Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

by Violet Duke

  He stalks closer to me. “I just closed last month. I told Robby I want to move forward quickly, so I can move in within the next three months.”

  “That’s a pretty aggressive timeline.”

  “Well, I’m a pretty aggressive guy.” Gulp. “Let me get the design plans.” He strides out of the room, a walking billboard for sex. The temperature in here is rising quickly.

  I immediately become aware that there are only two pieces of furniture in the apartment, a sofa and a coffee table. Dane motions for me to have a seat beside him on the couch. Taking out my notepad, I lay it on the table.

  “Come, have a seat next to me.”

  Cautiously, I make my way over and sit down, but not too close. Dane smirks. He’s obviously enjoying my uneasiness.

  “So, what did you have in mind?” Could I be any more suggestive?

  I see a hint of wickedness cross his face. “Well, Gabrielle, that appears to be a very loaded question.”

  As if I couldn’t embarrass myself any more with this guy. I attempt to clear my throat and speak. “So, furniture and color, let’s start there.”

  “I’m thinking burgundy and creams. In terms of furniture, I’m clueless, so that’s where I’ll look to Robby for his expertise.”

  “Well, the space is vast, so it can accommodate larger pieces of furniture. Because of the expansive open floor plan, you’ll need to decide how you want to break up the space – kitchen, living room, dining room, etc.”

  “You certainly seem to know a lot about design,” he says, “and I’m excited about seeing what Robby can do with this place.”

  Dane continues to talk, but I’m not even listening. Some assistant I am. I’m busy admiring the view. Contoured lips, sculptured shoulders…Fran’s right, I do need to get laid. And he may be just the man for the job.

  “So what do you think, Gabrielle? Or is it okay if I call you Gabby?”

  “Huh, yes, what was that?”

  A devilish grin passes over Dane’s face. I’ve been caught red handed. I play it cool. “Yes, you can call me Gabby. And I think I’ve got enough information for Robby. He and I will put together some color swatches and when we meet again you can decide what you like best.”

  Gathering up my notepad, I make my way to the door. Dane saunters forward three steps, while I clumsily take three steps back until I feel a cold surface seeping through the thin cotton of my blouse. His arms outstretch to the wall behind me, surrounding me with muscle and virility, and I’m trapped. I feel like a caged animal; one that’s in heat. My face is burning from his proximity. His warm breath is inches from my mouth.

  “When can I see you again, Gabby?”

  Those lips are so close now, and they look so incredibly soft and delicious that I can practically feel them on mine. He runs his tongue along the contour of his lips and words escape me, and I press my legs together in hopes that I don’t come all over his floor.

  My mouth goes dry as I attempt to swallow the giant lump that’s taken up residence in my throat. “When…would you like to? See me that is?”

  His eyes never leave my lips. “I’d like to…see you on Friday. How about dinner?”

  “Sure. We can do dinner.” Then, maybe we can do something else.

  I turn to leave. Places to go, messages to answer.

  “So, do you have time to grab a coffee before you go back to your office? Perhaps at that shop you frequent?”

  Now? How the hell does he know I frequent there? Has he been stalking me? “How do you know I frequent there?”

  “I don’t know, I just assumed.” Yeah, well don’t.

  During our walk to the coffee shop, Dane tells me about his job as an associate creative director at an advertising agency. “It’s a fascinating job, really. I love the creative freedom it gives me, and the ability to develop a design based on an overall marketing strategy is really exciting.”

  “It does sound interesting.” Creative minds need creative jobs. That’s the one thing my mom used to say that made any sense to me.

  Dane’s job sounds sexy and seems to fit his persona perfectly. He’d actually have a lot to talk about with Fran. I’m trying to figure out how old he is. From what he’s told me, coupled with his confident swagger, I’m thinking he has to be about six years older than me, so maybe around thirty-one. Perhaps I can learn something from him. The thought makes my insides churn.

  He puts his hand at the small of my back and ushers me into The Brew House. I flinch, but don’t think he notices. His touch does strange things to me. I feel needy and achy in all the right places, and I like it. Brad sees me and I’m on the receiving end of that killer smile. Wow.

  “Hi, Gabby.”

  “Hey, Brad. Brad, this is Dane. Dane, this is my friend, Brad.”

  Brad looks Dane over, eyeing his expensive suit and manicured nails. “What’s up?”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Brad.”

  I order drinks for both Dane and myself. Standing there, playing with the fabric of my blouse, I watch Brad make our lattes and notice a tattoo peeking out from his short-sleeved shirt, surrounding his bicep. I squint to make out what it is, but we’re too far away. I grab our drinks and make our way over to a corner table.

  Dane speaks first. “So, you like this place, huh?”

  “Well, obviously so if I ‘frequent it.’”

  A smile plays on his lips. “Touché.”

  “Actually, I like the cozy atmosphere, and after going to Starbucks for such a long time, it’s a welcome change.”

  “So, how long have you lived in New York City?”

  “Three years now.” There’s no way I’m telling him about all of my baggage. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved California, but there’s something about New York that excites me.”

  Dane’s eyes twinkle. “I would say there’s a lot about New York that excites me.”

  Okay, he’s seriously flirting with me. I turn my head to hide my face because it’s turning three different shades of red right now. When I do, I happen to catch a glimpse of Brad staring at me from behind the cappuccino maker. For some reason, it makes me a bit uncomfortable and I start nervously twirling the ends of my hair.

  We sit and chat for another few minutes. Dane tells me about his rather large family. “I have three brothers and two sisters, all located in different parts of the country. We’re all spread out, including my parents, which is hard sometimes.”

  As Dane is talking, I’m swinging my leg under the table, my stiletto heel bouncing wildly. Suddenly, it flies off my foot and across the tile floor of the coffee shop. How Dane doesn’t notice the flying shoe is beyond me, but when I look up, someone else certainly has. Brad has an enormous grin plastered on his face, and I have a mask of red stuck to mine. I look back down quickly and continue talking with Dane. How the hell am I supposed to get my shoe back?

  Shoe loss notwithstanding, I act like I’m completely involved in this conversation. I don’t miss a beat. “Do you still manage to see each other?”

  “Yes, we always make an effort to get together a couple of times a year.”

  “I’m a bit jealous. It’s just my mom and dad, and my sister.” Scratch that, it’s really just me.

  He rambles a bit about how important his family is to him, how lucky he is to have so many siblings, and how he has a new niece on the way. My foot is starting to get cold when he finally includes me in the conversation. “So, Gabby, what made you decide to go into interior design?” I get the sense that he’s just being polite. He seems much more at ease talking about himself.

  “It’s something that has fascinated me
since I was a kid. I always took note of furniture and layout, as well as color. I’m a very visual person.”

  Dane raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

  I realize what I just implied and start fidgeting with my napkin.

  He looks at his watch and then back to me. “Listen, I really need to get back to work, but I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday. I’m staying at the W Hotel on Broadway until the apartment is finished, so we can have dinner there, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great.” I certainly hope the conversation is more interesting at dinner. Or perhaps, we won’t talk at all.

  “Terrific, I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Say seven? I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Dane stands up from the table. “I’ll walk you out.”

  No you won’t, because I’m missing a shoe. “Actually, I think I’m going to stay a bit longer.”

  “Alright. Well then, I’ll see you on Friday.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Dane walks out the door, and once he does, I see Brad coming towards me with his hands behind his back. His crooked smile makes a glowing appearance. “I think you might need this,” he says, passing me my shoe from behind like it’s a super-covert operation.

  I shake my head and roll my eyes at myself. “Thanks.”

  “Go easy on the heel next time. I don’t want anyone losing a head.” His voice erupts with laughter as he heads back behind the counter.

  Before I head back to post-it land, I pull out my cell phone to text Fran about Dane.

  Me: Hey! Guess who I just saw?

  Fran: Hmmm…no idea

  Me: Dark & Sexy

  Fran: You’re shitting me

  Me: Wouldn’t shit you about something like this

  Fran: And…

  Me: Went to his apartment, then had coffee

  Fran: Sounds boring, please tell me there’s more

  Me: He asked me out Friday night

  Fran: Now you’re talking

  Me: Will need help with wardrobe choice

  Fran: Always glad to oblige

  Me: See you at home

  Fran: Staying at Kyle’s

  Me: Man you move fast. It’s only been eight days! See u in morning. xo

  Fran: Hee hee. xo

  CHAPTER SIX

  I FEEL A HAND pressing on my shoulder. I’m not sure if I’m dreaming, so I roll over, but there it is again. Cracking my eyes open, I vaguely see what look like Fran’s ebony strands falling into my face. It’s either that or a gigantic spider, and I’m praying it’s hair.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead!”

  My mumbled, sleepy voice comes from underneath the warm blankets and I close my eyes again. “Huhhhh…sleeping here.”

  “Gabby, get up!”

  I slowly sit up and rub my tired blue eyes. “This better be good. I was having a hot dream.”

  Both her eyebrows raise up. “About Dane?”

  A smile creeps across my face. “Maybe. I told you he asked me out tomorrow night, to his hotel.” I emphasize the last word for effect. “Now it’s all I can think about. Oh, and like I said, I need help with clothes.”

  “Of course you will. We can dig through my closet and find something voluptuous for you!”

  “I was afraid of that. Maybe I should get something new.”

  “Chill, Gab. We’ll find something sexy and tasteful and perfect.”

  After a hot, steamy shower, washing Dane all over me, I pull myself together and Fran and I head out the door for some much needed caffeine. Making our way over to The Brew House, I feel so invigorated. The sun is beaming today. Everyone is all smiles. Or maybe it’s just me. The line is ridiculously long, but waiting doesn’t bother me today. My patience seems endless, my mind consumed with emerald eyes. When we finally reach the counter, I can’t stop smiling.

  With a curious smile Brad says, “hey, Gabby. Your usual?”

  “Yup, please. And Brad, this is my best friend, Fran. Fran, this is Brad.”

  “Hey, Fran.” Brad’s voice is friendly as always. “Welcome to The Brew House.”

  “Hey.” Fran eyes him like a cat on the prowl. When we get to the booth she looks over at me and gestures to Brad, who treats us to a dimpled smile. “He’s kinda cute.”

  “Yeah. He’s a nice guy. Cute too. And he always has my drink ready which is a bonus.” Not to mention he cleans up my coffee and toilet messes and saves my shoes. Speaking of guys, what’s going on with you and Kyle? You’ve barely known him two weeks, but you’ve been spending an awful lot of time at his place.”

  Fran puckers her lips. “He has the ability to rock my world, what can I say?” Then her eyes get a bit dreamy, which is unusual. “I kind of like him, Gabby. He’s really sweet, and he’s interested in me…I mean, in who I am. He’s always asking me questions about me as a kid, California, and…I don’t know, he’s attentive, I guess.”

  That makes me happy. “I like him already, then.”

  Fran’s face takes on a look of excitement. She reaches into her purse and then slides something under her palm across the table.

  When she lifts her hand, I laugh. “Where on earth did you find watermelon Jolly Ranchers?”

  “I have my ways,” she grins. “Remember sixth grade in Mr. Flanders’ class; I gave you one of these? You didn’t waste any time crinkling up the wrapper and popping it in your mouth.”

  My face brightens. “Of course I remember that. These were my favorite then.”

  “Mr. Flanders literally stopped class and started sniffing the air like a bloodhound.” Fran lifts her nose so her nostrils flare and lowers her voice to imitate his, “Who’s eating candy?”

  I remember it like it was yesterday. “I can still see chubby, bald, old Mr. Flanders walking in between the two aisles tapping desks and startling kids, the smell of sweet watermelon hovering in the air. Everyone knew it was me. He leaned in close to my face, and then you piped up, ‘It’s me, Mr. Flanders,’ saving me from having to write “I will not eat candy in school” a hundred times on the blackboard during a detention. Why did you do that, Fran?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “You were always saving me, Gabby. Maybe I wanted to save you for a change.”

  My phone rings, disrupting our nostalgic moment. It’s my Mom. Looking down at my watch, I notice it’s 8:15, which means it’s only 5:15 in California. It’s awfully early for a mother-daughter chat. I guess this must be my monthly call. Ugh. I consider not answering it, but for a split second hold out hope she’ll be different, so I do. “Hi, Mom,” I answer with bland enthusiasm.

  “Hi, dear. How are you?”

  The sound of her voice causes me to start shredding napkins into tiny pieces and piling them in mounds on the table. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “How’s work?”

  My voice gets smaller and I’m trying to breathe. “It’s fine.”

  “You getting there on time every day?”

  What does she think I am, twelve? “Yes, Mom,” I reply, crossing my eyes and wiggling my nose obnoxiously at Fran, who’s pretending not to eavesdrop.

  “Good. Have you thought about applying to any schools for a Master’s program?”

  I’m silently screaming at her. “No, Mom. Not right now.”

  “Well, you should. This job you’re in will only lead to a dead end. You really need a Master’s degree if you’re going to get anywhere in this world.”

  My skin starts to crawl, and inside I’m cringing. Gotta love family pep
talks. “Yes, Mom.” A change of subject is necessary and I deploy my usual tactic. “So, how are you, Mom?”

  And she’s off and running. “I’m great, dear. The shop is booming. People always need beautiful clothes to wear, right? So yes, it’s wonderful. In fact, I just went to a runway show last week in Paris. It was simply amazing. In between the show I managed to make it to the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and the Palace of Versailles. Paris is such a beautiful city. Jim and I are getting on great. It’s been seven months now, and he just adores everything about me. He showers me with affection and I can’t get enough. I think this one might just be a keeper. We’ll see. Anyway, things are going great here. I’m glad you’re doing well. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Okay, Mom, bye.”

  “Goodbye, dear.”

  I hang up the phone and the tension immediately leaves my body.

  Fran reaches over and grabs my hand. “You okay, sweetie?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know why I ever think things will be different with her. I might as well pre-record my responses.” I feel my eyes start to burn and a tear trickles down my cheek.

  Fran squeezes my hand tightly.

  “Why can’t I just have a normal, loving mom, Fran?”

  “Gabby, what’s normal anyway? I don’t think any mom is normal.”

  “I know,” I agree with a sigh of resignation. “I guess I mean an involved mom. One that thinks I’m special no matter what…you know…the kind of mom that wants to hear me gush about my day, my boyfriend, my life. The mom that doesn’t care if I’m wearing my Converse sneakers or my hair’s in a messy ponytail, or the fact that I haven’t taken a shower. The one that wants to take me to the mall and eat giant pretzels while we shop, and help me pick out the right dress for me. The one who bumps my shoulder and laughs, who shares her hopes and dreams. The kind of mom that hurts when I’m hurting, and puts her arms around me after I’ve lost the most important person in my life and I feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that things will be okay…”