Shattered Perfection (The Perfection Series Book 1)

by Heather Guimond

  “It’s all right. I wasn’t mad. I was just concerned when you didn’t call. I would have called you this morning, but I overslept and left Laurel’s late. I was in a rush and barely made my flight. I didn’t get your messages until just now.”

  “Did you get my text messages?” He asked.

  “I did, but I haven’t looked at them yet. I checked my voicemail first and called as soon as I heard yours.”

  “Oh,” he chuckled. “Well, by all means, feel free to delete them without reading them. I won’t mind.”

  “That bad, huh?” I laughed.

  “Probably more pathetic than anything. You’ll really think I’m a pussy when you you’re done reading them.”

  “Sounds like excellent blackmail material for when I meet your friends,” I threatened.

  “Oh sweetheart. You are never meeting my friends. Not because of this, but because they are all a bunch of degenerate bastards. I wouldn’t want to ruin your good impression of me by exposing you to them.”

  I laughed harder. “Now I absolutely have to meet them. I’m sure I would love them all.”

  “I know they will love you. Another reason to keep you far away from them.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I do have to go back in with all the big boys, before they think I’m a slacker.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I’m so glad you called though, and that you aren’t mad. I really was worried.”

  “I think it would take an awful lot to make me mad at you, Vance Ashcroft.” I said quietly.

  “Here’s to you never finding out, Mimi. I’ll give you a call when I get done here. I promise.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” I said before ending the call.

  Chapter Seven

  Later that afternoon, Laurel and I connected on a video Skype call. After confirming I had arrived safely without meeting any other tall, dark and model-like men, and that I did not need her to send me my shoes, we got down to the business of discussing how Pete re-entered her life.

  “So, young Laurel… please, tell me everything. Thursday morning we were in your apartment and you were telling me all about ‘the one who got away.’ Friday afternoon he’s on the Garden State with us on the way to Atlantic City. It seems there’s a whole chunk of information that I’m missing here,” I said.

  I watched through the computer screen as she rested her chin in her hand and twirled a strand of hair around a finger on her other hand. “Well, there’s not a whole lot to tell. After you and I talked, I thought about everything I told you. The more I thought about it, the more of a hypocrite I felt. How could I say all those things to you, if I wasn’t willing to go after what I wanted? Obviously, from everything I confessed to you, I wanted Pete. He is the only guy that has mattered to me in like… ever. So, even though I treated him badly by pushing him away without really giving him any explanation, I swallowed my pride and gave him a call.

  “I got really lucky, Mimi. He was actually glad to hear from me. I told him I wanted to meet for a drink after work and talk, and he was on board with that.

  “When he arrived, I didn’t waste a second, or I would have lost my nerve. I hadn’t even had anything to drink for liquid courage, I just spilled my guts out onto the table for him. Told him everything I told you.”

  I just sat there listening quietly. This was huge for Laurel. She was never really the relationship type, always preferring to be on her own and doing her own thing, beholden to no one. While she had admitted to deep feelings for this guy the other day to me, admitting them to him had a whole host of other implications. I wondered how she intended to reconcile those feelings with her intrinsic need for independence.

  Laurel went on. “He told me he had been confused when I pushed him away, because he’d thought we were starting something pretty special, too. Turns out he was just as into me as I was him. Fortunately, being a little bit older, and apparently a little bit wiser than yours truly, he decided to give me my space and see what happened.”

  “So what does that mean for the two of you now?” I asked. “Are you an official couple?”

  “Well, in the sense that we’ve agreed that we’re not going to date anyone else, yes. However, we’ve decided to let things develop at whatever pace they do. He knows I’m fiercely independent and have issues with typical relationship kinds of things.”

  “Like calling and letting someone know where you are, or if you’re going to be late, or if you’re still alive, and things like that?” I said, laughing.

  “Shut up. I’m not that bad,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me.

  “No, but almost.”

  “We’ll figure it out as we go along, I guess. I know I have a big learning curve to deal with here, but he said he’s willing to be patient with me. For some unknown reason, the guy seems to think I’m worth it. Hopefully I can keep him fooled for a little while longer,” she said.

  “You are worth it, and you know it. I really hope it works out for you. I liked him a lot, and he and Vance sure seemed to hit it off.”

  “Oh please. It was almost a full-on bromance. What was up with that deal they made?” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “As if you’re actually complaining,” I said, tossing a pencil at the computer screen.

  “I know, right?” She winked.

  We gossiped for a little while longer, mostly trading secrets about the day we each spent sequestered with our men in Atlantic City. By the time we logged out, I was already missing her company. I wondered when we would have a chance for another in-person visit again.

  As promised, Vance called that night and every other night before he returned to Los Angeles. He did his to best call during the day too, but he was so wrapped up in the deal they were working on, this didn’t happen very often.

  Our evening conversations brought us closer, helping to maintain and nurture our connection while we were apart. I also learned that Vance was quite skilled at the fun sexy times even when three thousand miles away. Armed with a very creative imagination and a sultry voice, the man could make my toes curl with a husky whisper, a well-placed dirty word and a few helpful suggestions.

  Once he returned to Los Angeles, we were swept away on our own wave of new love, romance and passion. Weeks flew by and Vance made good on his word to propose to me at some point during each and every one. In actuality, he managed to propose to me every day, often multiple times a day, whenever he called my cell phone and his ringtone played. However, he came up with other ways to ask me. Sometimes it was as simple and cliché as sending me a bouquet of roses to my office with a card that simply read “Marry Me?” Another time it was an email with an internet meme of a naked baby in a top hat with a big belly and a funny look on its face. It said “Marry Me” at the top, with “And All This Can Be Yours,” at the bottom. Another time, it was a post-it note stuck to the mirror on my car’s visor. It read “You’re beautiful. Now marry me.” I saved them all in my jewelry box, even going so far as to print out the email with the baby, too.

  We spent every possible moment together. Vance’s job was demanding and he worked long hours, so we had exchanged keys to each other’s apartments for convenience’s sake early on. Often, I let myself into his place after I got off work to begin making dinner for him so he’d have something ready when he got home. If he was going to be especially late, he’d come to my place after I was already in bed.

  One such night, about six weeks after he returned from New York, I woke to the sound of him staggering into my apartment, crashing into furniture as he tried to make his way toward the bed. I was startled, thinking he must be drunk. I couldn’t understand why he would be coming home shit-faced at eleven p.m. on a Wednesday night, but I brushed the thought aside. I had to get him into bed before he hurt himself, or broke all the furniture in the room.

  I turned on the bedside light, and was about to hurry to his side, but he croaked out,

  “Please, no light. Turn it off. It hurts my eyes.”

  He didn’t sound drunk, but r
ather in pain. I turned the light out quickly and rushed to him, grabbing his arm and leading him to the side of the bed. In the dim light from the window, I could see his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his face looked pinched. I undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt most of the way. I slid his jacket off his shoulders and removed his belt. I guided him down into a reclining position and took off his shoes. I put a hand to his forehead and his skin was clammy and sticky, cool to the touch.

  “What is it, Vance? What’s going on? Are you hurt?” I whispered worriedly.

  “I just have a terrible headache, Mimi. I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep,” he mumbled.

  “This seems like more than just a headache. Do you have any of those pills you took in New York?” I asked.

  “No, no. It’s not that bad.” He assured me, even though he hadn’t opened his eyes once and I could see that he was perspiring heavily. “If you have a nighttime formula of ibuprofen, though, that would be good.”

  I hurried from the room to grab him a couple capsules and a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He cracked open his eyes when he sat up to take the pills, and I held the bottle of water to his lips, but he immediately laid back down with a huge sigh as soon as he was done. I moved to help him out of his slacks, but he waved me away.

  “Please, Mimi. I’ll be fine like this, I promise. Sleep is all I need.”

  Silently, I returned to my side of the bed and climbed in next to him. I was relieved to note that his breathing evened out fairly quickly and he was asleep within the hour. I kept an eye open all night long, watching him, concerned that there was more going on than a simple headache.

  The following morning, Vance was fine. There were slight circles under his eyes, but if you weren’t looking at him closely, you’d never notice. We were sharing a light breakfast of bagels and cream cheese, with coffee and juice, when I approached the topic of his headache. He was very nonchalant about it.

  “It was just a tense day at work. I woke with a small pain in my head in the morning that got progressively worse as the day went on. By the time I left for the day, I could hardly see. It took everything I had to drive over here. I would have gone home, but I wanted to be with you even if I wasn’t much in the way of company.”

  “Last night you said it wasn’t as bad as the migraine you had in New York. It looked pretty fucking bad, Vance. You could hardly walk.”

  “Please don’t overreact, sweetheart. I know how it must have appeared, but honestly, it doesn’t happen very often. Don’t worry.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me toward his chest.

  “But I am worried. Pain like that is not normal. I really think you should see a doctor, Vance.” I slid my hands around his waist.

  He kissed my forehead and looked into my eyes. “I have seen a doctor, Mimi. Remember? That’s where I got the pills. Trust me, everything is fine.”

  I frowned at him, but didn’t say anything more. If he’d already had the issue checked out, maybe I was overreacting. I didn’t know anything about migraines but I’d had friends who got them. They’d never acted like they were any big deal, so maybe I should just relax.

  Several more weeks flew by, and with them came the end of the summer. Vance’s best friend, Griffin Bennett, decided to throw a dinner party one Friday evening so he and all of their other friends could meet me. According to Vance, they’d gotten tired of him being the absent party in their group, and weren’t going to let it slide any longer. In other words, they wanted to check me out.

  We were at Vance’s house, and I was putting the finishing touches on my hair in front of the bathroom mirror as he leaned against the door jamb watching me. He was giving me a thumbnail sketch of his friends’ personalities, which he assured me was absolutely necessary. To be forewarned was to be forearmed, and all that.

  “Griffin is cool. You don’t really have to worry about him too much. He’s a level headed guy. He’s an investment banker, has his act together for the most part. Although he is a big practical joker. He tends to go lightly on women, so don’t worry. Unless you’re dating him, in which case you’re in big trouble. But you’re not, so you’re reasonably safe. His current girlfriend, Casey, will be there. She seems like a nice girl, but I don’t know her very well. They haven’t been dating very long.

  “Then there’s Bryant Lewis. He is the guy who is always getting his heart broken by some girl, so he will latch himself to your side to tell you all about the latest one to get your sympathy. Which is really just a ploy to get into your pants. He works in insurance. I can never remember exactly what he does, he’s explained it many times, but it’s so boring I end up tuning out. He’s a weenie, he’s always been a weenie, but he’s our weenie.

  ‘Last, there’s Justin Sever. He’s the real degenerate in our group. Leather wearing, tattooed, Jack Daniels drinking, Harley Davidson driving stereotype, but the most loyal guy of us all and definitely the guy you want at your back in a bar fight. He’s a graphic artist by day, badass biker by night. He’s mostly quiet, but if you get him talking, chances are you’ve made a friend for life.

  “I’ve known these guys since the fourth grade, they’re like my brothers. They may give me a hard time, they might tease you a little bit, but they already know that you’re special to me. They may say they want to check you out, but trust me, they won’t be anything but one hundred percent on their best behavior with you.”

  I finished with my hair and smiled at him. “I’m not really all that nervous, Vance. Of course, I want them to like me and everything, but mostly I’m excited to meet them. I want to be part of your world, and meeting your friends and getting to know them is a big deal. I feel like I’m really becoming a permanent part of your life.”

  He pulled me into his arms and pressed his nose to the top of my head and breathed deep, inhaling the floral scent of my shampoo. “You’ve been a permanent part of my life from the moment I met you. Only neither one of us knew it at the time.”

  “Not until you proposed, anyway.” I said lightly.

  He laughed. “What can I say? I catch on pretty quickly.”

  He released me and took me by the hand. “You ready? We should get going if we don’t want to be late.”

  I turned off the light in the bathroom and walked out with him. “Let’s go have some dinner. I have some men to bewitch.”

  “Over my dead body, Mimi…”

  Dinner went smoothly, with no hiccups or disasters of any kind. His friends were perfect gentlemen to me, though it was just the three of them and us. Apparently, Griffin and his girlfriend, Casey, had something of a falling out and their status was questionable. Being the only woman in a roomful of men at a dinner party was somewhat surreal. I half expected a charred meal in the kitchen and bucket of fried chicken on the table, but it turned out that Griffin was an accomplished cook. It wasn’t anything elaborate, we had simple grilled salmon steaks with lemon, whipped sweet potatoes and spicy yellow squash, but it was very tasty.

  Vance’s descriptions of his friends were remarkably on point. Griffin was a very put-together, well-groomed, blond man, with green eyes, deep tanned skin and a dazzling smile. He sat at the head of the table during dinner, and I sat to his left, across from Vance. He was dressed casually in a dark blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and khaki trousers, with a brown belt and matching loafers. Well-spoken and intelligent, he was the perfect host and I immediately felt at ease with him. He didn’t play any tricks on me, but I could see why he would be successful at pulling them off. His demeanor was such that you would never see it coming, unless you had been warned beforehand and were already on guard. Needless to say, I didn’t turn my back on him once.

  On my left was Justin, but he was quiet throughout the whole meal. He spoke to me only to say hello when we were introduced. Otherwise, he just listened to everything everyone had to say. He didn’t contribute much to any of the conversation, only speaking when someone directly asked him a question. He was kind of an enigma.
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  Nevertheless, the meal was pleasant, and I could plainly see that these men had been friends for a very long time. There was a lot of teasing going on between them, and I enjoyed just sitting back and watching their interaction. They made sure to include me, asking me questions about myself, or telling me stories about Vance as a kid, or about trouble they all got into as boys. I enjoyed every minute.

  After dinner, we moved out to the back yard and sat around Griffin’s fire pit, drinking beer, listening to music and just chatting. Bryant cornered me and engaged me in a one-on-one conversation. He was actually a very sweet guy. He had boyish good looks, sad eyes and the countenance of an adorable little puppy dog that you just wanted to pick up and cuddle. True to Vance’s description, after some initial small talk, he started in about Tammy, a stripper he fell in love with two weeks ago when he came into her club, and who apparently dumped him last weekend for a girl she met at a party. He was positively shattered and was convinced that only the love of a sweet, girl next door type would heal the broken pieces of his heart. I listened sympathetically for a time, but started looking for a way out of the conversation after about half an hour.

  Salvation came, surprisingly, in the form of a tall, dark, tattooed man, straight out of a MC romance novel. He was at least six foot three, had a shaved head, soulful, brooding brown eyes, a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once and a goatee surrounding full lips that were meant to be kissed. His body was big and broad, with lots of muscles, and unlike Vance’s swimmer’s body, this guy looked like he was used to hard work. It was hard to believe he had a daytime desk job. I’d have sooner believed he cut down trees for a living.

  “Alright Bryant. You’ve accosted Mimi enough for one night. She’s Vance’s. She’s not going home with you tonight to give you a pity fuck. Go call one of your regular go-to girls who fall for your broken heart routine.”