by Amanda Aksel
She purses her lips. “How can that be?”
I tuck my hair behind my ear. “My grandfather pretty much raised me. He stuck to stories like The Tortoise and the Hare. I don’t even think we had any princess stories.”
Now Poppy has a long face and pity in her eyes. It’s the same look my teacher gave me in the third grade when I walked in the classroom with a chip-clip in my hair instead of an actual claw clip or hair tie.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh!” She wiggles her nose and her smile reappears. “You look so much like the female protagonist from a novel that I love. She’s a modern-day princess. I even keep a spare copy with me in case I feel like visiting her world.” She pulls a tattered paperback book from her tote purse and hands it to me. I Just Want You by Veronica Vincent. The cover is a shirtless man with rippled abs holding a slender woman with long, flowing hair in his arms. “Why don’t you borrow it? I think you’ll find it very . . .” She takes in a deep breath, then exhales, “satisfying.”
Ever since I came to London, some strange things have happened. But this is the first time I’ve ever been handed a personal copy of a romance novel by anyone, let alone my venture capitalist’s assistant. And I’m not sure how this kind of book can be satisfying. “Thanks, but this isn’t really my thing.” I pass it back to her, but she keeps her hands tucked in her lap.
Poppy smirks, raising her brow. “Are you sure about that? It might give you some company.”
Company, huh? I look down at the cover, then back at Kent’s sweet, grandmother-ish assistant. By the look on her face, I know she won’t let me leave without it. I’ll just return it tomorrow and pretend that I read it. “I’ll give it a shot.”
“Brilliant!” she cries and claps her hands. “You won’t regret it.”
“If you say so.” I place the book safely in my purse.
“Well then, we’ll see you tomorrow. The car will be out front for you.”
“Thank you, Poppy.” I nod and turn on my heel.
Downstairs, I find the black town car already waiting. On the ride back, my espresso-and-Kent buzz begins to wear off, and I think I’m going to call it an early night.
My phone sings in my purse, next to the romance novel.
“Hey, Mom.” I answer.
“Honey, how are you?” She sounds like her normal I-love-life chipper self.
“I’m fine. Just got out of a meeting. What’s up?”
“That’s right. You’re in England. Are you having a good time?”
“Yeah, I am actually,” I say, staring out the window. So far, so good.
“That’s fantastic! Listen, honey, Sage and I are on our way to India. We’re heading to this amazing ashram in Tiruvannamalai.” Tiru-what? “He feels really called to go. But I don’t think I’ll be back in time for Christmas. I’m so sorry.”
Why am I not surprised? This will be the third year she’s a Christmas no-show, and it certainly won’t be the last. “Don’t worry about it, Mom.”
“Well, I’m sure you can spend it with your friends.”
I don’t want to tell her that I don’t have many friends since I work all the time. And definitely none close enough to spend Christmas with. “Yeah, definitely. Enjoy India. Tell Sage I said hello.” Sage is my mom’s boyfriend of five years. They met in South America during a peyote ceremony. It’s crazy how she follows all these spiritually enlightened paths, and for some reason none of them have led her to be a real mother to me. Deep down, I love her, but I don’t understand her.
“Okay, sweetie. Love you!”
“Love you too.” I end the call, dropping my phone back into my purse. Guess I’ll be spending Christmas alone this year. Again.
The car pulls up to my hotel and I brave the cold, thirty-foot walk to the entrance. I go straight up to my room and crank up the heat. After half an hour of responding to every last email in my bottomless pit of an inbox, my bones are still cold. I draw myself a steaming bath and grab a mini-bottle of red from the minibar. Ten minutes later, my body is finally warm and the bottle is half empty. I can’t remember the last time I took time out for a bath. I’ve worked a full day. I’ve got nowhere else to be since Kent canceled our date. I can spend a little more time in the tub. I add more hot water and sink back in. “Ah.”
I try to empty my mind which never works, so I think about my meeting today with Kent, making mental lists of all the things I need to do when I get back to San Francisco to bring our strategy to life. But then, my thoughts slip back to how sexy and charming he was last night, how amazing he smells, how much I would have loved to drink that bottle of pinot with him.
I shake my head. Maybe a bath isn’t such a good idea. Too much time to think. I need a distraction. In that moment, the cover of Poppy’s romance novel flashes in my mind. It’s been forever since I read a fictional story, and I’m technically a romance novel virgin. Sipping from my little bottle of wine, I toy with the idea of cracking that book open. Why not read a couple of pages? What else am I going to do in the tub?
With my towel draped around my dripping body, I dash into the bedroom and snatch the worn novel from my purse, then hurry back into the steaming bathroom. I step back into the water and take a long swig of wine. “Okay, Veronica Vincent, let’s see what you got.”
An hour later, the water’s turned tepid, but the story is hot, hot, hot. I had no idea that book porn existed. I’ve really been missing out. Since I didn’t read princess books as a kid, I don’t know exactly if the story is a modern fairytale, but it’s got a princess pretending to be a commoner and a tall, dark billionaire pretending to be broke. Between the memories of last night and my wine buzz, I totally picture Kent as the billionaire and me as the princess living vicariously through their very sexy love story. I can’t even put the book down long enough to dry off and get into my cozy clothes and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks.
Grabbing another mini-bottle, I slide in under the covers and grip the sheets as the characters’ true identities are revealed to one another. And of course, they can’t be together because, even though he’s ridiculously wealthy, he’s not royalty. If only she could cry Kate Middleton to her father. I’m totally prepared for it to be a tragic love story, so true to life. But then, at the last minute, the princess relinquishes her title and runs away with the billionaire, and they all live happily ever after.
Three hours later, I turn the last page and set the book aside. “Damn, that was good.”
SIX
Kent
When I was little, we would make these paper chains and tear off one link every day leading up to Christmas. Part of me wishes I had one now to count down when Liz will be leaving. The truth is I like her. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s a clever one. When I read about her history and all that she’s accomplished in the last eight years, I was even more intrigued. As much as I like spending time with her, I’m not sure how much longer I can handle it without breaking down, or should I say breaking Dad’s rule. I’ve only got a week to go. I can stay strong for a week. At least, I think I can.
Just as I’m about to leave the office, I get a call from my older brother, Mick.
“What are you up to tonight?” he asks.
I grab my briefcase, packing in my tablet. “Nothing, I’m headed home.”
“Home? It’s eight o’clock. You can’t go home. Meet me out for a pint.” It used to be my little brother, Drew, calling me to go out to pubs and clubs, but ever since Mick had to call off his wedding, he’s the one that goes out every night that he’s not working at the hospital. Which is the total opposite of how he was before that woman broke his heart. I definitely don’t mind having someone to go out with now that Drew’s in New York, but I’m not sure this lifestyle suits him very well.
“Tonight’s not good.”
“Why? Do you have plans with someone already?” His tone is suggestive and I’m immediately reminded that I don’t have plans with someone. Anymore at least.
“No, I’m just tired.” Which
is true. This day has beaten me to a pulp.
“Tired? You? No, that’s it. I’m coming to get you before you turn into an old man who does nothing but work and sleep.”
Ugh. That sounds like our father and I definitely don’t want to be like him. “Fine, I’ll meet you.”
Mick laughs like he’s excited. “Well, all right. On my way. I’ll meet you at that place near your office that you like.” I hear the sound of his car accelerate before he ends the call.
With my wool overcoat on, I walk the few blocks to the pub, the chilly wind whipping my face along the way. Usually, a walk like this gets me excited. I never know who I’ll meet. But tonight, I’d rather be warm in bed with Liz than anywhere else. Mick pulls up in his Aston Martin and carefully positions it into an empty space. He gets out of the car and puts on a pair of designer sunglasses, even though the sky is as dark as his shades. I want to scoff, but I just recently stopped doing shit like that.
“Kent!” he calls with his arms open wide.
“You look good, man.” Aside from the sunglasses, he looks really happy.
He cocks his head, studying me. “I wish I could say the same about you. What’s going on?”
I glance down at my clothes, making sure my appearance isn’t as disheveled as he’s making it out to be. “You don’t want to know.”
“I believe you. Let’s go inside, it’s bloody cold out.”
The two of us get settled at the bar and order a couple of whiskeys. Mick looks around the pub, then stretches out, leaning on the counter. “See anything you like?”
I glance behind me for a second. “No.”
“What about that one?” He points to a very leggy blonde wearing stockings.
I don’t look back when I say, “No.”
“Well, I think she’s very cute.” Keeping his eyes on the woman, he sips from his short glass and doesn’t seem to notice my lack of interest. “You sure you don’t want to go to New York with me for Christmas. See Drew?”
“Yeah, this is my busy time of year.” Between October and December, we pretty much work non-stop. And with Jacqueline out, I’m glad I don’t have any travel plans. “Are you staying at their place?” It’s funny to say their place. It’s funny that Drew lives with anyone.
“I’m supposed to, but I may get my own place. I met this woman there last time I went.” He whistles, then slams his glass on the bar top. “She was hot. What is it about American women?” I don’t know, but my brothers and I seem to be crazy about them.
“Could be the accent.” I shrug, then guzzle my drink and ask for another.
“Kent, what’s up with you? You look like you just lost your job.” Mick knows that work is the most important thing in my life. But after last night, I’m starting to wonder if I’m wasting my talents at Bonnaire.
“It’s Dad. He’s being his normal tyrant-self,” I say and the bartender slides over a fresh whiskey.
“I honestly don’t know how you can put up with him at work. I never would’ve become a doctor if he were working at the hospital. Why not go into business for yourself?”
“Because the family already has the perfect business. And it’s not just a business, it’s a conglomerate. And one day it’s going to be mine.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I begin to think of all the shit Dad’s going to put me through to get there. But I can’t give up. I’ve put in too much of myself. And when I invest in something, I expect to make a solid return.
“Is that what you really want?” Mick asks, frowning as if I’ve just told him I’m going to sell all my belongings and sail across the globe.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
Mick shakes his glass, loosening the ice cubes at the bottom. “Because deep down, our father is a miserable man. He’s got almost no relationship with mum, or any of us for that matter. All he does is work and count his billions. He’s a scrooge.”
“Says the doctor who works seventy hours a week,” I mock.
“Well, I’m a surgeon, and I only work sixty hours a week. But I’ve got no wife.” Mick grimaces when he says the word wife. “And no children. If I did, then I wouldn’t work so much.”
I look over at him. “Do you still want a family?” With Mick’s stable, routine-loving personality, we thought he’d be married with at least a couple of kids by now.
He lets out a deep sigh and stares into his glass. “Honestly, I don’t know what I want anymore.”
And that’s when I realize. “I don’t either.”
SEVEN
Liz
I think I’m finally starting to adjust to London time. Last night, I went to bed at 1:00 a.m. instead of 3:00 a.m. Six hours of sleep is not too bad. Kent pops in my mind before I open my eyes, and I’ve got too many butterflies fluttering in my stomach to even think about eating breakfast. It’s official.
I have a crush.
The last time I had a crush this bad was back in eleventh grade. Doug Stevens, man was I crazy about that guy. But he turned out to be really lazy. And nothing turns me off faster than a man who has no drive. I like a go-getter, which is probably why I’m so into Kent. So ambitious, so hard working, so accomplished. That, and he’s an amazing kisser.
I return to Bonnaire Capital and head straight for Poppy’s desk with her book in hand.
She’s sitting straight up and alert as if she’s been expecting me. “Good morning, Ms. McKenna. How was your evening?”
I place the book on her desk, glad that the few water spots I left on it blend into its already shabby appearance. “It was great, thank you.”
Poppy gasps, taking the book and holding it to her chest. “You loved it, didn’t you?”
“Kinda surprised that I did, but yes.” I set my leather laptop bag on the ground and glance around for Kent.
She smiles and wiggles her finger at me. “I knew I was right about you.”
I return my attention to her, knitting my brows. “What do you mean?”
“Darling, you’re a romantic.” I start to laugh, about to tell her she’s nuts, but then she interrupts. “No, no. Don’t try to fight it.”
“All right, Poppy,” I say, thinking that enjoying one romance novel does not a romantic make. “We’ll see.”
“I bet it made you miss your boyfriend back home, huh?” Poppy says.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Jeff was my last boyfriend and he eventually became my fiancé, but we never made it to the altar. Once my first business started gaining success and my income exceeded his, by a lot, things changed between us. Ultimately, he took off and all that was left in his place was an email in my inbox. What kind of person ends an engagement by email? A Silicon Valley asshole, that’s who.
“I’m happily single.” Which is mostly true because I’ve taught myself how to be. But sometimes when my apartment is quiet and the wine bottle is half empty, I imagine what it would be like to find someone, have something real, something that lasts. But in my experience, there are very few men who can handle an ambitious, hardworking, accomplished woman like me.
“I see.” A grin spreads across her face, and I have the distinct impression that Poppy has something up her sleeve. Maybe setting me up with her grandson or something.
“Liz, you’re here,” Kent’s deep voice calls behind me as footsteps draw closer.
I whip around and my heart skips a beat. No, it literally skips in my chest like a little girl playing hopscotch. He smells like a fresh shower and musky cologne. I take in a deep breath and stare into his eyes that look greener today against his white shirt and gray suit jacket. “Hi.”
“Hi.” We share a mutual gaze for less than ten seconds before he breaks it. “Come on. Let’s get started.”
I lead the way to his office, feeling his eyes on me. My heart thumps in my chest causing me to wobble on my heel. Uh-oh.
“Whoa!” I say, holding my arms out for balance, even though I’m about to crash onto the floor.
Kent grabs me, holding me uprig
ht until I can stand on my own two feet. “Are you all right?”
I dust myself off, even though I never hit the ground. “Fine, I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat, which ends up sounding more like a screech. My cheeks prickle with heat and with my fair skin they must look flaming hot. Okay, Liz, just relax and be cool. Inside his office, the room smells like him and I breathe it in, hoping to calm myself.
He sits behind his dark-stained desk and gestures to the chairs in front of him. “Take a seat.”
I get settled in one of the leather chairs and send him an overly reassuring smile.
He gives me a strange look. “Liz, are you sure you’re all right? Your face is really red.”
Damn you, fair skin! I take in a deep breath. “I’m fine. Anyway . . .” I pull a matte shirt box from my oversized bag. My fingers slightly tremble when I hand it to him. “Here. This is for you.”
“What’s this?” He takes the box.
“It’s a shirt. I had my team overnight it when I found out we were working together. It should be the right fit.”
Kent stares at the cardboard box and lifts the top off. My heart begins to race as he pushes away the tissue paper and reveals the burgundy-colored shirt folded inside. I hope he likes it. Squinting his eyes, he runs his fingertips along the soft fabric as if inspecting the stitching at a glance. “So this is a Solids shirt.”
“What do you think?” I ask, tucking my hands in my lap and wishing them steady.
He pulls the shirt from the box and the fabric falls open. “I like the color.”
“It’s called pinot noir.” The moment I say the words, I think of that bottle we never got to share.
He shoots me a boyish grin, and I know he’s thinking of our night too—although, not necessarily the wine. “Is it really?”
I nod.
“Thank you. I can’t wait to wear it.”
If only I could reply “I can’t wait to rip it off of you.” Then I swallow the thought because the truth is that the stitching is so good that Mr. Universe wouldn’t be able to tear it open.
