well, when you put it like that," I giggled, shaking my head. I didn't even have to close my eyes to conjure him up. He was right there, leaning on the stand, looking at me with those eyes that drove me crazy. Eyes that said, you'll be mine, it's just a matter of when.
And how long.
I'd never admit it to anyone, heck, I even deleted my browsing history, but I did some research on Jason Cox of my own. I learned that other than creating apps that helped cheaters and players, he liked women. I lost count of all the women he’d been spotted with, but they all had some things in common: over the top gorgeous, no hairs out of place, flawless makeup, and outfits that told me they basked in the limelight. They all looked like lingerie models and he probably posed, fucked, then traded them in for someone new, and in that order.
He'd shown me his true colors. First, when he dissed me on New Year's Eve. And then he unintentionally insulted me a second time, by forgetting me altogether. Then, just when I was starting to let my guard down, he swooped back in and reminded me: yep, still a jerk.
So, what was the worst that could happen? I didn’t want to go there. And it didn't take the sun streaming in from the window for me to see that my silence had reignited that Cupid urge in her.
"Let's forget about the blogs and photos and all that noise for now." Like she was closing the book on all the random gossip and Wikipedia-ing she'd been doing since I explained why I told Jason to fuck off after the reception, she closed her laptop with a single fuchsia nail.
"How about the concrete reasons he's more trouble than he's worth, like his antics before the wedding, at the reception, not to mention-"
"We're tabling that for later discussion as well," she informed me, holding up her finger. "I know all the reasons why not, Natalee. And they're good reasons. But aren't you a little curious about the why?"
I cast aside my mug, not even reacting when my coffee sloshed over the rim. Any other day I would have hunted down the nearest paper towel and if none were handy, used my own clothing. I had bigger fish to fry, like convincing my best friend (and myself) that I was right to ignore his social media requests. And she wanted me to put all the concrete proof that Jason Cox would result in disaster aside.
"Why are you so curious about the why?" I was deflecting, and poorly at that, but I just wanted to take the edge off.
"Because I've never seen you look at a guy the way you looked at him."
My mouth fell open, the retort I had ready stalling on my tongue. The heat rushed over me in a single, brutal wave and I didn’t have the time to hide the truth. My tells did me in. Like the red that was coloring my cheeks and divulging all my secrets. The way I couldn't stop blinking, and refused to meet her gaze head on. "And how do I look at him?"
"Like he's a mystery that you're trying to pretend you don't want to solve. Like you know that when, not if you fall, it could be the real thing."
My heart hammered in my chest and it should have been a good thing. Women search their whole lives for that kind of feeling. A man that makes them dream. That proves that all the heartbreaks were just speed bumps on the way to something powerful and lasting. But it required letting go, and trusting that when I did, Jason wouldn't leave me standing out there on that ledge alone.
And that took all the warm and fuzzy feelings and dropped the temperature to the several degrees below freezing. The last time I foolishly thought a man was ready to do the happily ever after thing, he'd snatched it all away, and this was a man who was on the ‘Nice Guy’ end of the spectrum. Jason Cox was not a nice guy, and thinking this would end in anything other than catastrophe would be foolish.
So if I let him in, googly eyes and butterflies in my stomach or not, I'd do things the way I always did things. Don't get attached. Don't make things complicated. So when he inevitably disappointed me, it wouldn't leave me wrecked while he carried on like I was just a speed bump on his road.
"I'm just saying, if you happen to cross his path again, it wouldn't be a terrible thing if you explored what was behind door number Hot Ass Billionaire'." Tamara cajoled.
I rolled my eyes and let out an agitated sigh, pretending like I hadn't decided that I'd do just that.
If our paths crossed again.
CHAPTER SIX: JASON
"He still doesn't want to see you, Jason."
I held out the bouquet of sunflowers, knowing that half the battle of getting back into my best friend's graces was getting past his no nonsense secretary, Mrs. Larson. After Denise pointed out that none of the secretaries at Cox Technologies was over the age of 30, Scott had wasted no time transferring his twenty something to a different department and bringing in someone that suited her tastes.
It had been many moons since Mrs. Larson had seen her thirties, but she could run circles around any of the other secretaries with both hands tied behind her back. She had the epitome of hawklike features: steely gray eyes that peeled the flesh from anyone who dared to show her the slightest bit of disrespect, cheekbones that were as sharp as her tongue, and lips that were as thin as her patience. She had a full head of gray hair that she wore pinned into a low bun at the nape of her neck, reminding me of my favorite teacher in high school, a badass named Miss Ledger who suffered no fools, yours truly included.
"I saw these at the stand on the way to the office and-"
"I'll stop you right there," Mrs. Larson butted in, swiveling toward me and locking her disapproving eyes on me. "I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday. You haven't bought a woman flowers a day in your life."
I feigned offense. "I've bought women clothes, jewelry-"
"You've bought hoochies trinkets, because it benefited you." She beckoned for me to pass her the flowers. "Tell Delia that the flowers are beautiful."
"You don't think I could pick a nice arrangement, Mrs. Larson?" I winked, knowing that she'd call me on my bullshit. It was one of the things I loved about her.
"You could. You just didn't." She brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled the fragrance. "Kinda like I knew you could give a good best man's toast and decided to attack Denise instead."
I'd almost forgotten that she was at the reception.
I crossed my arms and tried to pretend like her disappointment didn't affect me. That I didn't care that Scott had ignored me for the remainder of the tense reception, and had continued the trend, even after he was back from his Caribbean honeymoon. "I've already apologized to Scott."
"Uh huh," she grunted, delicately lowering the flowers to her desk, then turning her ire back on me. Full blast. "Denise grates on just about everybody's nerves, but she didn't deserve to have that news broadcasted like that. You should be getting her flowers."
"Right," I scoffed. Even if I was in the mood to play nice, I'd already been informed via a lengthy email from Mrs. Scott Mitchell that I was no longer welcome at any future event at their home, or within ten feet of her, or their child. I wouldn’t be losing any sleep because I hated her brand of stuffy events, I'd rather have my fingernails removed by pliers than hang out at their McMansion, and I didn't do kids. But the freeze out from my best friend did sting. Just a little.
An awkward silence passed between me and Mrs. Larson, my nostrils flaring when I realized that she really had no intention of letting me b
ack to see Scott.
"Anything else I can do for you?” she asked, drumming her nails on her desk impatiently.
I swallowed my pride, deciding against making a joke. "Just tell him I stopped by. And I'll see him at the meeting."
"His assistant will be attending the meeting as his proxy," Mrs. Larson said without missing a beat. When my face fell, she showed the slightest crack in her impenetrable wall, letting out a weary sigh. "Give him time, Jason."
I ducked my head and forced a smile on my lips. "Enjoy the flowers!"
I headed toward the elevator, impatiently punching the down arrow. Needing to escape. Needing to pretend that I wasn't having regrets of my own about my last minute decision to spill the beans about their little bundle of joy.
I was sorry. Sorry that I didn't show more restraint. Sorry that I'd only solidified everyone's belief that I was an asshole.
Sorry that the one of the few people I wanted to see me as something more wouldn't even accept a damn Facebook friend request.
As I slipped into the elevator and punched the conference floor button, I felt the tiniest weight lift off my chest. Today was about starting over. Sure, I had bought the flowers with the ulterior motive of sneaking past Scott's defenses and forcing him to at least have a conversation with me, but I knew that Mrs. Larson would tell him I stopped by. This would be a battle of small wins, not some epic victory that would come with a simple apology.
I screwed up.
Which was exactly what I planned to tell Natalee when I saw her in a few minutes.
I stepped off the elevator, my secretary, Delia, waiting for me with her tablet in one hand and my coffee in the other, her eyes bright and ready to work. "I just got an updated ETA for the refreshments and Madison Creations is about ten minutes out-"
"Great! That'll give you plenty of time to run out and get a dozen of roses."
Delia was usually lock step and on my same wave length, reading my mind, and knowing what I needed before I did sometimes. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, making sure she heard me right. "Roses? For who?"
