J. A. Redmerski, New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, lives in North Little Rock, Arkansas. She is a sucker for long, sweeping epic love stories; a lover of film, television, and books that push boundaries; and she binge-watches TV series. She hopes to someday conquer her long list of ridiculous fears, find a shirt that she actually likes, and travel the world with a backpack and a partner in crime.
www.jessicaredmerski.com
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Copyright
Published by Piatkus
ISBN: 978-0-349-41003-6
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Redmerski
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Piatkus
Little, Brown Book Group
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
About the Author
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Epilogue
ONE
Sienna
Tripping over my suitcase, I land on my knees, which take the brunt of the fall as I skid across the carpet. Biting back the burning pain, I stumble out of my bedroom to answer the front door.
“Sienna!” Paige calls out from the other side.
“One sec!” I say and slide the chain lock away from the door.
“You’re not even up?” Paige’s mouth falls open.
She pushes past me and comes inside.
“I’ve been calling and texting you for the past hour.”
As I run both hands over the top of my head and through my hair, a long, deep sigh escapes my lips.
“I overslept.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she says and brushes her hands toward me in a hurrying fashion. “Let’s go; we have half an hour to make it to the airport.”
In my camisole and panties, I rush past her back toward my room, still trying to fully wake up. I yank the outfit I set out last night from the back of my desk chair and throw everything on in seconds. I’ll have to forget about a shower because there’s no time. There’s not even time to brush my teeth, so I swig back a mouthful of mint—gargle, swish, and spit—and then graze my deodorant sloppily underneath both arms so fast that I think I missed the left pit altogether. No makeup. Dark auburn hair pulled into a messy something-or-another at the back of my head. I look like death.
Finally, when I’m as ready as time will allow, I shoulder my purse and yank on the pull-out handle of the suitcase I tripped over, rolling it behind me as I rush toward the door. Stepping into my red Chucks without stopping long enough to push my heels into them properly, I slam my apartment door behind us on the way out, wincing as I hear the photograph of my parents hanging by the window hit the floor with a thump and a crash.
I’m hardly ever late for anything. Ever. My fear of flying has everything to do with why I didn’t hear the alarm this morning. I want to go to Hawaii—more than anything—but I know the next several hours of my life as I’m moving through the sky in a glorified sardine can forty thousand feet above an abyss of ocean will cause enough stress to take years off my life—if the plane doesn’t crash and kill me first.
Everything about this trip so far is going wrong.
We make it to the airport just in time, surprised I didn’t have anything suspicious in my purse that I forgot to take out before going through security, and we’re on the plane minutes before takeoff.
“You sure you’re gonna be all right?” Paige asks, sitting next to me in the window seat.
“No, I’m definitely not sure,” I say, trying to settle myself, “but nothing I can do about it.”
“Want me to knock you out?”
I smirk over at her.
“No, I think I’ll pass, but thanks for the generous offer.”
She grins and shakes her head, peering down into her phone. I know she’s itching to tell me how ridiculous it is to be so afraid to fly, but she’s doing well to hold her tongue. For now. I give her an hour and she’ll cave to the urge and tell me anyway. Because that’s what best friends do—they give each other shit.
Paige is slender and tanned like a Hawaiian Tropic model, wearing a pair of short shorts and a pink ball cap that fits snugly over her small, blond head. My boss, Miss Cassandra Harrington, glamour girl extraordinaire with a passion for money and all the things it can buy, agreed to hire Paige on as my assistant, even against her initial concerns about Paige being my best friend. We love the new arrangement—me because she helps keep my head on straight in this hectic profession, and Paige because she started out as Cassandra’s assistant and that’s enough to break anyone ten times over. I should know because I also started out there.
So I don’t have an anxiety attack and embarrass myself on this flight, I slip my earbuds in and lay the back of my head against the headrest, hoping to soothe my rattled nerves somewhat with the constant sound of rain pattering and swishing in my ears. It’s not nearly as effective as a Valium might be, the sound of rain, but it helps a little and I’ll take what I can get. I keep several variations of rain sound effects on my iPod for times like these.
As the plane takes off, I grip the arms of my seat so tight it feels like my fingernails could pierce the hard plastic. Breathe, Sienna. Just breathe. Paige is sitting next to me with a big smile that I assume is supposed to be her way of saying, See, there’s nothing to it—look at me. I’m not afraid. She means well, she really does, but like a lot of people, she just doesn’t understand the fear.
I close my eyes and listen to the rain, picturing myself sitting on land, watching the droplets fall all around me and sink into the earth. And I think about my twenty-two years of life as if it’s my last chance to be intimate with my happiest memories.
Six hours later I’m on Oahu in one of the most beautiful places in the world. And I’m still alive. I’m equally excited and disappointed to be here—excited because, well, it’s Oahu, disappointed because I’m not here to inhale the beauty of the island or spend days photographing it as I’d always dreamed, but instead to work my butt off arranging someone else’s wedding. But I can’t complain. The trip is fully paid for and not a lot of people can say they’ve even been to Hawaii, much less went on someone else’s dime—I’m a lucky girl.
“I’m so excited!
” Paige says over the buzzing of conversations in the airport. “Our first time in Hawaii. It’s going to be awesome.”
Paige reaches out a ring-decorated hand for my duffel bag. “When we get to the hotel I’ll get you checked in and make sure your room is up to par.” She’s trying so hard to play the assistant—carrying one of my bags for me, pretending she’s not my best friend, speaking to me in a sort of proper way that just comes off as weird to me.
I laugh. “Up to par? I’m not Cassandra,” I remind her. “No need for a white-glove inspection or phrases that aren’t typically part of your vocabulary.”
Paige grins, shoulders my duffel bag, and then slides the handles out from one of my two rolling suitcases, in addition to her own.
“What, no servant waiting on hand to dispose of your chewed gum?” she jokes.
I laugh with disbelief. “Tell me Cassandra didn’t do that—though I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Paige shrugs. “Nah. I read that somewhere and immediately thought of Miz Harrington.” Her pale blue eyes flutter as she raises her head high and mimics Cassandra’s dramatic personality.
We make our way outside into the perfect summer Hawaiian breeze to find a cab. While I’m standing on the sidewalk, my cell phone buzzes around inside my purse, and I fish it out just in time before the voice mail picks up.
“I got a call from Mrs. Dennings. She couldn’t get ahold of you. I guess your phone was off,” Cassandra says into my ear as Paige waves at a cab making its way toward us. “They’ll be there later tonight, but she said you can go ahead and start without her. The bride’s sister—her name is Veronica—is already there.”
The cab stops and the driver gets out to help Paige store our bags in the trunk.
I slide into the backseat.
“How late did Mrs. Dennings say they’d be?” I close the cab door and adjust myself on the squeaky leather seat. “I can’t do much until she gets here with the rest of the supplies.”
“She didn’t say,” Cassandra answers. “But do what you can with what you have.”
A smile warms my face as sudden thoughts of non-work-related ideas begin to materialize in my mind.
“Well, maybe I’ll get to relax and have a look around before they get here with everything,” I suggest, hopeful.
“Perhaps,” she says simply, as if she were telling me in her most cultured and sympathetic way, No dear. I’m sorry, but that’s not possible, though you may continue dreaming about it if it makes you feel better.
I knew that before I came here; there’s no such thing as relaxing when you work as an event coordinator for the most high-profile event planning business in California. One hundred percent of Cassandra’s clients are wealthy, half of them are famous, and the rest are people who know someone famous. There’s a lot of money in it, but it’s very demanding and often so stressful that most who get into the business quit within the first month—at least, those who work for Cassandra Harrington do, anyway.
I still can’t believe I lucked into this job with all its perks. Like all-expense-paid trips to Hawaii, a career in a creative field where I’m paid generously and have job security that allows me nowhere to go but up. They don’t come along often and one would be crazy not to take it. I grew up with financially struggling parents. I made up my mind long before I was out of high school to not go through life as they have had to. Like they still do. And now, with Dad’s failing health—prostate cancer, though they caught it early and he’s in remission—I’m more determined than ever to have a good-paying job so I can help my parents; they’ve done so much for me.
Paige slides onto the backseat with me and shuts the door behind her, cutting off the sudden stream of voices from outside. Knowing I’m on the phone with Cassandra, she gives me that look, suppressing her playful comments about our boss, and leaves me to our conversation.
“Two days setting up,” Cassandra says into my ear, “a one-day wedding, and then it’s back to San Diego.” She pauses. “After that, you’re off to Jamaica.”
Blinking back the stun, I turn my head to lock eyes with Paige on the seat next to me. “Jamaica?” I say into the phone.
Paige’s face lights up.
“Thought you’d like that,” Cassandra says with a proud air. “A client I’ve known for a long time in San Francisco is getting married in Montego Bay. And he’s loaded, honey.” I picture her brushing her thumb and fingers together rapidly to demonstrate money. “It’ll be your biggest commission yet.”
My face stretches into a smile as I gaze past Paige toward the window as palm trees and colorful landscaping fly by—it’s not the money I’m thinking about, but photographing Jamaica. Paige sits there quietly but anxiously, waiting for the details.
“Getting used to this kind of money is hard, I know,” Cassandra teases, followed by a dramatic sigh. “But I’m afraid you’ll just have to stick it out.”
“Oh, the hell you put me through, Cassandra,” I tease her back.
“Think you can handle it?” Cassandra asks suspiciously.
I laugh. “Of course I can! Didn’t you say on our last event that I’m the best coordinator you’ve ever hired?”
“Well, I was referring to the flight,” she says, and my smile fades with the realization. “It’s a little over nine hours to Jamaica.”
My heart picks up a nervous pace just thinking about it. Nine hours on an airplane. Thousands of feet above the ocean. Humans weren’t born with wings for a reason.
“I can handle it,” I half lie, and make a mental note to schedule an appointment with my doctor soon to get some Valium because I think somehow the rain sound effects on my iPod just aren’t going to cut it this time.
“Jamaica?” Paige asks eagerly when I hang up with Cassandra. “Please tell me I get to go on that job.”
“Well, yeah?” I look at her as if she’d just asked a ridiculous question. “You’re my assistant. You get to go wherever I need you to go.”
“Awesome.” Her smile seems a permanent fixture on her face, along with that thoughtful, dreamy look I usually have when I first learn I’m going somewhere I’ve never been. Only difference between me and Paige is that she has yet to learn that these trips never turn out the way we dream about them. She was Cassandra’s assistant for only a month before becoming mine and didn’t travel farther than Chicago. Not that Paige couldn’t afford to travel anywhere she wanted on her own—she has plenty of family money—but she’s not above being appreciative of all-expense paid trips, either.
We arrive at the hotel. I turn to Paige, who’s trying to steady my heavy duffel bag, suppressing an uncomfortable look.
“What the hell did you pack in this thing?”
I laugh.
“I think I packed everything I own—Cassandra must be rubbing off on me.”
“God, I hope not.” Paige chuckles and readjusts the duffel bag strap on the opposite shoulder, her wispy blond hair poking out from underneath the ball cap.
“Well, you know me,” I say with a shrug, “prepared and organized as always.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I don’t see it, but I sense Paige’s eyes rolling dramatically.
When we finally make it up to my suite, I gasp as I open the door. Immaculate. Lavish. And with a beautiful balcony view to die for.
Paige places my bags next to the wall.
I kick off my Chucks and plop down on a wicker chair with a soft teal cushion near the sliding glass balcony door.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Paige says, looking about the room.
“Nice is an understatement.” I run the palm of my hand across the smooth surface of the table next to me and I think of my parents momentarily, about the only time we ever went on a vacation when I was younger. We stayed in a cheap roadside motel one night on the way to visit friends of my parents somewhere in Texas. It wasn’t much of a vacation really, but I was glad to see my parents spending time together, doing something other than working sixty-hour weeks and too tired to talk to one
another when they saw each other in passing.
Paige plops down on the end of my perfectly made bed, her tanned legs dangling off the edge, her feet dressed in an expensive pair of Louboutin gladiator-style sandals.
“How much time do you think we have?” she asks, bouncing gently on the bed to test the feel of the mattress.
I don’t even want to think about work because I just got here, but it was inevitable.
“I’ve gotta take a shower,” I say, raising my back from the comfort of the chair, “and put on my makeup and fix my hair—we’ll head down to the pavilion in about an hour.”
Paige nods and gets up from the bed.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m gonna get a bite to eat. I’m over in 510. Call me when you’re ready—unless there’s anything you need before I go … boss?” She winks.
I shake my head and smile, leaning my back against the chair. “No, I’m good, but thanks. See yah soon.”
The door closes with a click behind her.
Finally I’m alone. In Hawaii. I’m in Hawaii! I can hardly believe it. I glance over at my hard-side suitcase sitting upright on the carpeted floor and I contemplate pulling out my camera gear packed safely inside of it—I bring it pretty much wherever I go. Then I glance at the clock on the nightstand beside the bed and a long, deep sigh escapes my lungs.
Accepting that it’s not a good time—unfortunately, it rarely ever is—I erase the camera gear from my mind and get up from the chair, sliding the glass door open and stepping out onto the balcony. The warm eighty-degree breeze greets me as I make my way out, pushing through wandering strands of dark auburn hair pinned sloppily to my head. I shut my eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply, taking the wind into my lungs and savoring the moment of peace while I can. Because once I step out that suite door to head down to the wedding site near the beach, peace and tranquility will be nothing but a memory.
TWO
Sienna
I meet Paige in the hallway an hour later and we’re on our way to the elevator. She’s changed into another pair of shorts and a cute lacy top. Her blond hair has been brushed and lies softly over both shoulders.
The Moment of Letting Go Page 1
