To every girl who’s ever been underestimated, looked down on, or pushed aside just because you don’t have the “right” parts. This one’s for you.
Acknowledgments
It’s a damn miracle I got to this place, another published novel under my belt, and I have a horde of people to thank for it.
As always, to Christina, my Plot Whisperer Extraordinaire, for everything you say, everything you don’t say, every answer to my frantic babbling, every encouragement to my freak-outs, and every time you are there, pom-poms in your hands and smile on your face, to help me however I need it. Thank you could never be enough.
To Jeanette Grey for reading an early copy of this, even when you didn’t have time, even when you were on deadline, and giving your always valuable, always honest, always helpful feedback. I love you like whoa.
To Jamie J, who jumped at the chance to read early and give me a reader’s perspective of the book, even if your feedback was, “I love everything! I’m sorry!” Love you.
To Ellis Leigh, because this book literally would not have been possible without your help and guidance. I hate myself a little bit for using that word, but it’s true. I can never thank you enough for holding my hand through this whole process and answering my endless (and probably stupid) questions. But I shall try to pay my debt to you through drinks and desserts. As we do.
To my agent, Mandy, who stood by my decision when I made the choice to self-publish this book, who still offered insight and opinions, even when you didn’t have to. I’m so thankful I’ve found an agent who supports me, not only when it benefits them, but when it benefits my career.
To my editor, Tamara, and my proofreader, Sarah, thank you both for your knowledge and expertise and polishing this book to be the shiny, pretty thing it is.
To everyone who helped with all different parts of the book—some small and some large: To my sister Amy for helping with the criminal analyst details. To Jim O’Donnell for helping with the cop info. To Michael Mammay for helping with the career Army details. To Nikki G., Katherine Locke, Funmbi, Shireen, Season, Mistress M, and anyone else I’m forgetting for helping me come up with pet names for Paige. You guys rock.
To the readers who, immediately after finishing Tessa Ever After, asked whether they’d get to read Paige and Adam’s book. This book exists because you wanted it. As always, thank you for your support.
Last but never least, to my guys. We’ve survived nine drafted novels, despite ups and downs, and you’ve learned what the frantic pounding of my keyboard means and have accepted when I have to go to Starbucks again. You never roll your eyes when I’m on deadline and a frazzled mess who maybe doesn’t smell very good. Instead, you say, “How about we order pizza?” For that and a million other reasons, thank you. I love you.
ONE
paige
Being a blonde with a nice body and a rockin’ set of Cs isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. People tend to take in the packaging and not concern themselves with what’s underneath, underestimating me and comparing me to Barbie before I even open my mouth. Before they know anything about me other than how I appear on the outside. They think because I’m beautiful I don’t also have brains in this head of mine…that I’m just another girl with lofty goals and nothing with which to back it up.
Which is why it’s always so goddamn satisfying to watch the faces of those fuckers who underestimate me as I blow their assumptions and preconceived notions out of the water.
Sitting across a worn, oak desk from one such fucker right now—a fucker who will, hopefully, become my boss in the near future—I have to work to maintain my calm. Outside, I am the picture of serenity. My face is impassive…bland, almost. My posture is relaxed but confident. But inside…oh, inside, I’m dancing the fucking Cha Cha Slide, because I just wowed my potential-probable-boss with my knowledge of the criminal investigative field. A field I’ve never worked in, but one I’ve immersed myself in for as long as I can remember.
As I spoke, his body language changed from someone appeasing me—allowing me in here for an interview as a favor to my older brother, no doubt—to someone interested. And not just interested, but nearly salivating at the thought of what I could offer to the team, not only during the internship, but in the future as a bonafide new hire.
“Well, Paige, I have to say I’m impressed,” Captain Peters says.
My lips lift in an amused smile. “You sound surprised by that.”
He becomes visibly flustered, broken words escaping his lips before he shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no. Tanner assured me you were the real deal. I’m just glad he wasn’t bullshitting me.”
I nod. “You can’t always believe my brother, I understand that. But I’m happy I proved him right this time.”
The Captain relaxes back in his chair, his beer belly protruding over the belt of his pants, his full mustache twitching almost like he wants to smile but he refuses to do so. “In all honesty, I think you’d be a real asset to the team dynamic we have here. It’s obvious you wouldn’t be coming into this starry-eyed and unaware of the pressures and responsibilities of the field. You know your stuff, and I think that would only help you be able to really jump in with both feet during this internship.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
He pushes up from his chair, and I follow his lead, shaking his hand when he offers it. “I hope to get this wrapped up by the end of the week. I’ll let you know one way or another by Friday.”
He’ll let me know I’ve got the internship is what he means.
Instead of saying that, I nod. “Sounds great. I look forward to your call.” I grab my messenger bag and purse and walk out of his office and through the station. My brother said he wasn’t planning on stopping by headquarters today, otherwise I’d hunt him down before leaving. Thank him for giving me this in, because even though I’m certain I’ll get this job based on my own merit, I’m also not an idiot. I know exactly how much pull he has after being a cop in this city for so many years. I also know the reason I even got the interview in the first place was as a favor to him.
My heels click against the floor as I make my way toward the elevator, and I’d have to be blind, deaf, or both not to notice the people noticing me. And I’d be willing to bet each and every one of them are underestimating me. Scoffing at the thought of me working here with them. Probably assuming I’ll get the job thanks to my rack—that, admittedly, looks amazing today—or the sum of my parts. When I push the down button, I let the smile I worked hard to keep hidden finally emerge, overtaking my face, because I know the truth.
I’m going to get this internship. I can feel it in my fucking bones. I’m going to get it, and I deserve it. I’d work harder than anyone else they could get, and I have no doubt I want it more than anyone. This is the last step before I get my master’s. The last step before I get my dream job as a criminal analyst.
Despite all the crap piled on me, despite having a wrench the size of a semi-truck thrown into my life plan, I busted my ass and got shit done. And here I am. Twenty-three and happy. I’m living in a city I love near people I love, and I’m so close to getting everything I’ve wanted, I can taste it.
A brief flash from the corner of my eye causes my heart to flip-flop, my pulse speeding as I whip my head to look at the silhouette I glimpsed. As I do so, flashes come to me unbidden. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Height and muscles to feast on for days. Except the person I was hoping—no, not hoping, never hoping—I’d see isn’t there. It’s just some nameless guy walking down the hall, his back to me. He doesn’t have the right stance. The right walk. The right build. He’s all wrong.
And the
fact that he’s all wrong should be right.
Except it feels anything but.
I should be thinking about anyone—anyone—other than the guy who’s haunted my thoughts for the past five months. The guy I’ve tried diligently to get out of my mind, but the same one who keeps creeping in, popping up unexpectedly when I’m just going about, minding my own business. I’ll be on a date with a nice and interesting guy, a hot guy, and suddenly an image of a head covered in dark hair and piercing blue eyes looking up at me from between my thighs comes to me. Or I’ll hear the exact cadence and tone of dirty words he whispered in my ear as he took me from behind. Or I’ll feel the rough wood of my door pressed into my shoulder blades as I wrapped my legs around his pumping hips. And when all of that happens, I can’t dive into a new guy fast enough. Just to avoid. Just to forget.
Because the last person I need taking up every waking—and non-waking—thought I have is the one guy I shouldn’t have been with in the first place.
The one guy who’s all wrong for me.
The one guy I can’t get out of my head.
Adam Reid.
a couple days later, I let myself into my best friend’s house, throwing open the door and bursting into the living room, bellowing, “It’s celebration time!”
Except the living room is empty. As is the dining room—no trace of Tessa or her boyfriend, Jason. I toss my purse on the couch and peek around the corner into the kitchen—empty, too. There’s a thud down the hall, and I turn around, narrowing my eyes at the darkened hallway. Their house is small enough that noises carry easily, but it’s eerily silent for a place that houses a walking, talking, five-year-old pixie stick. I’m not sure where Tessa’s daughter, Haley, is, but it’s clear she’s not here or a screeching tiny person would’ve already assaulted me. As I listen harder, a rhythmic thumping reaches my ears, and I spin on my heels and head back to the living room. I plop down on the couch and turn on the TV, cranking up the volume to overpower the sounds coming from the master bedroom that no best friend should ever have to listen to.
One-and-a-half episodes of Forensic Files later, Jason comes strolling down the hallway, his lips quirked up on one side in a cocky-ass grin, his brown hair sticking up in all directions. At least he’s fully clothed, his jeans and rumpled T-shirt fitting his frame better than should be allowed. He tips his head toward me in acknowledgement and continues into the kitchen.
Propping my arm over the back of the couch, I call after his retreating form. “You can’t spare me a hello? What, did you fuck all the sound out of your vocal chords?”
He laughs, that low, satisfied male sound that both grates on my nerves and makes me wish I had a date tonight. “Not me. Can’t say as much for your best friend, though.”
“What can’t you say for me?” Tessa walks into the living room and sits next to me on the couch. Her clothes aren’t rumpled like Jason’s are, but her short hair is definitely of the freshly fucked variety. And even the blue stripe running through said hair can’t distract from eyes so bright, they might as well be flashlights.
“Apparently he fucked the voice right out of you. But since you’re speaking fine, looks like Little Jason’s performance wasn’t quite up to snuff. There are pills for that, you know,” I call over my shoulder.
Jason walks—struts, really—into the living room, one hundred percent cocky male. “First of all, there’s nothing little about my cock.” I scoff and roll my eyes, but he talks right over my interruption. “Second, if I wanted her to be hoarse, she would be. I was being considerate because I knew you were out here.”
Tessa’s eyes bug out. “You were here the whole time?”
“Nearly.”
She drops her head into her hands and groans, then glares at Jason, her face flaming. “And you knew? God, why didn’t you tell me?” Bringing her attention back to me, she says, “I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let him go for the second round.”
“And that is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” And then he ignores us as he drops to the couch and grabs the remote, switching off the show I had on and changing it to something mind-numbingly boring.
Tessa turns toward me on the couch, tucking one of her legs under the other. “But seriously, I’m sorry.”
“But seriously, it’s okay. Not like it’s the first time I’ve heard you two going at it. I do expect that diagram of his cock now, though.” I glance over Tessa’s shoulder and see Jason shrug.
“Don’t look at him,” she says. “He doesn’t care who sees his junk. He’d put it in the Hall of Fame if he could.”
I snort. “Like it could be in there.”
“Just wait for the diagram, Paige.” He shoots me a wink. “Just wait.”
Reaching into my purse, I pull out a small notebook and a pen and shove it at Tessa. “You heard the man. If this isn’t better than those GIFs I absolutely do not have saved on my computer, I’m going to be very disappointed.”
Instead of gracing me with the illustration of Jason’s junk, she rolls her eyes and tucks the pen and paper back into my purse. “So why are you here? We didn’t have a girls’ night planned, did we?”
“Not officially, but we’re sure as shit going out. We have to celebrate.”
“Yeah?” she asks with a smile. “What are we celebrating?”
“I got the internship!”
“You—wait.” Tessa’s bright smile drops as she furrows her brow. “You told me on Tuesday you got the internship.”
I wave my hand at her. “Semantics. I got the official call this afternoon, and that means we are going out dancing and drinking and whatever other shenanigans we can get into.”
She glances at Jason. “We don’t have anything going since Haley’s staying with my brother, do we?”
“Nah. If you guys go out, I think I’ll head over to Adam’s. He’s been bitching about his mom doing his laundry and shoving food in his face at every turn. And I’ll be honest…I could really go for some pizza rolls and apple pie. I don’t know why he doesn’t appreciate that more. Ungrateful little bastard.”
They continue talking, discussing details, but all I can focus on is hearing it confirmed that Adam is home. Home. As in, here in my town. Close enough that I could run into him at the grocery store or the movie theater. Close enough that I could call him up for a booty call and have him at my place in fifteen minutes, tops.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Tessa mentioned back around Christmastime that Adam’s parents’ business wasn’t doing well. In the months since then, there’s been talk about him coming back to help, but that’s all it was. Talk. It had never been confirmed—not to me. Though why would it be? As far as Tessa knows, Adam is just the best friend to her boyfriend and her brother. He’s just the guy she practically grew up with.
Definitely not the guy who was her best friend’s one-night stand.
I also might have, maybe, made Tessa think I hate Adam, so she never talks about him when I’m around. I thought that was self-preservation, but it turns out that was just me burying my head in the sand, because now I’m blindsided, having had no time at all to prepare.
God. I’m going to see him.
With our small circles connecting so intricately, there’s absolutely no hope that I can avoid him indefinitely. I tune into Tessa and Jason’s conversation just when she mentions the six of us going out to celebrate my internship and Adam’s homecoming.
“I know you don’t like him,” she says, “but maybe you just got off on the wrong foot. I really think you’d get along if you’d give him a chance.”
And that’s exactly what has my hackles up, what has my defenses set to a Code Red status. Because giving a chance to a guy I had a one-night stand with? That’s a big, fat nope.
TWO
adam
Being here should fill me with ease, or at the very least a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. And I guess it does. I love my childhood home. No matter what ups and downs my parents’ shop fac
ed as I was growing up, home was always perfect—Mom made sure of that, never letting the downs of the business bleed into our home life while we were kids.
I’ve loved coming back over breaks from college and during brief stays since I started my job a couple years ago. There was always an expiration date on those visits, though. And knowing my time here was only a blip in the grand scheme of things, it was easier to take my mom’s pampering—hell, I enjoyed it. But now? Knowing I’m here for the foreseeable future, stuck in a bedroom forever preserved to my junior year of high school—the last time my mom redecorated it because the store was having a great year—is un-fucking-bearable. It’s made that pampering suddenly feel a lot like smothering.
And even thinking that makes me feel like an ungrateful douchebag, because what twenty-five-year-old guy doesn’t want home-cooked meals every night and his laundry done for him?
This one, apparently.
“Adam, honey?” my mom calls from down the hall. “Jason is here to see you!”
It’s like high school all over again.
“I’m too old for this shit,” I grumble as I open my bedroom door and head down the hall to the living room. Jase is sitting on the arm of the floral couch my parents have had forever, bullshitting with my dad who’s stretched out in his recliner.
“Haley needs a bigger bike, so we’ll probably swing in to the shop sometime this week so she can pick something out. You have anything with unicorns and shit on it?”
“I’m not sure about the shit part, but probably some unicorns or princesses or something.”
Jason laughs. “She’ll probably like your version better.”
“Oh! We have some glitter tassels I bet she’d love,” mom offers from her corner of the couch.
“If it sparkles, that girl is all over it.” Jason turns around and lifts his chin in acknowledgment. “Hey, man. Tessa’s out with Paige, so I thought I’d swing by and see what you were up to.”
Paige in Progress (Reluctant Hearts #3) Page 1
