Agatha

by Kayt Miller

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used facetiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Kayt Miller

  Cover image standard license from Adobe Stock.com

  Cover Copyright © 2018 Kayt Miller

  All rights reserved.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author @ kaytmiller1@yahoo.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Dedication

  To my mom, the strongest person I know.

  About The Palmer Sisters Series

  This series of novellas is about five sisters, their relationships with one another, and their crazy love lives. The books are short, sweet, and oh, so dirty.

  Each book is a standalone with an HEA.

  Due to coarse language and sexual content, suitable for readers 18+

  Note: These stories are for those of you who, like me, believe in love at first sight. I knew it when I met my husband and the very moment I held my daughter. It’s a thing. I swear.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  About The Palmer Sisters Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Other books by Kayt Miller

  Follow Kayt Miller

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Agatha

  When the phone on my desk rings, I look down at the caller ID and see the name Miriam Smith. Strange. Why is the head of Human Resources calling me? In the past, when HR called, it was usually Trent, and it was just to chat. Wait! OMG! This is it! I know why she’s calling. I’m finally getting that promotion. Lord knows I’ve applied for enough of them. I’ve been here at Heart & Sole Shoes for a little over eight years. In that time, I’ve become a Certified Public Accountant, I’ve completed every class and seminar offered by HR, and I’ve attended every conference there is to make me the best accountant I can be. Now, all I can say is, it’s about darned time! Shaking my shoulders out, I take in a deep breath and answer my phone, “Agatha Palmer.”

  “Agatha, would please meet us in conference room three?”

  “Now?” Miriam sure didn’t waste any time on small talk.

  “Now.”

  Wow, that’s strange. I guess they’re anxious to get this done. “I’ll be right there.”

  I lean down to check the time on my computer. Usually, this is the time of day I’d be heading down to the ground floor for my morning coffee. Well, not just usually—always is more like it. At precisely 10:30 every workday morning, I leave my desk and walk to the best coffee shop in the city, Java Jane’s. I step in line, savoring the smells of freshly ground coffee while perusing the large, whimsical menu board on the wall above the counter. I read through each item that is painstakingly drawn with multi-colored pieces of chalk contemplating what to get. By the time it’s my turn to order I say, “A large, white chocolate mocha steamer please.” While I wait, I tell myself that next time, I’ll order something different.

  What can I say? I’m a creature of habit. My family calls me regimented, like I’m in the Army or something. I disagree. I like routine; I’m used to a routine, but I can be flexible too, when need-be. The truth is, they know my schedule as well as me, maybe better. They know not to call me at work at 10:30, noon, or 3:15. Sure, they can text me or call my cell, but they also know I keep my ringer off while I’m at work. My focus is on my job. Period. They’re also aware I go to bed at eleven every night except Saturdays. Yes, it’s routine, regimented, but I find comfort in that.

  Standing up from my desk, I exhale to calm my nerves. I look down at my outfit. I wore my one and only black pencil skirt; the one Sadie made me buy because she said I looked like a sexy librarian. Librarian, yes. Sexy, no. I paired it with a pale blue button-up blouse and my simple black pumps with the kitten heel. Looking toward my doorway, I see the jacket that matches the skirt hanging on a hook near the door. Slipping it on, I sigh in relief that I actually wore dressy business attire today. I’ll look professional for this important meeting.

  Before I take the elevator up two floors to the administration offices and conference room 3, I stop in the restroom to double-check my appearance. I wash my hands and run damp fingers through my stick-straight hair and push my bangs away from my eyes. Fortunately, I had the good sense to pull it back into a tight bun at the nape of my neck today. Some tidying up is all it needs. My make-up, what there is of it, is neutral and professional. I look down, once again, at my skirt, blouse, and black jacket and smile. Wow, this is my lucky day. I look good. It’s like I had a feeling something big was happening today. I button the single button on the front of my jacket and give it tug, straightening it. “Deep breath, Agatha. You’ve got this.”

  As confidently as I can, I pull open the bathroom door and squeak in alarm as I run smack-dab into my co-working and office-bestie, Camille. “Oh, shoot, Cam. I’m sorry.”

  Laughing it off, Camille pats my shoulder. “No, it was my fault. I was reading a text instead of watching where I was going.” Stepping around me she adds, “Want to do lunch today? I’m dying for a wrap from McGregor’s.”

  “Sure. Well, maybe.” I reach out and give her upper arm a squeeze. “I’ve got a meeting.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Upstairs,” I say excitedly.

  “Oh, my God. Is it your promotion?” Camille says, hopping up and down.

  “I think so. Finally,” I roll my eyes but smile wide.

  “You deserve it, honey. You work so hard.”

  “So do you.” But the thing is, Camille hasn’t been here as long as I have. She’s not a CPA either. Someday I could see her moving up, just not yet.

  “Nah, you deserve it.” She moves further into the bathroom. “Good luck. Be sure to stop in my cube when you get back. I want to hear everything.”

  Since our cubicles are next to each other, that’s not a problem. “Okay. Talk to you soon.”

  “Good luck,” she sing-songs just as the bathroom door shuts.

  I walk to the elevator and press the UP button. Tugging my jacket once again, I repeat my mantra, “This is it, Agatha. Your life is about to change.”

  Two Weeks Later

  “Wake up, Agatha.”

  I hear a muffled voice that I just can’t place.

  “Aggie. Come on. Up and at ‘em.”

  Atom? That’s a funny word to use. I feel myself being gently jostled around.

  “For fuck’s sake
, girl. Wake up!”

  Wow, that one was loud and right next to my ear. I slowly open one eye to see two faces mere inches from mine.

  “Wake the fuck up, woman.” It’s Keely. My baby sister has quite a mouth on her, that’s for sure. “Where is my sister who wakes up at six in the morning, even on weekends? Huh?”

  “She left the building,” I mumble into the pillow.

  Violet, her twin, is looking at me with furrowed brows and concern in her eyes. I open the other eye and stare for just a few more seconds. I need to think. I haven’t quite figured out why they’re here. Closing my eyes slowly, I do my best to remember what day it is. Friday? Is it Friday?

  I push myself up a few inches, and then flop back down. I hurt. Is it possible to get a hangover from cookie dough?

  “No, it’s not. But if the number of empty wine boxes strewn about your house is any indication of your night, I’d say cookie dough is not the culprit.”

  Shit. I said that aloud?

  “Aggie, get up, damn it. You stink. When was the last time you showered?” There’s a pause. “Or, hell, did anything like clean, dust, do the dishes, or vacuum your house? This place looks like a tornado whipped through here.”

  Keely Palmer. The baby of the family. She’s the smallest and the loudest. The most outspoken of the bunch for sure. She doesn’t mince words. Pushing myself up into a seated position, I look at my sisters again. “What time is it?”

  “Jesus,” mutters Keely. “It’s after 3. In case your brain turned to mush in the last two weeks, which I suspect it has, that means it’s the afternoon.”

  “Aggs?” Violet asks tentatively.

  God. All I want to do is go back to sleep, but I can’t. Sighing, I respond, “What, Vi?”

  “You need to get up. Take a shower. Everyone will be here in an hour.”

  I sit up straight, “Everyone? Will be here?”

  “Welcome to your very own intervention, big sis. Dad, Sadie, Lainie, and Keeton are all on their way, so you’d best jump up.”

  Shit. “B-but…”

  “We let you wallow in self-pity for as long as we could, Agatha. Now crawl out of that disgusting bed and get in the shower. Vi and I will start cleaning up.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. As I slide off the edge of the bed, I wince. Everything really does hurt. Yeah, maybe a shower is a good idea. You know, work out the kinks.

  “Jesus.” I turn to see Keely stripping the sheets off my bed. “What happened to the sister who changed her sheets twice a week, every Wednesday and Sunday, like an anal-retentive clock?”

  I release a loud snort. She’s funny. “She died,” I mumble as I lumber to the bathroom and push open the door. As I enter, I glimpse the mess and wince again. “What the hell happened in here?” Clothes are strewn all over the floor and on top of the counter. To my right, an empty pizza box lays half on its side next to the bathtub. I spy a lone slice of pizza, mostly petrified, in the box. I stare at it for a second, trying to remember how it got there and how I missed that last slice. Squeezing my eyes shut, it comes to me. I ate pizza in the bathtub one night. The thing is, I’m not sure which night.

  Stripping out of my shorts and tee, I reach in to turn the water on in my shower. Testing the temperature with my fingers, I adjust it before stepping in. As I do, I moan. It feels so good. How long’s it been? Why does it seem like it was a year ago that I was canned from my job when it was only, what, two weeks ago? The truth is I haven’t been completely sequestered. There was that time I got drunk with my sisters at Murphy’s. Oh! What about the night I got drunk and met Lainie’s new boyfriend, Keeton, at Keely and Lainie’s place? See? I’ve been out. I stand under the warm spray for a good long while. It must have been too long because I’m startled to death when a surly Keely yanks back the shower curtain.

  Holding a towel, she’s tapping her foot on the ground like an angry headmistress. “Really?”

  “What?” Seriously. What?

  “You’ve been standing in there for like thirty minutes. That means you’ve got about thirty left to get this house in order before the rest of your family gets here. You do know what Lainie’s going to do if she sees your place like this?”

  Lainie is the eldest sister. She took on the role of mother when our own beloved mom died when I was eight. She was ten, too young to be a mommy. Her metamorphosis to mom happened gradually. “Yeah, okay. Let me get dressed and I’ll be out.” Keely’s right, though. If Lainie sees my place like this and me looking like, well, like I’m depressed, she’ll literally move in with me until I’m back to my happy-go-lucky self. No thanks. I’ve lived alone for most of my adult life. I like it. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my sister, more than anything, but I love her more from across town. Distance and fondness and all that crap.

  After quickly dressing in leggings and an Arizona State t-shirt, I run a brush over my teeth and another one through my hair. Searching my bathroom drawers, I spot a hair tie amongst some of my make-up. Pulling my hair up into a high ponytail, I stop and stare into the mirror. I look like shit. I’m pale, which makes the dark circles under my eyes more prominent. My eyes are puffy too; they look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Conor McGregor. No, not really, but you can tell I’ve been crying off and on for the last couple of weeks. I brush my bangs down in the hopes they’ll hide half my face. I then contemplate whether I should dab on some make-up when Keely screams from the living room, “If you’re not out here in ten seconds, I’m going to toss all one million of these pizza boxes out into your yard.”

  One million? She loves to exaggerate. I march out to the main room and spot Violet first. She’s got a broom in her hand, sweeping my kitchen. I should be doing that. Movement to my right draws my attention back to Keely. She’s standing near the front door with a stack of cardboard boxes. Pizza boxes. There are so many, I can’t see her face at all. I quickly count them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. “That’s not a million.”

  “You’ve got one in your bathroom and two more in your bedroom. I’d say you’re getting closer to the million-pizza mark.”

  “On a happy note, you’ve got enough coupons from the pizza boxes to get one free,” says a cheery Violet.

  Oh, sweet Violet.

  But, truth? I may never be able to eat pizza again. Or drink Franzia Sunset Blush boxed wine ever, ever again. Peering around the room, I count three of those boxes in various places. “I’ll get the wine boxes.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes frantically working to clean up my house, enough time to hide the evidence of my two-week wallowing bender. My dirty clothes are hidden in my closet. The pizza and wine boxes, numerous newspapers and magazines, and the equivalent of five boxes of Kleenex have all been tossed into the trash at the side of my house. I’ve lit one of my favorite candles and made us a pot of coffee. Just as I flop down on the sofa, a knock sounds on the door. “I’ll get it,” says Violet as she walks by.

  When it opens, my dad steps in first. “Hey girls.”

  “Hi, Daddy.” I say along with my two sisters. I stand up from the couch to meet him halfway. Kissing him on his cheek, I ask him if he wants a drink.

  “Got any wine?” he asks.

  “I, uh, I think I’m all out.”

  “No, you’ve got a box of something in your fridge,” says Keely from the kitchen. “You want a glass too, Aggie?”

  “N-no, thank you.” I swallow hard. Just the thought of alcohol makes me feel queasy.

  “How ‘bout some cookie dough?” asks the smartass.

  “No, thanks.”

  Just then, my front door opens. I watch as Sadie, Lainie, and Keeton, Lainie’s new boyfriend, step inside. I swallow hard when I see Keeton holding several boxes. Of pizza. The sight gives me a shiver.

  “Ooh, pizza!” yells Keely, “Aggie’s favorite.”

  Sister or not, just as soon as we’re alone, I’m going to wring her scrawny neck.

  My family is spread out all over my kitchen slash dining slash livin
g room since no one room is large enough to contain all of us. Especially with our new addition, Keeton. The guy is mammoth. He’s standing up next to my kitchen island, looking mighty uncomfortable. My house is small. Tiny, really. It’s a two-bedroom bungalow but the second bedroom is so small, I’d categorize it as more of a closet or, on a good day, an office. I’ve got a small desk and chair in there along with an armoire for extra storage. That’s about all that’ll fit, to be honest. No worries; there’s only me here, so it’s the perfect size.

  “So, Agatha,” says my sister Lainie.

  Here we go.

  “Yes,” I turn to face her. She’s sitting in one of my two dining room chairs.

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Good.”

  “Have you sent out any resumes or found any jobs that sound promising?”

  Wow, she cuts right to the chase. “Not yet.” Pretending to be busy grabbing a slice of pizza, I bite into the ooey-gooey cheese and moan. Damn, I still love pizza.

  “Have you checked out job listings?” asks Sadie.

  “Not yet.”

  “Honey,” says my dad, concern in his voice. “Will you please tell me what happened at H&S?”

  Why hadn’t my sisters told him? They blab everything to each other. Everything. I hate that about them, but the one time I need for them to blab to my dad, they don’t. Traitors.

  “I got fired.”

  “I know that, Agatha.” Dad steps closer so he can sit beside me on the small sofa. Softly, he asks again. “Tell me what happened, honey.”

  Setting my slice down, I lean back on the sofa and look into my father’s sweet eyes. I hate telling him. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s done his worrying. He’s supposed to be enjoying life, not fretting about me, but I’m going to have to tell him.

  “It’ll feel good to talk it out.” My dad is so wise.

  “I got called into a meeting by Miriam, the human resources director. I thought I was finally getting promoted.” I scoff. I’m becoming very jaded in my forced retirement.

  “When I walked into the room, I realized Miriam wasn’t alone. Drake Garlock, the CFO, and Trent Archer, the assistant Human Resources director, were at the table. My department head Kim Reynolds and Drake’s administrative assistant, Monica, were also there.”