“If you’d asked me that a month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated,” Kensie confessed—since they were being blunt and all.
“What changed?”
“I changed. I know it sounds trite, the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing, but I’m not sure I can be the type of woman he wants.”
“The dutiful wife?”
Kensie nodded. “I got so caught up in trying to play the part, I almost lost myself. I’m only just realizing it.” After having sex with someone else, she added internally.
“I thought you were happy.” Jacquelyn took a seat next to her daughter, her mother’s warm eyes searched her face, no doubt looking for answers Kensie didn’t have. She had thought she was happy too. Life was going according to plan, only it wasn’t—not really.
“When did you realize Dad was the one?” Kensie used to think Trey was her future, that she’d finally found a man who lived up to the high standards her father set.
“Baby girl, it’s been thirty years and I’m still debating on if I want to keep him around.”
“Yeah, right. You two are perfect together. You may have set the bar a little too high.”
“We aren’t perfect. I couldn’t stand your father when we first met. I still can’t half the time. He pushes every one of my buttons and challenges me in ways no one ever has before. He drives me insane, yet, I’m so foolishly and hopelessly in love.”
Kensie’s chest tightened. The way her mother spoke of her father—love lacing each syllable—she wanted that. She longed for that, and the uncomfortable truth was she didn’t have it—not with Trey, maybe she’d never have it. Falling back onto the bed with a groan she said, “Way too high, Mom.”
Jacquelyn smiled, cuddling up next to her baby girl. “If you’re looking for perfection, you’ll never be satisfied. I didn’t fall for your dad because he was perfect; quite the opposite. He was all wrong. He had no money, no family name, and your grandfather hated him. It wasn’t easy—us being together—but we learned how to make it work. I never had a choice. He was it for me. It was always him. Only ever him.”
Kensie didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears.
The tires on Kensie’s convertible screeched as she pulled into the parking lot of her office building. The clock on the dash read 9:07 a.m. Traffic had been a nightmare and because she had an evil witch of a boss, there would be hell to pay for being seven minutes late.
Rachel Winston, also known as Cruella de Vil, was one of five senior advertising executives at Creative Marketing Corp and she made it her mission to make Kensington’s life a living hell. Most days, she ran pointless errands, transcribed ad meetings, and cried in the ladies’ room. Even so, she refused to give up. Being Cruella’s bitch might not have been her dream job, but thanks to her father’s connections, it was waiting for her as soon as she graduated from the University of Southern California.
Kensie skidded to a halt at her desk. Rachel stood there, hands balled into fists on her hips, and a scowl plastered across her overly botoxed face. Beth, Rachel’s other assistant, shot Kensie a sympathetic look. “You’re late,” Rachel seethed. The little vein on her neck pulsed with anger.
“Traffic was horrendous,” she explained rushing past, and shrugging off her purse with a spastic jerk. She missed the desk by an inch. The bag tipped over and its contents spilled out. Random tubes of lip gloss rolled here and there. Her cell hit the ground with an ear-splitting thud, the kind of noise that sounded like she’d be making a trip to AT&T on her lunch break.
“Everyone else seemed to make it to the office on time. Then again, we actually have to work for a living.” And there it was—the reason Rachel never gave Kensie a chance to succeed. Nepotism may have gotten her the job, but talent and creativity kept her employed three years later.
Painting on a pleasant smile, Kensie ground out, “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.” Rachel turned, and shoved a piece of paper into Kensie’s chest. “Also, these are awful. I’ve asked Brian from the art department to come up with something more suitable.”
Kensie eyed the page. The designs she’d submitted for their latest campaign stared back at her. A Portland area grocery chain had hired them to do the branding for their new online subscription services and Rachel, in one of her rare moments of kindness, offered to let Kensie take a crack at the new logo.
“Why?” she asked, and her voice quivered. She had worked on her designs for hours, pouring her heart and soul into them, and they were good—better than good—they were amazing.
“They’re garish and uninspiring. Better luck next time.” Rachel’s lips twisted into a smirk, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in her eyes.
“But—”
“I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the morning. Hold my calls.” Without another word on the subject, Rachel turned on her heels and stomped into her office, slamming the door shut behind her.
“Garish my ass. She wouldn’t know taste if it slapped her in the face,” Kensie fumed, looking down at her desk. It—like her life—was a mess. She began stuffing things back in her purse at random, mumbling obscenities under her breath.
“I don’t know why you put up with her,” Beth said. “It’s not like you need the money.”
“It’s not about the money. I want to make my own way. All my friends have these big important jobs—Jam is a reporter, and Trey manages six figure accounts—I don’t want to be just another trust fund baby.”
Beth pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That’s noble, Kensie, but seriously, Cruella treats you like shit, ten times worse than she treats me, or anyone else. Why not work under another exec?”
“Because everyone already thinks I’m only here because of my dad. What would it look like if I asked to move because my boss is mean to me?”
Beth’s brows shot up. “Like you’re sane and rational. Everyone here knows how she is.”
“I’m stronger than that. I can deal.” She sighed. In truth, Kensie was nearing her breaking point. She worked her ass off on those designs and it was all for nothing.
“You shouldn’t have to deal. If you could do anything—you’re dream job—what would it be?” Beth asked, her deep gaze penetrating.
Kensie stared at the printout of her designs one last time before tossing it in the trash. What did she want? Such a simple question, such a complicated answer. Who the hell knew? Twenty-five was old enough to know better. Young and dumb was starting to wear thin. Why was adulting so hard? “I don’t know. Kids are cool, maybe I’d be a teacher or something.”
“A teaching gig might be hard to find mid-year, maybe a sub, or…” Beth let the sentence trail off, her fingers tapping furiously over the keyboard.
“Or?”
“Safe Haven.”
“Safe Haven?” Kensie asked munching on her bottom lip.
“It’s a shelter for young boys. They’re hiring.”
“Email me the info, I’ll think about it,” Kensie said, opting to put a pin on her existential crisis. Bending over, she retrieved her cell, the screen was fine, but a new message awaited her.
Prince Charming: Are you still angry?
Kensie: I may have overreacted.
Prince Charming: Meet me at our spot for lunch?
Kensie: I’d like that.
At lunchtime, Kensie walked the two blocks from her office to Fonte Café. Fonte was a modern coffee bar that featured in-house roasted beans, freshly baked breads, and an extensive wine list. It was one of those places her dad, CEO for one of Seattle’s largest coffee companies, often referred to as “the hipster hell I’m forced to keep up with,” as if anyone could compete with that ubiquitous white and green cup.
It’s also the place where Kensie and Trey first met. After a particularly tough morning at the office, she’d decided on a lunchtime cocktail to help calm her nerves and prevent her from strangling her boss. Trey had been in line ahead of her and pre-paid her bill. She asked the server to s
end her glass of wine and chef’s salad to his table and the two spent the entire hour talking like old friends. They’d bonded over the similarities in their upbringings and marveled at the fact that they hadn’t met before that day. Of course, she’d heard the family name, Knight. Seattle wasn’t that big, but he was a few years older and attended their rival high school.
Kensie spotted her boyfriend sitting at a table near the window, frowning at his tablet. She made her way through the bustling lunchtime crowd over to him. “Why the long face?” she asked, smoothing out the wrinkle on his forehead with her ring finger.
“Work stuff.” Trey shut down the device and stood, placing a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. He worked in risk management for a large financial firm and work stuff caused him to frown a lot. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. How’s your day?”
“Miserable. Rachel was on a rampage this morning because I was seven minutes late.” Trey pulled out her chair, and Kensie sat down gracefully.
“Hang in there, Kenny. It will get better, I promise.”
“I hate it,” she confessed, gnawing at her lip. Hate was a strong word, one she reserved for things like brussel sprouts and waiting in line at the DMV but working under Cruella was basically the equivalent of taking her driver’s license picture with a mouth full of baby cabbages. “What if I got another job?”
“Mmm.” Trey eyed her, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, or second, or even the third. It always ended in a lecture and Kensie pouting.
“I already know what you’re going to say.” She held up a hand.
“Then why bring it up?”
“Because, this time I actually know what I want to do.” This time. Hard work had never been Kensie’s problem, focusing was. She was artsy, she wanted to paint, and write, and change the world, but she had no idea where to start. “I think I’ve finally figured out what I want.”
“And?” Trey asked, lifting a brow, a condescending little smirk on his face.
“You know what, never mind.” She huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. Trey was the most practical man she’d ever met, and that’s saying a lot considering who her father is. Shame colored her cheeks pink, her heart deflated a little with each passing second.
“I’m sorry, Ken. Please, tell me.”
“There’s an opening at a group home, young boys. I think… I don’t really know.”
“You don’t know.”
She wished she’d researched it more before bringing it up to Trey. It sounded like another one of her half-assed attempts at being an adult, but really… “I just…I’m unhappy,” she blurted without thinking, “at CMC, I mean, and I think it would be a chance to do some good, a chance to make a difference, and I want to know what my boyfriend thinks.”
“Fine.” Trey’s eyes snapped shut and he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if having this conversation was causing him physical pain, as if discussing her future was a nuisance. “If you insist we do this.”
“I insist.” She nodded.
“You think you’re unhappy now, but what happens when the little angels you think you’ll be saving become devils? You think working for Rachel is bad, try kids, but not just any kids, troubled ones. Kids who have a chip on their shoulder the size of Texas? You think you can save them, and that’s sweet. It’s one of the reasons why I love you, but you show up with your Gucci and your Chanel, and they’ll chew you up and spit you out.” A glass of water sat between them, she grabbed it, and chugged, giving herself a minute to think. Why was he always so damn practical? “See, this is why I didn’t want to talk about it, you’re pouting.”
“I am not.” She was too. Thankfully, the server chose that moment to bring their food.
“I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of ordering.” He’d gotten her usual salad, and even indulged her in a glass of wine. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, avoiding the twelve-thousand-pound mammal between them until Kensie couldn’t bear it a second longer.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry I ambushed you. I just don’t understand what the hang-up is, Kensington. You seemed excited last week when I brought it up. Why the one-eighty?”
“It’s just that the more I think about it, the more I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
She hesitated, spearing a tomato with her fork. It was lunchtime. The café was bustling with activity, but everything in Kensie’s mind was silent. Everyone else faded to black. Why? One little word held so much complexity.
“Baby, you need to talk to me. If we’re going to do this, we need to communicate honestly.”
“I’m afraid,” she admitted.
Trey reached across the table and took her hand in his. His eyes brimmed with love and sincerity. “What are you afraid of?”
“That I’m too much, or worse, that I’m not enough. I don’t want to disappoint you. I’m not perfect and I can’t pretend to be anymore.” She exhaled in a rush. The words burned her throat on the way out. The truth always tasted worse than lies.
“I’m not asking for perfection, Kensington. I’m asking you to try. I know you think I’m an elitist asshole—”
“I do not.”
“You do, but it’s okay. I am. I can be,” he clarified. “But you fell in love with me anyway. You saw past that and took a chance. Don’t give up on me now. I’ll never be the guy who tells you to quit a great job to work at a failing company, no matter how much you want to do it. It isn’t me. But I promise to love you and I promise to protect you. I’ll never hurt you and I won’t let you down. That must count for something, right?”
This was the man she fell in love with. He wasn’t perfect, but then again, neither was she.
“Okay,” she breathed.
“Okay?” he repeated
“I’ll do it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she giggled. His happiness was infectious.
“I promise you won’t regret it.” Trey could barely contain his excitement.
“Not so fast. I’ve still gotta tell Jam.”
Trey’s grin turned into a grimace. “Do you want me to come with?”
“No, I can’t have her going and killing my new roomie, now can I?”
“No, I guess that would put a damper on things.”
Kensie returned to work, happy about her decision to move in with Trey, though she dreaded the pending conversation she’d have to have with Jamie. Jam was the only person privy to Kensie’s betrayal and Kensie could always count on her friend to give it to her straight, even if that meant telling her what she already knew deep down in her gut.
Her mother’s words provided her some comfort. Her parents hadn’t had the perfect start to their relationship, but they were the happiest couple she knew. Their love saw them through hard times and she loved Trey.
That would be enough.
It had to be.
She pulled her phone from her purse and tapped out a text.
Kensie: Are you home?
Jam: Yes, but I’m about to run out to pick up dinner. Indian. You want your usual? Is Trey coming over?
Kensie: Yes, please, and no, it’s me and you tonight, Manning, but thank you for thinking of him.
Jam: Yeah, totally…I’m leaving something on the couch for you.
On the way home, Kensie stopped to pick up a bottle of Jamie’s favorite wine. She wasn’t sure how her friend would react to the news that she was moving in with Trey, but the wine couldn’t hurt.
The short elevator ride up to their fourth-floor apartment did little to quell her nerves, and the soft music coming from behind the door let her know that Jamie had beaten her home. She let out a shaky breath as she unlocked the door. “It’s now or never, Roth,” she sighed pushing through the door. Her steps halted, as soon as her eyes found the something Jamie left for her on the couch. More specifically, a six-two
someone, strumming an acoustic guitar.
Unruly brown hair, bright tattoos, and perfectly chiseled face that made her knees weak. His blue eyes locked onto hers, and his lips parted, giving way to the sexiest smile she had ever seen on another human being. She felt that smile deep in her core. She shivered as he set the guitar aside and rose to his feet. “Welcome home, Kensie.”
Shit.
She needn’t have worried about how Jamie would take the news that she was moving out because she was going to fucking kill her.
“I thought you were a drummer?” she asked, hoping the easy conversation would lessen the sexual tension threatening to suffocate them.
“I’m a man of many talents.” His voice was low, seductive, as he stalked towards her. They weren’t talking about music anymore.
“Stop!” she yelled. Her arm shot up, pushing against his hard chest. “Look, the other night was amazing…but I can’t do this.” She peeked up at him, biting her lip.
“Your body is telling a different story.” His face darkened, his hand gently wiggling her lip free. “You’re trembling, your cheeks are flushed, and I bet your panties are soaked. You want this as much as I do.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. The heat of his touch threatened to weaken her resolve. “I can’t do that to him again.”
Annoyance flashed in his eyes. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“You don’t even know him. I’m the undeserving one.”
He sighed, taking the wine from her shaky hand. His arm draped around her neck as he ushered her towards the kitchen. She knew she should have broken the contact, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was almost as if that was where she belonged, by his side. “I’m okay with a PG-13 night, we’re friends, right?”
She stared up at him, sure they had different definitions of friendship. “Try G,” she challenged, arching a brow.
He pulled her closer, bending down so that his lips hovered just above hers, so close she could feel his cool breath on her lips. “PG.”
Lithium Tides: A Lithium Springs Novel Page 5
