Perfect Love (Perfect Series Book 2)

by Amanda Cowen

  My stomach twists with a strange combination of regret and agony. I close my eyes, forcing away the image of him with her.

  “Where to, miss?” the cab drivers asks.

  I clear my throat, attempting to erase the trembling ache in my voice. I give him the name of a hotel near Copley Square.

  He nods and pulls into a stream of cars. I can see the pity on his face as he glances back at me through the rear-view mirror. Not surprising. My eyes are puffy, my cheeks are flushed, and I’m wearing a permanent frown. This is my lowest point. This is the moment of truth I feared would crush me when and if I ever learned more about Cash’s past.

  I should never have let him have my heart.

  With each mile closer to the hotel, a swirl of nausea twists in my stomach as I think of how Cash hid his secret wife from me—from everyone.

  I wipe away the unwanted tears trickling down my cheeks and turn my head to gaze out the window. The traffic heading into downtown Boston is thick, and the city buzzes with an artsy and historic vibe that California lacks. Every building is architecturally fascinating, and fish markets, boutiques, and restaurants line streets paved in cobblestone. Up the Charles River, my future at Harvard Business school awaits. This should be the most exciting and satisfying moment of my academic career. Unfortunately, I can’t even enjoy the thought of starting classes for my MBA.

  When the cab driver pulls up to the hotel, I hand him the money without lifting my eyes from my purse resting in my lap. The cell phone inside hasn’t stop buzzing since the second I landed in Boston. Ignoring what I know are calls from Cash and pretending like nothing happened isn’t easy. But I can’t look back. I can’t hear what he has to say. I can’t trust him anymore.

  “Here’s your change,” the cab driver says.

  “Keep it,” I reply.

  He pulls my luggage out from the trunk, and I wheel the bag towards the hotel entrance.

  “I hope everything for you turns out okay,” the driver says in a gentle tone behind me.

  I turn around and meet his sympathetic brown eyes. He’s a stranger who I will never see again, but his words make me take my real first calm and steadying breath since I walked away from Cash at the airport in California. For a moment I don’t feel so burdened by Cash’s lies.

  “Thank you. Me, too.” I walk into the hotel lobby.

  I check in at the front counter and ride the elevator up to the seventeenth floor, feeling like an absolute wreck. The second I walk into the hotel room, I flop down on the bed and lie flat on my backside. The silence presses at me, and a million and one thoughts trample though my head.

  Could it actually be true? Does Cash have a secret wife? How could he have hidden her from me? How did the league not know about her? What the fuck does she have to do with his brother, Cory?

  Asking Cash these questions could answer the chaos swirling around in my brain. But I could never believe a word that escaped his lips. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore what he hid from me or why. What matters is that he did it.

  I am done with Cash Brooks.

  My phone continues to vibrate in my purse on the floor beside the edge of the bed. I listen to it buzz from where I lie, numb, gazing out the window at sprawling landscape of city lights. I will not answer it. I told him not to contact me. I told him he was dead to me. And I meant it.

  When the phone stops buzzing, I groan, suddenly worried that it actually isn’t Cash. Maybe it’s Lyndsey or my father making sure I arrived safe and sound?

  I roll over and fumble through my purse. I have a bunch of missed calls and text messages, and not one of them is from Lyndsey or Dad. I should have known better. Every message or missed call is from Cash. I make the mistake of scrolling through his text messages, each one making me angrier than the last.

  Quinn, please. You have to understand why I hid Daniela from you as long as I did.

  I don’t love her. I love you. I told you it was because of my brother. And you have to believe me.

  Please call me back. I can explain everything.

  I know you said not to call or text you, but you have to hear me out.

  I never wanted you to find out this way. I was going to tell you everything. I made a mistake. Please call me back.

  I will never stop fighting for you. I will always fight for us.

  I let his texts echo inside my head until they are drowned out by the sound of my phone smashing into pieces against the wall. My arm reacted before my head could process the pain knotting in the pit of my stomach.

  I have no idea what to think. My heart tells part of me to hear him out and that this is just one big misunderstanding. That maybe he wasn’t intentionally keeping his secret from me. That smashing my phone in a fit of rage is a terrible mistake.

  But my mind tells me it’s bullshit. That I was another pawn in the womanizing game of Cash Brooks. If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t have hidden a secret wife from me. Whatever the circumstances of his marriage, he would have explained the reasons—why the media had no idea about this mystery wife, how he ended up with her in the first place, and how she was connected to his brother.

  I want to scream at how naïve I was. I should have listened to my father the first time he told me to stay away from Cash. I pace the hotel room, my hands fisted in my hair. I try to breathe and wonder if this is what losing your mind feels like. My heart won’t stop pounding. I drop to my knees and pick up the scattered remnants of my cell phone. I’ve never felt so betrayed. Tears stream down my cheeks. My hands tremble. My heart feels as shattered as my phone looks.

  I never let my emotions control me. I never let anger consume me. How could I snap like this?

  My hands are still shaking as I carry the bits and pieces of my destroyed phone over to the bed. I set them on the night stand, pull back the sheets, and crawl under the covers, fully clothed. My rational side tells me to calm down, and get some sleep. I am here in Boston to start my new life, build my future, and focus on graduating top of my class.

  I close my eyes. Each breath I take grows deeper than the last. My mind slowly begins to shut out the thoughts pounding against my head. As I drift off to sleep, I’m determined to erase Cash Brooks from my head—and heart—for good.

  ___________

  One knock. Two.

  My eyes flutter open to the sound of a third and fourth knock. I sit up, pull back the sheets and catch a glimpse of the alarm clock on the night stand. Am I dreaming? Is it seriously eleven o’clock in the morning? How could I sleep so long? It must be the maid.

  “Quinn, are you in there?” A familiar male voice shouts from the other side of the door.

  I push back my matted curls and stumble to the door. Pressing my palms against it, I peer through the peep hole and debate answering. I debate climbing back into bed and hoping that he goes away. But as I take my first step back, a fifth knock tells me he might be here because he’s worried. And rightfully so. I’ve been purposely unreachable.

  I pull open the door with a yawn. “Yeah, I’m here.” My voice is rougher than I expected it to sound, ragged and raw. “I was sleeping.”

  Aiden Harrington, an old friend from home who’s also starting business school with me, stands in the doorway wearing a backward baseball cap and a navy t-shirt that hugs his long and lean frame.

  He looks down at me with worried gray eyes, and then his expression softens. “You’re okay. Thank God.”

  I give him a scolding look. “Aiden, what are you doing here?”

  “Lyndsey told Vaughn you weren’t answering your phone, and she mentioned it to me last night. She knew I was flying into Boston early today. I told Lyndsey I’d check in on you.”

  I shake my head and stare down at the carpet, trying to understand why exactly he would decide to come to my hotel. But when I look back up into his understanding eyes, I’m happy he did. I could use a friend right now. “I feel bad that they bothered you.”

  His smile is earnest, affectionate even. “Quinn, I would do
anything for you. We’ve been friends since high school.”

  I wish he hadn’t reminded me about our past. Right now I’m vulnerable, and his familiar face while I’m grieving is exactly how he ended up in my life years ago.

  “I did try to call first, but…” His voice trails off.

  I frown. “Yeah, my phone’s kind of broken.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, looking concerned.

  “I’m fine.”

  His smile falls, and he searches my face for a moment, “You don’t seem fine. You look…” He pauses, carefully selecting the right word. “Rough.”

  I shift from foot to foot, not sure exactly what to say. Aiden is sweet and understanding, but there is no way I am about to tell him what happened with Cash. Matter of fact, there is no way anyone will ever know what really happened with Cash. Including Lyndsey.

  I am saved from answering when Aiden asks, “Can I come in?”

  I take a step back and motion him inside. I close the door behind him, and follow him, watching his back and shoulders flex with every step.

  He glances around my hotel room. “You haven’t even opened a suitcase. The Quinn I know would have toured the Harvard campus twice by now. It looks like you haven’t even left your hotel room.”

  “I just got in last night.”

  “You live by the saying ‘the early bird gets the worm,’” he says, laughing.

  “Until classes start, I’m thinking of taking a more laid back approach.”

  “Wow. Whatever you are going through must have given you brain damage. I’ve never heard you say the words ‘laid back’ ever.”

  “People change.” I shrug and sink down on the edge of the bed. To Aiden I must be coming off crazy, because I sound crazy even to myself. I feel defeated, ruined and betrayed, and a twelve-hour sleep hasn’t helped my current emotionally erratic condition. Besides, who am I kidding? People don’t change. Once a type A personality, always a type A personality. I am lying to myself and he knows it.

  “You’re not going to tell me what’s going on are you?”

  “No. I’m not.” I rub my face, opting for honesty. “I’m not ready to talk about it with anyone yet.”

  He fidgets with his phone, looking up at me, “I think you should call Lyndsey.”

  I nod, taking the phone from him and dial my sister’s number. I stand up, turn my back to Aiden, and walk toward the bathroom. On the second ring, she picks up.

  “Lyndsey, it’s me.”

  “Quinn!” Lyndsey says. “Did Aiden find you?”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I whisper.

  “Aw, come on, Quinn. It’s Aiden. When he offered to see if you were okay, I thought to myself, what a perfect distraction. You should be thanking me. Now you aren’t alone and sulking.”

  I peek around the wall and glance over at Aiden studying my smashed cell phone on the nightstand. She’s right—he’s a familiar face and a good friend. I could use the company, but I’m also worried he’s eventually going to break me and make me talk about Cash.

  I close my eyes, press my forehead against the full-length mirror outside the bathroom. “You always think you know what’s best for me.”

  “And am I not usually right?”

  “This time you were wrong. I wanted to be alone.”

  “Being alone would make you question how things ended with Cash.”

  If she only knew the half of it.

  “I can’t be there for a shoulder to cry on. You need a friend. Aiden is a perfect friend to keep you company right now. What Cash did—”

  “You have no idea what Cash did.”

  Of course, Lyndsey thinks I’m heartbroken over drunk, cheating Cash, not downright destroyed over married Cash.

  “Quinn, I was there. I saw everything. Believe me, I’m on your side.”

  “I don’t want anyone taking sides. I’m done talking about it, okay?”

  “You’re going to have to talk about it at some point. I’m pretty sure Aiden is going to realize you’re a walking rain cloud.”

  “Not today.” I attempt to steer the conversation to safer waters. “So…did Louis move his things in when I moved out? I can hear him in the kitchen.”

  “He slept over. He’s not moving in.”

  “Hey, Quinn!” Louis shouts.

  “Hi, Louis,” I say into the phone.

  “Changing the subject doesn’t get you off the hook on dealing with your emotions,” Lyndsey says firmly.

  Her talent is reading through my bullshit. She has a sixth sense and never drops something until she finds out the truth. She is relentless, but this time I won’t budge. We hold our silence for a long beat.

  “Fine,” she says. “We’ll talk about it later, but turn on your phone. It’s going straight to voicemail.”

  “It’s broken.”

  “How did it break?”

  “It just did.” I sigh. “I should probably get going.”

  “Okay, but promise me you will get it fixed so I can get a hold of you?”

  “I’ll replace it, I promise.”

  “Okay.” She sounds relieved. “I love you, Quinn. Text me as soon as you get a new phone. And take Aiden with you. I might need to get a hold of you in the next few hours.”

  I let out my first real laugh since the airport. “You’ve gone twenty-four hours without speaking to me. I think you will be able to survive a couple more.”

  “I’m serious, Quinn. I know you’re hurting about Cash.”

  I swear Lyndsey never misses a beat.

  “I’ll ask Aiden if he wants to go phone shopping with me, but he might have other plans.” I move back into the room and see him attempting to piece together the broken pieces of my cell phone. I swallow the lump in my throat when his curious eyes shift to mine.

  “Don’t forget to text me,” she reminds me.

  We say our goodbyes and I click off from the call. Slowly, I place Aiden’s phone in the palm of his hand.

  “I don’t have any plans,” he says, voice deep. “I can see you did a real number on your phone.”

  I stare at him for a long moment, humiliated at the memory smashing my phone against the wall. “Yeah…”

  “Don’t worry, Quinn. I’m not going to ask.” He leans in a little closer to me. “But I am going to ask that you have a shower before we leave this hotel room.”

  “Please don’t tell me I smell,” I say, horrified.

  Aiden bites back a laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t smell. But your hair has seen better days.” He flops down on the bed, “Wake me up when you’re ready, Ashby.”

  I slip into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As the warm water washes away the past few days of obsessive anxiety and heartbreak, I decide Cash’s lies will only make me stronger. It’s time to move on.

  I run my hands through my wet hair, letting every thought of Cash disappear down the drain. I am in Boston. I am safe. And Cash Brooks will never have my heart again.

  Chapter 2

  Quinn

  The light changes, and I dash across the street along with a small crowd. The buildings directly in front of me aren’t an illusion I’ve been imagining for the past month. Harvard is an architectural masterpiece, and the Business School campus is breathtaking. As I approach Batten Hall, the glare from the early morning sun bounces off the windows. I catch a glimpse of myself in their reflection and smile at my casual attire—black leggings, a cream cable knit sweater, and a patterned infinity scarf around my neck. I didn’t have time to style my hair, because I was already really late for class. I pulled it into a messy bun, and I didn’t splash an ounce of makeup on. My stomach grumbles as I pull open the door. I also didn’t have time to eat breakfast.

  Normally, my roommate (a.k.a. Aiden) wakes me unintentionally when he sneaks out of our apartment to hit the gym. But this morning I slept through his early exit, and I forgot to set my alarm.

  When I step into the foyer of the building, the space is open, big, and the
far wall is decorated with an eclectic mix of colorful paintings. To my right, a staircase travels upward leading the way to two upper levels of modular learning classrooms developed to support the field-method courses of the MBA curriculum.

  A warm breeze stirs through the hallway, carrying the sounds of student traffic. I push my way through the throng of other students and travel up the staircase focused on getting to class.

  Since the start of fall term, I’ve been surprisingly punctual to every class, study group, and lecture, considering I spend my nights awake and overthinking.

  It’s been over almost over a month since I left Bexley, but the questions about Cash haven’t gone away. Apparently, time does not heal all wounds, because for me, time isn’t helping—it’s slowly wrecking me. On the outside, I appear well put-together, studious, and focused. But on the inside, I am still a mess, without closure, and wondering if I’m being too harsh or if I made the right choice by leaving without hearing Cash out.

  Sometimes late at night, my finger will hover over his name on my phone, until logic defeats my internal feud and I toss my phone to the side. It would be impossible to hear his voice and not want to be with him. But regardless of what he might say, it wouldn’t change the fact that he has a wife.

  “Quinn!” Aiden calls, signaling me over to a table to my right in the student lounge area.

  I wave and then hurry in his direction. Why is he sitting out here and not in class?

  “Fancy seeing you show up late for class.” He smiles and stands as I near the table.

  “I forgot to set my alarm. Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Class was cancelled. Professor Markland left a note on the door. It’s rescheduled for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I rushed out the apartment for nothing?”

  “Hey, I’m here. I’m not nothing. I even waited for you to show up and grabbed you a tea.” He motions toward the two paper cups on the table. “I knew you’d be pissed about class being cancelled, so I thought we could spend a couple of hours studying together.”