by Nalini Singh
“Rarotonga looks beautiful,” she now said to the woman who’d put Ísa’s career on the fast track by hiring her to teach at one of the most prestigious public schools in the country. “Is your friend from New York already on her way there?”
Violet Cafferty nodded. “She’s champing at the bit to ring in the new year in a bikini rather than buried under a foot of snow.” A beaming smile. “Sun, surf, and bottomless margaritas, here we come!”
The principal left the room soon afterward, telling Ísa she’d be available in her office for thirty more minutes before she was officially on summer break. Tempted as Ísa was to return straight to the window and her own personal gardening porn show, she kept her head down and finished up her lesson plans; having never before taught adults, she was building in a lot of room for discussion and for following avenues her students wanted to explore.
It took her just over an hour.
She couldn’t help glancing out the window when she was tidying up, but the gorgeous, sweaty gardener with ink-black hair, no shirt, and a sexy tattoo around his thickly muscled thigh was gone. “Drat.”
Disappointed, she packed everything into the pink satchel with white flowers that she’d bought with her first paycheck. Some people said pink clashed with red hair, but Ísa didn’t care. The bag was pretty and it made her happy.
As her little sister Catie had once said, “Life’s too short to waste on boring accessories.”
After doing a final check to make sure she had everything and that the room was set up for her first adult class next week, she was about to walk out into the otherwise empty hallway when her phone rang.
It came up with no name, just a local number.
Guessing it was a welcome call from a local store whose loyalty program she’d recently signed up to because of how much she loved their fifties-style dresses, Ísa answered with a cheery “Hello.”
“Ísa?”
Astonishment froze her in place. That voice…
2
Ísa’s Path to Ruin aka the Incident with the Hot Gardener
“IT’S CODY,” HE SAID. “CODY Schumer?” A nervous laugh from the man she’d once thought she’d marry and live with happily ever after behind a white picket fence, complete with a dog.
A chocolate Labrador, to be precise.
Thankfully Ísa had long ago ceased to feel even a glimmer of the attraction that had drawn her to Cody “Slimeball” Schumer when she’d been a twenty-one-year-old with a few stubborn stars in her eyes and a hunger to be loved that was so deep it was a hole in her psyche. Being brutally dumped at a college party while at least fifty other people watched had cured her of any illusions she might’ve had about the man.
But she’d flat-out refused to allow the experience to rip the final stars from her eyes. Ísa still believed in love and in happily ever after and in white picket fences and in chocolate-colored Labradors with goofy grins. She also believed that slimeballs never changed their slimy stripes.
It was morbid curiosity more than anything else that made her continue the conversation. What possible reason would Slimeball Schumer have to call her? Hadn’t he gotten the message when she and Nayna gleefully egged and toilet-papered his pride-and-joy ride one dark night after the dumping?
They’d used pink toilet paper with princesses on it.
It was the most illegal thing she and her best friend had done in their entire lives—and it had been glorious. Especially because Cody had been utterly impotent, unable to prove his accusations. He’d huffed and puffed and gotten exactly nowhere while Ísa and Nayna maintained angelic expressions and shined their halos.
“Cody,” she said with a probably evil smile, her back pressed to the cold of the classroom wall and her eyes facing the window through which she’d ogled the hot gardener. “It’s been a long time.” Time she’d spent burying the memory of this ass and the night he’d humiliated her.
“Yeah,” Cody said with a warmth she’d once assumed was real. “I guess you wiped my number from your phone, huh?”
Ísa blinked, shook her head. Slimeballs were clearly deficient in the brain-cell department. Had he honestly expected her not to go nuclear on him after what he’d said and done?
“No job’s worth prostituting myself!” he’d said mockingly in the moments before that final, humiliating “tub of lard” comment. “You should’ve bought me a Ferrari, fatty. Then maybe I could’ve forced myself to do it.”
What a prize.
Not.
None of that even factored in the worst thing: the day after dumping her in the nastiest way possible, Cody had hooked up with the stunning blonde who’d made it her business to torment Ísa through their high school years. “Was there anything in particular you wanted, Cody?” Like a kick in the backside?
Her curt and businesslike tone seemed to startle him for a second.
When he finally spoke, he said, “Suzanne and I wanted to tell you before the news hits the world. I know we still have some of the same friends.”
That much was true. Though most of those people were shared acquaintances rather than true friends. The latter wouldn’t touch Cody with a ten-foot pole.
“Suzanne and I are pregnant!”
“I didn’t realize you had a uterus,” Ísa said, even as the meaning of his words filtered down to create a big fat lump of coal in her stomach.
“Huh?” A chuckle. “Oh, you’re being funny. You always were funny.”
Biting back further snarky remarks—Had he been this vacuous when they’d dated? Had she been that desperate?—Ísa said, “I hope the baby is healthy and that the pregnancy goes well.” It wasn’t the poor child’s fault it would have Slimeball Schumer and Suzanne for parents.
That you couldn’t choose your parents was a truth Ísa knew far too well.
“Thanks,” Cody said cheerfully. “We’re getting married too. I just… Anyway, Suzanne really wanted you to know.”
“I hope you two have the life you deserve.” She hung up before he could say anything further.
Then she just stood there, staring at the wall around the windows across from her. That wall had been painted by the art students who’d had her classroom before the school turned it into an English class—the art class had been moved to a location with much better light. Colorful and bright in its interpretative splashes of pigment, the wall suited an English class. Or that was what Ísa had always thought.
She could point to it—and did—to demonstrate how any piece of art, including poetry and novels, could be seen in many different ways depending on the eye of the beholder. At this instant, she saw it only as a smudge of color, Cody’s words reverberating inside her. Her cheeks flushed, her heart raced, and her knees, they threatened to shake.
Snark, it appeared, could only protect you for so long.
Even reminding herself that Suzanne was clearly clinging desperately to her past Queen Bitch status had zero impact.
“I don’t love him, not even a little bit,” she said, and it was true.
The hopeful, innocent thing she’d felt for Cody had died a final death that horrible night when he’d ripped her to pieces and laughed at her pain. She’d given him her battered, bruised heart and he’d kicked it.
Ísa wasn’t stupid enough to hold a torch for a man capable of such casual cruelty.
But marriage and children and a stable home base—not only for herself but for her much younger sister, Catie, and brother, Harlow—that had always been her dream. It was why she was putting herself through the hell of online dating with the precision of a business merger to end all business mergers.
With her students on vacation since the end of the previous week and Ísa having no real obligation to come into school until her night classes began, her diary currently looked like that of a hyperactive serial dater, one who was heavily overcaffeinated at this point.
* * *
Monday morning: Coffee with Manuel. Dark haired, dark eyed. Likes novels and poetry. Fingers crossed!
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Postmortem: Did like books and poetry. Also liked the waitress, with whom he made a date while I was sitting in front of him. Then asked me if I was “open to exploring my sexuality without boundaries.”
* * *
Monday afternoon: Coffee with Beau. Five foot nine. Blond. Mechanic. Comes across non-douchey in online conversation.
Postmortem: Non-douchiness was a front.
* * *
Monday night:Coffee with Carl. Sweet guy who likes gaming. That’s okay—if he’s the one, I can read while he games.
Postmortem: His current game was so hot he couldn’t step away from the computer to come meet me. Didn’t message me until I’d been waiting for twenty minutes. Can never go back to that café.
* * *
Tuesday morning: Coffee with Henry. Five foot seven. Brown hair. Lawyer. Seems very practical and sensible and sweet.
Postmortem: Thank God I only ever agree to meet for coffee on the first date. The man spent the entire date on the phone, talking business. If he can’t even commit to a half-hour coffee date, I don’t think he’d be able to commit to a wife and child.
* * *
Tuesday evening: Coffee with Tana. Six foot one. Some kind of finance job. Doesn’t say much online, but some people aren’t good at online conversation. Doesn’t seem like a serial killer.
Postmortem: No chemistry. He gave me his business card in case I want to invest in the future.
* * *
Wednesday morning: Coffee with Wyatt. Thirty-three. Has a name like a cowboy. Wants to work on a farm.
Postmortem: Wyatt forgot to add forty years to his age when setting up his profile. Also forgot to state his photo was from a few decades back. Not ageist but would really like my future husband to have his own teeth.
* * *
Wednesday afternoon: Coffee with Gareith with an i in there. Okay, parents gave him the name so can’t judge him on it. Manager at grocery store. Seems very normal. I am afraid.
Postmortem: He changed his name to Gareith Atlas Bonemaker on his eighteenth birthday and thinks the Great Bonemaker has PLANS for him to LEAD a REVOLUTION.
* * *
Wednesday night: Midweek sanity check with Nayna. Some best friend. Snorted wine out of her nose after hearing of Wyatt + Gareith situation. Then forced me to make more dates.
* * *
Thursday morning: Tea with Ken. No more coffee. Brown hair. Will wear rose in lapel so I recognize him. That’s kind of cute.
Postmortem: Am in shock. He was good-looking, articulate, and polite. Of course we had zero chemistry. Maybe I need to have my hormones checked.
* * *
Thursday afternoon: Tea with Stuart. Rocking a bald look. Sexy. Likes dogs.
Postmortem: Wore dog collar. Wanted me to walk him and call him Woofy. Am sure he will find right woman one day.
* * *
It was only Friday of her first full week of dating, and Ísa was already exhausted. Which was why she hadn’t made any further dates. But she would. Because sitting around and waiting for the right man to come along was a recipe for ending up without the life she’d always wanted.
Marriage by thirty. A child by thirty-two. All of it drenched in love.
That was Ísa’s timeline, and she was sticking to it. She had two years to make the first part of it happen. But while, after a lifetime of learning not to depend on anyone, she was still scrambling to find a man she trusted to stick around, Slimeball Schumer was about to have all those things with the girl who’d tortured Ísa for years.
It just seemed so deeply unfair.
Ísa barely restrained the urge to kick the nearest piece of furniture. Maybe, she thought hopefully, fate would throw her a bone and have it rain on Cody and Suzanne’s wedding day. Complete with hail. And flying toads. And a truck that sprayed mud on the bride’s conceited face.
The vengeful visual kept her company as she closed the door to her classroom. Her phone rang again right then, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. Wanting to bang her head against the wall as she recognized that ominous ringtone, Ísa briefly considered just getting on a plane and flying back to Iceland. She’d been happy there, spoke the language, and neither one of her parents currently used it as their home base.
Perfect. Except that she’d be abandoning Catie and Harlow to the Dragon. And that was the one thing Ísa would never do. Whatever road she took in life, she was bringing her siblings along with her.
The phone kept ringing.
Jacqueline Rain, CEO of Crafty Corners and various other enterprises, didn’t know the meaning of giving up.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Ísa, I wanted to make sure you remembered the board meeting today.”
Ísa did bang her forehead against the wall at that. “I have no reason to attend the board meeting.”
“You’re a thirty percent shareholder.”
Only because you forced the shares on me on my twenty-first birthday. “I’m sure you can represent my interests.”
“I have no time for this, Ísa. Make sure you’re present.” Jacqueline hung up.
Gritting her teeth, Ísa thought fiercely of the meditation technique she’ d learned at the Buddhist retreat Nayna had booked them into last year. Ísa’s best friend hadn’t realized the retreat was being held at a silent monastery until they’d arrived and been shown the rules.
They’d lasted four hours. Enough to learn the basics.
But it turned out you couldn’t mutter angrily under your breath about dragons and swords and still find your Zen.
The worst of it was that Jacqueline wasn’t simply being abrasive and aggravating. No, Ísa’s mother knew exactly what she was doing, knew she had Ísa over a barrel because of Harlow and Catie.
As if the thought had conjured her sister out of thin air, her phone beeped with an incoming message: Aren’t you seeing the Dragon today? Wear your fireproof armor.
Smiling despite herself, she messaged Catie. She didn’t know how her sister did it; despite not living in the same city as Ísa or Jacqueline, she was always up to date with the news and gossip. Part of it was Catie’s close bond with Harlow, but equally important was Catie’s ability to make friends wherever she went—including at Jacqueline’s company.
Message sent, she shoved her phone into her satchel and strode down the hallway; her footfalls echoed in the eerily empty space… and the niggling seed of righteous fury bloomed into full flower once more. Not just because of Jacqueline’s blatant manipulation but at the memory of Cody and Suzanne’s happiness.
As a bullied teen, Ísa had comforted herself with the thought of Suzanne becoming a sad, lonely woman with no friends—and no hair. Teenage Ísa had thought the latter the worst possible punishment for a girl who had the habit of flinging her waist-length blond locks around like she was in a shampoo commercial.
Fuming for her poor teenage self, she made sure to set the alarm system and lock up. Principal Cafferty had made it clear Ísa would be the last person in this building after the principal herself left just after five. Everyone else was already well into their summer vacation—even the other night-class teachers would only come in for their hours of teaching; the sole reason Ísa was here was because she hadn’t been able to work on her lesson plans at home.
Her upstairs neighbor was having repairs done to her bathroom that required banging and hammering.
Not all of it involved nails and wood.
Hopefully the repairs would be finished by now. There was only so much ecstatic orgasmic screaming that a single woman in online-dating purgatory could stand without being driven to violence.
She spotted the tan-colored gardening truck the instant she came down the front steps of the school’s imposing redbrick main building and turned left to head toward her car. The hot gardener had parked it right next to her zippy blue compact. The front of the truck had four doors with tinted windows while the large bed was piled with shovels and other manly tools as well as a huge sack of clip
pings.
His light brown T-shirt was hanging over the top of the tailgate.
Which meant he was still walking around topless somewhere around here.
“Get in your car, Ísa,” she muttered to herself, well aware what would happen if she came face-to-face with that delicious hunk of manhood. Because while she might’ve conquered her shyness, she knew her limits.
Confronted by a bare-chested man who made her ovaries explode, she’d turn bright pink, lose her ability to form speech, and end of story. “Oh—”
She would’ve bounced off that sculpted chest if he hadn’t grabbed her by the hips.
“Hey, sorry,” he said with a startled smile that lit up the dazzling blue of his eyes. “I didn’t see you.”
“No, um, my fault.” It looked as if he’d crouched down to check one of his tires or something else but had risen to his feet right when she swung around to get into her car. And God, his skin was hot and smooth and he was so tall and his shoulders were so broad and her mouth was drying up. The stuttering would begin at any moment.
The same stuttering Suzanne had mocked relentlessly when they were fourteen. Until Ísa had gone silent around everyone except the few friends she trusted. And now that horrible, ugly-hearted girl was getting married, having a baby, getting a happily-ever-after. Added to which, Ísa’s mother was jerking her on a string like she was a marionette, and her last “date” had asked her to call him Woofy and reward him with doggy biscuits.
The blue of the gardener’s eyes flickered with a hot flame.
And she thought… I know him. But before she could follow that faint thread, all the fury and hurt and frustration and sheer aggravation in Ísa ignited into an incandescent inferno.
