by Tessa Teevan
I offer him an appreciative smile and think, Nope, that’s never going to happen.
Because as much as I know Bryan loves me, I have no idea how he’ll react if he knows that the man I’m pining for the way he does for Cori is his current self-described professional nemesis.
SITTING THROUGH our Friday afternoon meeting is torture. All I can see is Shane. All I can think about is Shane. It’s killing me not to ask Cheyenne about him, and I’m about to break my promise to myself of not Googling the location of Wellington Enterprises so maybe I can pop in and say… Sorry for leaving after you banged the hell out of me?
I sigh, immediately feeling the tip of a pen poking my thigh. I jerk and find Bryan nodding in the direction of the door. My cheeks flush when I see Mr. Archibald Wellsley, founder of Wellsley-Callahan and current member of the board. My eyes widen at Bryan, and I sit up straighter.
In all of my years at WC, I’ve never met the man. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him other than in an occasional official company brochure.
Up close, Mr. Wellsley is an imposable man. Even though he’s in his mid-sixties, he could pass for younger. His skin is tanned probably from time spent playing golf, but it’s not leathery from years’ worth of exposure. His hair is an amazing black with specks of gray and white throughout. He almost reminds of Tom Selleck, except that his mustache actually turns into a goatee. Even though I’ve seen pictures, he’s not quite what I expected from a “crusty old coot,” as Bryan likes to call him.
“I don’t believe introductions are necessary,” he greets the room.
Cheyenne’s eyes catch me from across the table and she rolls them. As much as I want to grin, I’m too intimated by the man standing at the head of the room, so I bite my cheek to keep from smiling.
Thank goodness, because apparently Cheyenne’s cheekiness hasn’t gone unnoticed. “And you are?” he asks, tapping the table and glaring daggers at her.
Bryan leans in close and whispers in an alarmingly convincing stodgy British accent, “I wouldn’t have presumed introductions were necessary.”
I can’t help it. The laughter bubbles up, and just as it comes out, I cough so it kind of sounds like I’m choking. Ever the friend, Bryan smacks me on my back to make it believable. Cheyenne’s shoulders shaking, and Mr. Wellsley is grinning.
“My apologies. Uh, water, went down the wrong way.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Wellsley hums. “If you’re all quite finished…”
He launches into a fifteen-minute tirade lauding his accomplishments at acquisitions over the past three decades and how, even though he’s no longer CEO, he’s still a high-ranking member of the board. Basically, he’s telling us he’s in control, regardless of his title. I’m not sure what the point of this spiel is…and then he gets right to it.
“This acquisition will set Wellsley-Callahan on the map for decades to come. There is no trying to win. There’s only winning. If Wellington Enterprises lands this account, you’re all fired.”
I suck in a deep intake of breath. Well, crap on a cracker. So much for looking Shane up. I mean, of course, unless they win and I’m suddenly jobless. But then he’d think I’m only there for a job, so basically, I’ve just been backed into a lose-lose or win-lose situation.
What the hell am I going to do?
And like a white knight riding in on a steed, Sawyer walks into the room. “Can it, Wellsley. You’re on the board, not in the H.R. department. Stop threatening the staff or else I’ll revoke your access to such meetings.”
“How dare you speak to me that way. You are not your father,” Mr. Wellsley sneers.
Part of me wants to sink into the floor and disappear. The other part of me wants to watch the standoff with popcorn.
Sawyer’s lips curl up in a half smile. “You’re right, Wellsley. I’m not my father, and you’d do best to remember that.”
“God, he’s so sexy when he’s in boss mode,” Cheyenne whispers.
Sawyer gives her a pointed look, and she bites her lip. Holy moly.
I turn to Bryan. “Did he just reprimand her with his eyes?”
Bryan groans his affirmation. “Welcome to the top floor, Alyssa. Never a dull moment.”
“Can he really fire us?” I whisper back.
“Doubt it. But if we don’t want to find out, we better not let Wellington win.”
And just like that, any hope of running into Shane, albeit naturally or from me just falling into the Wellington lobby, flies out the window, heads upwards, out of the atmosphere and into space.
That whole saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder?
Yeah, I’m quickly learning just how damn accurate it is.
I’m pacing my apartment, still stewing over the meeting, when a knock breaks me from my thoughts. When I open the door, the sight of my sister surprises me.
“What are you doing here, Ari? We don’t have plans tonight, do we?” I check my watch for the date, wondering if, in all of my commiserating, I’d forgotten something.
“No, we didn’t. But we do now. Get dressed, girl. I need a night out, away from Benjamin, away from Mother, and away from everything,” Ariana says, pushing past me and into my living room.
She flops onto the couch and rests an arm over her eyes. One glance at her and I’m on my way to the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses, and pouring us each healthy glasses of my favorite sauvignon blanc. Ariana’s still dramatically sprawled out when I return, so I set our wine down and place my hands on my hips.
“What have they done now?” I ask, silently wondering when the hell she’s going to leave the jackass.
The closer it gets to her wedding, which is now only two months away, the more anxious I get that she’s indeed going to go through with it.
Benjamin Cunningham III—or whatever his place in succession—is a royal dick. And not even the kind that actually has a kingdom behind him. Instead, he’s the son of our father’s business partner, and the man to whom Ariana was practically betrothed since they were children.
Ariana, the elder of us two Covington girls, was—is, actually—the quintessential Southern blue-blood daughter. She excels at everything she sets her mind to, be it school, extracurriculars, or, most of all, pleasing our parents.
I, on the other hand, was never the good little girl. Sure, I stayed out of trouble for the most part, never landing in jail or the hospital due to my devil-may-care attitude, but when it came to my being that perfect little debutante, my parents were sorely disappointed with their younger daughter.
Because the moment my father brought home Michael McFadden, an up-and-coming banker who had the personality of a doorknob, it was clear he was looking for another match like he’d made with Ari and Benjamin. The man may have been nice enough, but knowing that my father had chosen him to be my life mate? Well, that took him out of the running before he could even start the race.
Why can’t you be reasonable, Alyssa?
Why can’t you be more like your sister, Alyssa?
If you want to continue this lifestyle we’ve given you, Alyssa, then you’ll have to marry a man of means, like Benjamin.
Little did my parents know, every single time they pushed, they were driving me further away from their visions of a future for me.
So, unlike my sister, who’d lived at home through her undergraduate program, I moved out just before my first semester began. The move was much to my parents’ chagrin, but truth be told, I think they were happy for a little more peace and quiet in the house.
You’d think, while living in a mansion with two wings, you’d be able to rock out to Korn as loud as you wanted, but somehow, Mother always complained she could “hear the wretched music” and it caused her head to “ache.”
Here’s the thing my parents never understood about me: I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about the lifestyle. I don’t care about how large—or small—my house is. I don’t need a man to take care of me. I don’t want that. I grew up with a mother whose
only skill was throwing parties for various charities she championed. Not that it’s a bad thing, but that wasn’t my dream.
My dreams are to establish a career I love. I don’t want just another job, working nine to five, staring at the clock, eager to get out of there. That one, so far with my time at Wellsley-Callahan, is coming true. My next dream is to marry for love. Call me foolish, but I want that heart-squeezing, belly-flopping, can’t-look-at-him-without-sighing, nearly-bursting-to-the-brim-with-joy kind of love.
Sure, I didn’t have the best example with my parents growing up: two people compatible enough to settle and raise a family while seemingly living separate lives. But I’ve seen it with both of my cousins, and watching them, the way their respective husbands look at them? I want that.
Jace watches Lexi from the moment she appears and doesn’t take his eyes off her until long after she’s departed. As if he’s afraid to lose her all over again, like he did the first time.
And Jeremy? Don’t even get me started. He and Sierra are the ultimate definition of soul mates and the inspiration for my dream of love and happiness. If only I’d been so lucky to have my perfect match move in right next door at the tender, young age of eight.
Heck, even their parents. Aunt Vicky and Uncle Nick are still so in love after – years of marriage. Incredible, the differences between the two sisters. One marrying for love, the other for money.
The thought gives me pause, and I look to my sister, who is now sitting up and gulping down the wine.
Two sisters making such different life decisions.
Holy hell. I decide right here and now to make it my mission. Ariana Covington will marry Benjamin Cunningham over my dead body.
“Why do they call it white wine?” Ariana asks, her nose wrinkling. She’s swirling the transparent liquid in her glass, tilting her head to the side as she inspects it. “I mean, it’s not white. If it was white, you wouldn’t be able to see through it. Right?”
She turns her head to me, her expression earnest, as if she’s asking me one of life’s most significant questions. And since I’m practically par for the course on her level of buzzdom, I find myself contemplating the answer. I open my mouth to respond, but I’m actually stumped. Drunk Ariana makes a good point.
After we’d polished off half a bottle at my apartment and finished two episodes of Below Deck, I called us an Uber and forced Ariana out of the house. I felt that it was my duty to both take her mind off wedding planning and get her drunk enough to try and talk some sense into her. I know that sounds bad. It’s just that I know my sister, and sober Ari isn’t going to listen to me. But drunk Ari? She can be feisty.
As good as a night dancing at the club sounded, I knew we needed a place where we could continue our buzz while actually being able to have a conversation. Cheyenne had told me about a new winery in the area, so I gave the driver the address and we were on our way.
Two wine flights in, I’m ready to pounce. Except she still has me pondering her question. But then a gorgeous Australian accent comes from an equally gorgeous, apparently Australian man.
“We couldn’t quite call it clear wine, now could we, ladies?”
“You’re pretty,” Ari sighs dreamily, placing her chin in her hand and practically making moon eyes at him. She reads his name tag. “Oliver. What a cute name. Does anyone ever call you Ollie?”
He gives her a stunning smile topped off with a wink. “Darlin’, with a face like that, you can call me anything you like.”
Ari beams, and I swear Benjamin Cunningham will soon be eating dust.
I could kiss the Australian.
Ollie leaves to help another customer, and I shoulder-check my sister.
“I think he was flirting with you,” I tell her.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not down with infidelity. I’m not trying to get my sister to hook up with a guy while she’s still with Ben. I’m merely trying to open her eyes to see that there are other, better—much better—prospects out there. No harm in that, right?
She rolls her eyes. “He’s not flirting with me. Even if he was, I wouldn’t know.”
I lean forward. “Trust me, Ari. He was flirting. I don’t know why you’d be surprised. You’re gorgeous—I mean, duh, we’re practically twins.”
Ari turns to face me, surprising me with the sudden clarity in her eyes. “Can I ask you a question?”
My brow furrows at the sobriety in her tone when I know she’s not even close. “Ari, you know you can always ask me anything.”
She lets out a deep breath, one that sends an errant bang blowing up into the air. “Do you think it’s possible to meet someone and know, in an instant, that they have the power to change your life? To change you?”
Shane’s face swims into my mind. As if he were right here, I can see the strength of his jaw, the dimple in his cheeks, the depths of his blue eyes. More than that, I feel everything I felt when we were together.
Do I believe it? Yeah. Why? Because I experienced it. Does it scare the hell out of me? Big time.
But this isn’t about me. This is about her.
“I do.”
Ari looks taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected that answer. “You do? Even if it’s a total stranger?”
“I think… I think we think too much.”
She wrinkles her nose in confusion.
I raise a hand. “Hear me out. I’m no relationship expert, right? But…I think, as a society, we’re too focused on conventional norms. Certain dates meet certain milestones. You have to spend X amount of time with someone before you’re allowed to love them. Or move in. Or even marry. And it doesn’t make sense to me. Love isn’t on a timeline. Isn’t that kind of the opposite? Love happens when it happens. That’s what makes it so incredible, that each story is unique and special and its own. There’s magic in serendipity. There’s magic in the slow burn that smolders and sizzles. There’s magic in the in between.”
Ariana blinks, and I’m not sure she’s buying what I’m saying, so I continue in terms she might understand more.
“For example, look at Aunt Vicky and Uncle Nick. They met and married within two months. Aunt Beth knew she loved him, that she’d spend the rest of her life with him, that she was willing to defy her parents and give up her inheritance. Look at them now. Thirty-five years later and nothing’s changed for them.”
Ollie interrupts, refilling our glasses, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my sister. Unfortunately for Ollie, I think Ariana’s thinking of a different man.
“I suppose that’s true. It was really fast…”
I nod. “And then the slow burn. Think about Jeremy and Sierra. We all knew from the time they were kids that they’d end up together. But guess who didn’t know?”
“Jeremy and Sierra,” she says, nodding.
“Exactly. And then look at Jace and Lexi. Love lost and re-found. Three perfect examples of why you can’t put love on a timeline. So, yes, I believe you can meet your soul mate and know from the very first hello that that person is your person. You just have to make sure it’s not too late when you find them.”
Wrong thing to say. Ari downs her nearly full glass of wine, then gives me a watery smile. “Um, well, thank you for the insight. I, uh, I just need to go freshen up.”
“Okay,” I say, hoping I hadn’t pushed too far.
And as I sit and stare after her, I wonder why I have such a hell of a time taking my own damn advice.
Branson’s back in town and I couldn’t be more grateful. Except it’s nearly nine p.m. and neither of us has been interested in a single female we’ve seen. I’m starting to believe Grandma Kate did pour some voodoo magic into our baby bottles when we were born. One of those “once you find the one for you, your dick will never get hard for another” types of curses.
Not that it matters anyway. I can’t even watch porn without wanting to close my eyes and replay the night I spent inside Alyssa. I’m a lost cause. And poor Branson. He’s only just now getting fl
ashes of the woman he met that night.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice whispers behind me.
I turn, wondering who tapped me on the shoulder and why. Then I come face-to-face with a woman I’ve never seen, yet something seems so familiar about her. The attractive brunette stares up at me with wide almond-colored eyes, tilting her head to one side then the other as she studies me. I glance around, wondering where the hell Branson is and when he’s coming back. Because to be honest? The doe-eyed look and the soft, pink lips? I can see him being into that kind of thing. Maybe this woman is just what he needs to get back in the saddle.
“You’re pretty,” she says, pulling my gaze back to her. Then she giggles, a hand covering her mouth for a brief moment. “That’s the second time I’ve said that to a man tonight. Wine makes my lips loose.”
I lift an eyebrow then lean forward. “I can’t say I’ve ever been called pretty before.”
She waves a hand, her forehead furrowing as if she’s concentrating and not coming up with the answer. “No, I guess I wouldn’t usually call you pretty. It’s just… You look like someone I knew once, and he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” Her hand comes up to my cheek, and even though I want to step away, I’m riveted to the spot. Her intense gaze unnerves me, and the depth of her eyes sends a thrill through me. Yet the feeling isn’t for her. It’s because of who she reminds me of. “I think it’s your eyes. They’re the same, yet yours aren’t quite as sad.”
If she only knew.
Though it’s funny she mentioned it because her eyes are familiar too. My heart beats faster the more I study her because I know this woman. I know her—or someone who looks exactly like her. Didn’t Alyssa say she has a sister? What are the odds that I’d meet her here, of all places?
Thoughts of introducing her to Branson, in hopes of learning more about her, fill my mind. I’m not one to play games, and I’m not interested in this girl, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be good for him.
I watch as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, spotting the giant rock on her finger, my plan spoiled before I could even start it.
