by Emily Childs
I clap like a maniac as they lift their hands and kiss at least five more times before they join the intimate crowd of family and friends. We shuffle into the cocktail room for food and dancing, and it’s perfect.
“William,” I say while grabbing a drink. “You’re going to give Maddie blisters if you keep forcing her to dance all night long.”
He scoffs and pinches the back of my arm like he always did when we were kids. “Hard to stop touching the woman.”
I grin. “Well, when is this going to be you two?”
My brother’s ears tint red. “Soon,” he says with a grin. “Very soon, I hope.”
I dance with everyone. Zac, Rafe, August. Even Olive’s daddy who has stepped in as the uncle Rafe’s daddy never was. Good riddance, I say. My no-good uncle doesn’t deserve Rafe and August, or Millie. In fact, he doesn’t deserve the goodness that is Olive, Lily, and Brin either.
“Ollie, goodness sakes, your daddy is sprier than me,” I say as I plop into a seat next to Jo to catch my breath.
Olive giggles. “He’s always had more energy than normal folks.”
I reach for my drink but pause when my phone rings. The name on the screen is Office Scrooge. My stomach drops. By all that is holy, Colm! I’m off work today.
I ignore the call. Surprising that he’s calling right now. It must be the wee hours of the morning in Ireland. Yes, I use the word ‘wee’ as often as I can around Colm. He tells me I stereotype, and I probably do. Only when he talks really fast does he say things like ‘meself’ or ‘lass’.
My phone buzzes again.
“You going to get that?” Rafe asks.
“No,” I insist and ignore the call. “It’s my boss and I’m off the clock.”
Rafe and August share a look. Ugh. Will is rubbing off on my cousins. We’re only a year apart, me being older, but they act like two additional brothers most days. Will teases me that I like Colm, as in romantically. That I enjoy when he gets bossy, like it’s some kind of turn on. I said he was handsome once and my brother and cousins ran with it.
I groan loudly when I feel the vibration of my phone in my purse again.
“Dot is too busy devouring Sawyer’s face,” Olive whispers. “I’m sure she won’t notice if you step out for a second. Must be something important.”
I grumble a few unsavory words under my breath, but agree with Olive. Colm has a head on his shoulders and probably wouldn’t call a thousand times if it wasn’t important.
“I’ll be back. Do not let them cut the cake without me.” Olive gives me a sharp salute and I slip into the hallway. Four missed calls in seven minutes. Annoying, but unsettling.
I call back and on the second ring, his brogue answers. “There ya are.”
“Mr. Murray,” I say in my best stern, professional voice. “I had this day requested off a month ago.”
Colm hesitates, I think he might curse, but I can’t be sure. “Ah, I messed the day. Thought it was my today there.”
Time zone issue. Maybe I can forgive him. “Okay, well, I’m at a wedding. Can we continue this tomorrow?”
“Actually, while I have you, Jace, I was callin’ because I need your assistance with flats.”
“I’m not your assistant. I’m an engineer,” I say. “And what are you talking about, flats?”
“What’d ya call them there. Apartments.”
I blink a few times before answering. “Assistance with apartments for what?”
“For me. Did you not get my email?”
I rack my brain, but come up empty on what email mentioned anything about apartments. “I didn’t get an email.”
He lets out a huff and hurries to explain as if I’m taking up his time. “This overseas is too much. I’m moving there, and I need assistance with housing. You said you live closest to the office, so I thought, why not Jace.”
Never mind his arrogant assumption that I have time to scour listings for him—Colm is coming here. My palms grow sweaty. He’s a dictator three thousand miles away, what is the office going to be like with him here every day? Nay—what is Honeyville going to be like with him in it?
Farewell, beach days. So long coffee runs. Friends? What are friends?
“Jace?”
“I’m here. I, uh, are you sure you want to move to a new country? Like, don’t you need a visa, or something?”
“I appreciate your concern with my immigration status, Miss Whitney. I was born in Brooklyn, lived there until age six even. Naturalized citizen. Any other questions?”
He doesn’t need to be rude. I’m not sure how they treat their female employees in Ireland, but here in the Carolinas, we ladies like to bite back. “Yes, just one. Did you honestly call me a hundred times in the evening my time, so I would house-hunt for you?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, I can practically hear the smug grin in his voice. “I suppose I did.”
“Ah, that’s what I thought. I’m going back to my best-friend’s wedding now because I like wedding cake more than I like this phone call. There is a thing called Google, Mr. Murray. I’m sure you’ll find any listings you need online. Best of luck.”
He laughs—laughs—at me. “This is what I like about you, Miss Whitney. So honest.”
I don’t need him to say goodbye, I’m already agitated. I disconnect and frown. Why does the idea of his deep, rumbling brogue, his very presence, showing up on my soil knot up my insides?
Laughter in the other room draws me back to reality. This night is what matters right now. The happiness of friends is more important than the annoyingly handsome Colm Murray. I’ll celebrate my last night of freedom from work and I’ll celebrate hard.
Soon enough, I have no doubt that I’ll be tied to the job . . . and the boss.
Fall in Love with Jace and Colm
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Sneak Peek at Don’t Marry the Boss
Chapter 1
Jace
It will not rain. Not today.
I glare at the sky, as if my scowl will frighten away the blustery, gray clouds. I’m not the only one worried. Already Wendy, the no-nonsense wedding planner, is barking at her people to prepare the white and cream canopies over the perfectly arranged chairs set up right near the shore on Sullivan’s Island. About six months ago my parents purchased the prettiest white-walled house on the island, and the second Will and Maddie saw the place, they knew. The wedding would be here, right on the edge of the white sand beach and the lovely, private gardens packed with palmettos and mossy oak trees.
Most days I live to torment my older brother, but today I will go to the ends of the earth to make sure this day goes off without a hitch.
The goal is to only get married once, right?
Well, Maddie’s been divorced, but her ex was controlling and he’s been out of the picture for over a year now. Now that we know each other better, I’m glad this is her marriage number two. She deserves it. We’ll pretend marriage number one never happened for right now. But still, most folks plan to get married once, and I know Will is one of them.
Today will not rain!
“Jace? Look up,” Wendy the wedding planner snaps.
If I’ve learned one thing over the months of planning this day it’s not to tick off Miss Wendy.
The photographer signals to both families huddled around the new bride and groom. I adjust the pale green skirt that keeps gathering to my clammy thighs. One of my best friends, Dot, is dressed the same. I’m the sister of the groom, and even though Dot is married to Sawyer, Maddie’s cousin, they’re basically sisters by now.
Funny how the family picture is pretty much everyone I care about in the world. Poor Zac and Jo, the only ones without
a bit of blood in the game. I’m sure they’ve found plenty to do at the buffet table. Rafe and August are my cousins, and like Sawyer and Maddie, they’re basically two extra brothers to me. I didn’t even know them for most of my life. We just clicked.
The photographer snaps a few photos, gives a few directions, then Wendy makes us all shift like a herd of goats on the old stone steps.
Behind us more crowds are showing up for the reception party. I make grand plans to do my best and dodge the folks (like some of my extended family) who are really here to judge the amount spent on the festivities.
“Okay, Lanford side,” Wendy barks.
I shuffle out of the frame with my family and watch as Sawyer, Dot, Kyler, his fiancé Evie, their older brother Shane with his wife and kids, and Sawyer’s parents gather around the couple. Sad how Maddie’s folks and brother distanced themselves after her divorce. Like leaving a bad, abusive marriage is some sort of shame on the family.
“Whup, looks like we’re up again,” Olive mutters with a soft giggle.
I roll my eyes and link my arm with her as Wendy shoves Lily, August, and their little girl right against Will’s side.
“No, no, Jace you stand over here,” Wendy demands after I park myself behind Dot once the Lanford crew is brought back in. “You’re on the Whitney side.”
As if I don’t know my last name. I nod agreeably, muffling a shared snicker with Dot before trudging over to stand with my parents and cousins. I think it’s a little ironic that Wendy calls it the Whitney side, but there are more Whitfields than Whitneys in the picture. I don’t mind. As I said, my cousins are more like brothers. Since Rafe and August are married, and no one wants to stand out as the single one, I nestle next to their mama, Millie. She’s single and owns it.
I pinch the back of Will’s arm on the way. Just for good measure. Mama flicks my ear, as if to warn me to be a grown-up for at least one day.
Hard around Will. We tend to dip into childishness at least once a day.
“Jace, baby, you look beautiful,” Millie whispers. She gives me a squeeze around the waist. When I met Millie, the night I discovered I had long-lost cousins, she’d been recovering from a stroke. Now, nearly four years later you’d hardly even know it. She’s a knock-out. Athletic, sassy, long wavy hair, with the slightest limp is all.
“Look at you,” I whisper, my eyes taking in her sleeveless dress. “Millie, are you wearing a push-up bra?”
She shimmies a little. “And why shouldn’t I?”
“Oh, you absolutely should. Flaunt it, lady. Isn’t that what you’re always telling us?”
Millie grins and squeezes my hand. She’s amazing. Raising Rafe and Auggie all on her own. I’d say she did an epic job, too. It’s fun to see Rafe and August all spiffed up in suits. I tickle little Brin’s leg from where August has her propped on his hip. So far Brin is the only kiddo we lug around, but Olive’s bump has me bursting at the seams waiting for Whitfield baby number two like a kid waits for Christmas.
“Miss Whitney,” Wendy snaps.
I whip my head up from my family gazing. “Sorry, what?”
Wendy draws an invisible line across her lips. “Smile.”
“Right.” I stiffen into an unnatural pose as the photographer directs us. Smile when asked. Swoon on cue. Pretend to be surprised when Will kisses Maddie as if they don’t do it 24/7. And in what feels like a century later, the immediate family (with sibling-cousins) photo session is called a success.
“Time to eat,” Will says with a bit of relief as he rubs his hands together.
“William and Maddison,” Wendy crows.
“Spoke too soon,” I mutter.
Will seems ready to refuse as Wendy shuffles them toward the beach for couple photos, but like a wise man, he holds his tongue.
“Well,” Mama says, dabbing at the corner of her eyes, “we all better head on up.”
I grin and link my elbow with my mother. I’ve always felt like I got my looks from her. We share the same pale hair and long legs, but my mother has a smile that lights up the room. Mine is a bit toothier. “Mama, why are you tearing up now? The hard part is over, right? The actual wedding.”
She sniffs. “Look at those two. So happy. It’s just what every mother wants for her babies.” She pauses and clears her throat. Here it comes. “Can’t wait to do a repeat one of these days.”
“Ugh, Mama, don’t go there,” I say with a groan.
“Don’t go where? I wasn’t saying anything.”
Right. My mother’s little hints about my dating life—or lack thereof—are becoming less subtle by the week. “I’ve been busy with this new bridge contract.”
“Don’t marry your job, sugar. I’m proud as ever with all you’re doing, but you deserve a life and a career.”
“A life so I can get married?” I challenge.
“No,” she says. “You deserve a life for you. Kick up those heels a little. You’re working so dang hard all the time. It’s within my motherly rights to call you out.”
I laugh as we step into the growing crowds of guests looking for seats. “I promise you, I’ll schedule two nights where I stuff my face with cinnamon cookies and snuggle Mr. Snob all night.
She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t comment about my unhealthy closeness with my fur-baby kitty. He’s a total prince, hence the name Mr. Snob. Only eats a special cat food, won’t drink water from a bowl. But he keeps my feet warm and that’s all I ask of the man. It’s not like I want to spend my days snuggling a cat, but I have a job—more a boss—who keeps my days filled with little time to think of anything else.
Not that I’m thinking of my boss outside of work.
Because his pretty face doesn’t make up for his frustrating work ethic. His delicious Irish accent pales next to his stern, no-frills attitude.
No, I do not think of Colm Murray outside of work.
“Susan!” A voice breaks my musings. Olive’s mama, Bernadette Cutler, is waving and doing her best to run in her high heels. Her face is pale, and she has a frantic gleam in her eyes. “Oh, Millie, good, I was looking for you.”
“Bernie,” Mama says. “What’s wrong?”
Bernadette squeezes Mama’s arm as she passes, but she’s really aiming for Millie.
“What’s going on, Mama?” Olive asks.
Up ahead, my daddy is talking with Lon Cutler, they seem stiff and agitated. What’s happening? The rain clouds are cooperating, but I swear it, if anything else is thinking of tossing a wrench in this wedding, I’ll scream.
“Mill,” Bernadette says. She flicks her eyes at Rafe, almost like she’s afraid. “Um, Lon and I just saw . . .”
She doesn’t finish before a man comes into view, strutting right up to Daddy like they haven’t been estranged for years. My heart falls into my stomach. Maybe it’s a protective instinct, but I step in front of Rafe and August, ignoring how their over-six-foot frames tower above my head.
“Oh,” Mama gasps. She whips around to Millie. “We didn’t . . . we didn’t invite him.”
Millie must be made of more iron than us because she’s the only one unruffled. “I know. Things happen.”
Oh, great gads! The guy who looks too much like Rafe finds those of us frozen in place. His eyes shadow, his jaw tightens. I don’t know what Daddy and Lon are saying, but he ignores them and has the guts to walk over to us.
“Rafe,” August mutters when his brother tenses.
From the corner of my eye, I note the way Rafe’s fists clench and unclench. Out of the twins, Rafe was the one who took my uncle’s abandonment the hardest.
“I’m sorry,” Olive says gently, taking his hand in hers. “We can go if you want.”
Rafe manages to give her a strained smile and takes her hand tightly. Olive is his soft, safe place. Today I’m more grateful he has Olive than I’ve ever been. Behind us, Sawyer and Dot take a step back, maybe realizing everything is about to hit the fan. Still, Dot looks ready to cry for the Whitfields same as me.
&
nbsp; “Jed,” Mama says, taking the lead, her voice cool, and steady. “Surprised to see you.”
Jed Whitney. Uncle I don’t really know. Father of Rafe and August, well, in no way has he earned the title of father. I haven’t seen the man in years, but it’s as if he hasn’t aged. I’ll admit he’s dapper, clean-cut, has a certain charm. He is missing my aunt, though, along with his wedding ring. Who knows what’s happened since I last saw him.
Jed smirks at my mama. “Susan. Annaliese was sure to tell me about the day. My congratulations to Will.”
Curse my aunt! Annaliese is decent enough. She’s even visited with Rafe and August. I think Brin is the one who won her over, really. But she’s still a haughty woman who likes to look at people down her nose. And so typical of my extended family—a word of mouth invitation to a wedding apparently qualifies as a perfectly suitable replacement for a mailed one.
Jed lifts his eyes. He studies August, then Rafe, landing on Millie. Now, my fists clench. He better watch himself.
“Jed,” Millie says without a hint of disquiet in her tone. “Long time.”
“Long time.” He adjusts the cuffs of his jacket, clears his throat and steps around my mama. Olive’s grip tightens on Rafe’s arm, the other on her belly. August sort of adjusts so Lily and Brin are behind him as if Jed might reach out and snatch them up. Or maybe Aug feels the same as me—Jed Whitney doesn’t deserve to even lay eyes on his granddaughter. Jed’s gaze drifts to the twins. “This them?”
This them? Your sons? Is that what you mean? A noise of disgust escapes my throat at the same time as Olive.
Jed takes a step closer. “You boys sure grew up. Both married, looks like.”
“You can stop looking,” Rafe snaps.
Jed studies Rafe. Does he see how similar they look? Does he see the better men than him that Rafe and August have become? “You can be angry,” he says, “but there’s a whole world of things you don’t know, boy.”
