“Princess,” a thick voice suddenly booms from behind me. “Drop it.”
My heart plummets as I recognize the voice without an ounce of uncertainty. Whirling around, I’m met by the same man that was wooing Miss Millie only minutes earlier. Except now, I see his face. And I know exactly who he is.
Cameron Alden. My brother Ethan’s best friend of thirty-one years. Resident ladies man. And filthy rich heir of his grandpa’s whiskey fortune.
In true and maddening fashion, he has his cell phone pressed to his ear, probably sweet-talking some side chick from uptown. Jogging over to me in his undeniably sexy gray sweatpants, he surveys the situation in a split-second.
“Gotta go,” he says into his phone. Sliding it in his pocket, he kneels and grabs the corgi’s snout in a firm hold, somehow relenting his grip on the fabric. “Bad Princess. We don’t mess with other people’s stuff. Oh God, I apologize,” he says, and I hear the wistful shift in his tone the moment he looks up and recognizes me. “Riley?”
Locking eyes with him, I open my mouth, ready to unleash every ounce of Pratt woman fury on him. But I can’t. Something stops me. The stark blue of his eyes that are hardly visible under his hat. That dark scruff along his chiseled jawline. Cameron Alden has grown into an unfairly handsome man with muscles that strain against his shirt and beg for my attention. And I struggle to find words at all in front of him.
“Princess?” I scoff, finally breaking away from his stare. Stooping down in the most modest way I’m able in this tight skirt and ankle strap heels, I angrily gather the slobbered, now-imperfect fabric. It’s pulled in a few different places from indignant dog teeth and is brushed with remnants of crunched leaves and drool. Completely unusable, and I want to vomit as I consider the consequence. My voice sounds broken and hoarse when I speak again, a piece of dark emotion tugging at my seams. “You call that thing a princess?”
“I’m so sorry, Riley. That’s the only name she listens to. Her real name is Cannoli, but—”
“I don’t care about her real name,” I huff. “Her real name won’t fix my freaking fabric.” Popping up, I roll the textiles as best I can without getting dog drool all over me. Stuffing them back into their torn bags, I fight the tears that threaten me here on the street in front of Cameron. I’ll have to eat the money to purchase more of the vicuña wool for my client. Thousands of dollars worth of fabric— ruined in an instant. Poof, and it’s gone. I rub at my eye and take a deep, wavering breath. I cannot afford this.
“Hey, hey. I’m sorry, Riley.”
As I stare at this man that I haven’t seen in at least five years, anger and devastation pool inside me. But memories suddenly flash bright in my mind like snapshots. Mental polaroids of Cameron. The Gordon House bathroom as he tried to help me clean the wine stain off my dress and the pure passion we shared that night. The heat of his hands slowly drifting down my waist. And a dozen whispered words setting like the sun, hot and full of promise. But then, up pops an awkward image of my childhood bedroom. With him, tall and lanky, sprawled out on my Harry Potter comforter as cupcakes baked in the kitchen below us. The scent of wet pine trees wafting from my open window because I didn’t want my bedroom to smell like sex after we were done. Good grief, Riley. Get a hold of yourself.
Shaking the thoughts from my head, I snap my attention back to the present. Cameron’s been gone for five years now. And last I heard from him, I nearly wished he would leave Savannah for good.
Glancing down at his hand, I notice he’s holding a cup of ice cream. “What are you even doing here?” I ask through a grimace. Despite the faint fluttering of my heart, I am not happy to see this man. Especially under these devastating circumstances. “Was that you in there flirting with Millie?” I shake my head at him, completely disgusted with his behavior. Poor, innocent Millie.
“Flirting? Stop it, I was being polite. Look, I’m sorry this happened, Riley,” Cameron says, the corner of his mouth drooping into a frown. He reaches out to help me with one of my bags as if it’ll lighten my load. “Damn. We were out for a walk, and—”
“Hey, Cameron.” A woman in magenta stilettos and bright purple lipstick slinks by us hauling a pumpkin, her ox-blood painted fingernails contrasting against the orange. “Nice seein’ you out last week. Join us again soon,” she spills, her voice syrupy and sick.
Turning, he grins and nods at her and scratches at the back of his head.
Suddenly realizing of course things haven’t changed with him, I grow fiercely mad and clench my jaw. “She one of yours, too?”
Jutting a dramatic hip out, he reads my expression for a second then runs a hand down his face, the corgi squirming in his arm. He grins at me as if I’m playing coy, like I’m overreacting to the situation altogether. “You have to admit,” he chuckles. “That was pretty—”
“It’s not funny. If you were paying attention to your stupid little dog instead of eating ice cream and yapping to one of your numerous girlfriends, this could’ve been avoided. I now have to spend an exorbitant amount of money thanks to her,” I say, pointing at the ball of hair in his arms. It's a little over-the-top, sure. But the sentiment of my entire statement is not untrue.
“Nice word,” he grins, his voice dropping in pitch. He mouths the word exorbitant and flashes me the ‘okay’ sign with his hand. “I see you’re still the intelligent one around here.”
Annoyed at his jokes, I snatch my purse up from the ground. “It’s October, anyway. No one eats ice cream in the fall. And if you’re really not going to wear a jacket this time of year, at least wear a thicker shirt. Your nipples have been staring at me since you came over here,” I say, the last sentence slipping from my mouth. Good grief, I must have left my filter in the fabric shop.
“Whoa, whoa,” he says, as if I’ve just offended the trio of them— him, the corgi, and his nipples. He sets Cannoli down on the sidewalk and places the styrofoam dish in front of her. “First of all, it’s not ice cream. It’s a peanut butter pup cup for the girl, so you can pull the cold-as-hell burr out of your ass regarding that one. Second, I’m single. No girlfriend, Riley, which makes you wrong again. And third, it’s not my fault if you can’t stop staring at these impressive nipples,” he says, pressing on them through his shirt. He strikes what’s meant to be a sensual pose. “And what about you? If your fabric is so important, why would you put it on the ground?”
My stomach swirls with anger. And there he is, the asshole I remember. Pressing my fingers to my temple, I shake my head. “You are infuriating, and that’s not even the point,” I breathe, my tone falling to a whisper. To him, none of this matters. It can all be fixed with funds. Cameron Alden is, by default, over the largest whiskey distillery in the South. If the tables were turned, this financial loss would go unnoticed. For him, it’s another lavish weekend at Tybee Island, and I don’t expect him to understand the severity of it. But for me, it’s a few month’s worth of salary lost to a corgi puppy named Princess Cannoli.
He reaches for his wallet in his back pocket. “I’ll pay for it,” he counters at my lack of patience. “How much?”
“No,” I suddenly snap. Not wanting to offend his affluent mindset, I turn from him and scoff. Three deep breaths, Riley.
“If it makes you feel any better, the dog isn’t mine,” he shrugs.
“It doesn’t,” I say simply. “That doesn’t make it any better.”
“She belongs to my mom. I stop by and walk her in the mornings to help out.”
Looking back at him, I sigh at the thought of him going out of his way to help his sweet mother every day. Last I heard, she wasn’t doing too well. “How is she?” I ask, my voice still sounding agitated, but I try to push this morning’s madness from my mind to show a little compassion.
Cameron shrugs, his shoulders broad and strong. “Some days are better than others, I guess. I’m glad I moved back to spend time with her though. Dad’s been gone, what—” He scratches the back of his head and nods. “Two years now, I guess. But
I think his absence is finally starting to get to her.” He smiles small and shoves his hands in his sweatpants pockets, dog leash and all. “But it’s weird, you know. Being back here. Seeing everyone who stuck around. Everyone who left ghosts of themselves behind. It’s different in a way, even though everything mostly feels the same.”
As he waxes ambiguously poetic, I start to grow a tender spot for him. For the fact that he came back to be close to his mom when she needed him. I almost forget about the fabric when I suddenly start to remember what it used to feel like to adore him so fully, how incredibly fond of him I used to be. Growing up down the street from him, he was my favorite person of the male species to be around. Even by proximity, he made me feel less like his best friend’s dorky younger sister and more like the center of his attention. And I lived for those moments back then. Until he changed.
“Riley?” Furrowing his brow, Cameron tilts his head down and lowers an eyebrow at me. “I don’t suppose I can take you out sometime? After fixing all of this, of course,” he says, motioning to my bundles of fabric with a wide hand.
Fixing it? I feel my cheeks grow hot, and every comfortable thought I just had about him is vanished into the October air. For this man to swoop into my life one second with his obnoxious, wool-munching corgi and his line of ladies that awaits him at his next bar outing to then ask me out? He’s got a lot of nerve. That’s a no-fly zone with me, and I have no problem telling him. “I’m not one of your little bunnies, Cameron.”
He grins as if I’m joking. “Come on. For old time’s sake.”
Shaking my head, I grasp my bags tighter. “No, thank you. I’m unavailable.”
Furrowing his brow, he tilts his chin down. “What do you mean unavailable? You dating someone?”
I shake my head again, more adamant this time. “Nope, not dating. Just not available for anything. I don’t do relationships right now. I’m busy focusing on my career. It’s probably for the best that we don’t do this,” I motion between us, hoping he can read between the thick ass lines of our past.
Cameron beams at me, his hot-as-hell dimples lighting up his entire face like some sort of god. “You don’t do relationships now? You were the queen of relationships,” he purrs, stepping closer to me, the dark amber of his cologne wafting over me as a car passes us.
Inhaling, the words that had just leaked from my lips suddenly register. I don’t do relationships?? That makes me sound like a promiscuous little hussy. Panicking, I tuck my hair behind my ear and look down at Cannoli as if she’s judging me. But I can’t go back on it now. At the very least, I have to own it in front of him. “It’s just not my thing,” I say, snapping my gaze back up at him, staring him straight in the eye.
He seems pleased at this, as if his childish ways from years past have finally rubbed off on me. Pleasantly surprised, if not the slightest bit concerned like he almost doesn’t believe me. “Can I get your number?”
“You have my number. It’s been the same for seven years,” I say, furrowing my brow at him. “And if you didn’t care enough to use it back then, you certainly don’t need it now.”
His eyes narrow, and he leans closer, a dark edge washing over him. The heat he’s putting off settles in over me like the humidity heralding a summer storm. “Is that a challenge?” he asks, his voice husky with a flirty playfulness.
I roll my eyes at his ridiculous show. “Hardly.” Gathering the rest of my fabric bags and my purse, I force a hard smile at him before turning to desert him there in the middle of the sidewalk with his precious Cannoli. “Try not to sleep with every other woman in town while you’re here, okay?” I call over my shoulder as cheery as I can, leaving him with an indignant wave.
Chapter 3
The alarm on my phone dings at me— finally. It's the end of my workday. Rubbing my eyes, I push down the laptop screen and press my cheek to the top of it. It’s only six in the evening of one of the roughest days I’ve had in months. But it feels much later. Not only had thousands of dollars worth of fabric been greedily snatched from my presence and ruined, but I’d also racked my brain half the day about what to do with Victoria’s custom staircase that she no longer wants.
I grab two glass tumblers and a bottle of Merlot, setting them on my kitchen counter. Becca is stopping by tonight to talk over my proposed plans for Selene’s place. Earlier on the phone, she suggested I ask Miss Millie if she’d be so kind as to let me repurchase more of the vicuña wool but at wholesale. The joke of a lifetime of I've ever heard one. I seriously doubt she’d go that far out of her way for me seeing as we don’t quite run in the same social circles. Besides, I don’t have the gleaming muscles or the maddening showboat attitude that apparently makes her tick.
The thought brings me back to Cameron. Plopping down on the kitchen stool, I think about how strange it was running into him today. He looked different, held himself more proud than he used to, wore his confidence like a badge. Last I saw him was at The Gordon House Ballroom for the Better Lives Charity downtown. And he was handsome, yes. Lean and strong in all the attractive ways. But running into him today? He looked like a complete transformation of himself. He had morphed into something grander— buff and rugged. His lean muscles had popped. And not that I didn’t used to, but I found him intensely desirable. Like did not want to peel my eyes from him desirable. He’s not the same Cameron that, five years ago, bent me over in the venue bathroom. Today’s Cameron was beyond compare.
Pouring myself a glass of wine, I let my mind drift toward my sophomore year of high school where it all started with him. My infatuation with being near Cameron, wanting him so desperately back then when he and my brother, Ethan, were seniors.
It was a Thursday night when Ethan was supposed to help me bake cupcakes for the annual fundraiser for my varsity soccer team. But he ran off with another one of his friends to bike the skatepark. I texted Cameron, begging him to come over and help. And surprisingly, he did. Cameron drove over and told my mom he’d oversee the operation and help me bake so she could make it to her yoga class and book club in the city.
Though the evening started in the kitchen, it hadn’t ended there. After shoving the first two batches of batter-filled tins into the oven, I led Cameron up to my bedroom under the guise of showing him the new night sky projector I’d bought with my birthday money. The old bait and switch. I knew exactly what I was attempting. And when I flipped the bedroom light off and turned the stars on, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing his hand and pulling him down onto my bed. “You can kiss me if you want,” I told him. I still don’t remember how I grew the guts to say that, but I think it had something to do with the way he kept flashing his dimples at me that night, teasing me like I was going to leave him if he didn’t say something funny about my hair or my smile or my eyes every five minutes.
After that, we fell into a tangle of heat and hormones there underneath the orbiting constellations, and I was too embarrassed to tell him that it was my first time. Looking back on it, he was good to me that night, so I think he figured as much. But it was a shared understanding that our sex was some semblance of a game— seeing which of us could come before the timer on the oven went off. He came quick, and I thought I did, too.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings, jumpstarting my heart and pulling me from that night. Taking another quick sip of wine, I glance at my phone. It’s a little early for Becca, but I head toward the front door, my bare feet padding against the hardwood.
Swinging open the door, I immediately frown at the commotion. A massive box is parked on my front porch, and a man in a delivery uniform drops another box on top of it, handing me a clipboard to sign.
“Sir, I’m not expecting any deliveries,” I tell him, taking the pen and glancing over the form. “Are you sure this is right?”
“You Riley Pratt?” he spits.
Nodding, I furrow my brow. “Yes, but my lighting fixtures aren’t due in for another—”
“You’ll have to take that up with him,” the de
livery guy says, jerking his head toward a Lexus SUV that’s rolling up in my driveway beside his van. “You need help getting these inside?” he asks. Peering around me, he’s clearly annoyed that I’m not cooperating.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. Stepping out onto the porch, I pull the door closed behind me, not wanting anyone inside my place. “No, thank you.”
And then I see him. Sure as shit, it’s Cameron Alden sliding out of the silver Lexus.
As the delivery man turns and wanders down the porch, I call out to Cameron who’s grinning at me like a bobcat. “Really? What do you think you’re doing?”
Jogging up the concrete stairs, skipping a few of them at a time effortlessly, he sticks his landing behind the boxes and pretentiously bows with a smirk. Though he’s showing off, I can’t help but find him adorable. But I don’t want him knowing that.
Donning my resting bitch face, I shake my head at him. He looks handsomely simple again tonight, wearing a navy T-shirt with a pair of light wash jeans. His wild morning hair is now combed into a dark George Clooney coiff that makes me want to run my hands through it just so I can touch him. Crossing my arms over my chest, I nod down at the boxes without breaking my expression. “What is this?”
Removing his sunglasses, I catch a glimpse of his rare blue eyes. They’re full tonight, blue like the deep sea, and I want to drink them in and soak in the depth of them. Cameron clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Why don’t you open it and see.”
Whiskey Heart: An Alpha Billionaire Friends to Lovers Romance Page 2
