Imperfect Love: Not Her (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Julia Bright

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Julia Bright

  Books by Julia Bright

  More from the Imperfect Love Kindle World

  About the Author

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Ryann Kerekes. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Imperfect Love remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Ryann Kerekes, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Not Her

  Julia Bright

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Julia Bright

  Books by Julia Bright

  More from the Imperfect Love Kindle World

  Disclaimer

  Not Her is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Cover Design: Sara York

  Editing: Salt Coast Editing

  Proofreading: Judy’s Proofreading

  Dedication

  KA, you are my inspiration. Thank you for all you do. Without you, I would be nothing.

  Prologue

  Jason Delany Baxter-Scott…the fifth

  Watching Heather do anything is enchanting. Even when she’s picking grass from her hair and wiping mud from her nose, she’s perfect. And that’s why I can’t sleep with her. Not the grass or the mud. I’d be willing to take a roll in the hay, or up against a tree, in a shower, a bed, anywhere with Heather, but I can’t. She isn’t someone I can throw away after sex, and I can’t go down the commitment highway, destroying my life by falling into the trap my parents have set.

  Heather is the reason I understand. Her words of wisdom as she listened to me blab about the pain my parents caused, revealed the depths of their depravity. I never thought I was good enough before Heather. At first, I hadn’t realized what I was doing, but after multiple late nights with Heather, talking until the sun turned the horizon shades of pink, I got it.

  Heather made me see everything differently. She made life brighter. Like now, grass covers us. My clothes are a mess, and I think I had dirt on my teeth, but we’re laughing out loud and having fun. She was my best friend, which was a little unfortunate because I couldn’t ask for more now.

  “You missed,” Heather called out.

  “Ha, I didn’t miss, I meant to do that.”

  The ball we’d been kicking around was off somewhere, close to a sidewalk or something. She tossed a blade of grass at me and frowned.

  “You’re heading back next week?”

  I shrug, uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation. “I also have an acceptance letter from Stanford Law. I just need to go and see what Yale is like.”

  She rolls her eyes and stands up, pretending to adjust a make-believe tie. “Stuffy, the forecast says stuffy with a side of bullshit.”

  I laugh and climb to my feet, dusting off my ass as I reach for her. “Come on. I’m not going to abandon you. You’re my best friend.”

  She punches my shoulder before running to the ball. The kick she sends at me is hard, more like a bullet instead of a friendly punt. We mess around for a little while longer. A couple of guys come by and ask if they can join in. I don’t want them anywhere near Heather, but she’s not mine. No doubt, I would ruin her. Depression hits. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to leave California, and I really don’t want to leave Heather, but my father had told me I had to come back and look at schools close to New York. I’d caved, and now I regret it.

  One of the guys starts flirting heavily with Heather. My heart aches as she takes his phone and enters her number. Why had she done that? Right in front of me too. Was she trying to kill me? Anger spikes and I want to rush up and punch him in the face. That would be wrong. I couldn’t just hit a guy because he asked for Heather’s number. I had no say in the matter. She isn’t mine, and I’m not hers. That makes me sad.

  I can’t watch her laughing and smiling with the other guy, so I take off, not even stopping to say bye. It’s a dick move, but I guess I was becoming my father’s son. Part of me wanted to go to Heather and confess my feelings, but feelings were messy, and I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t just screw everything up even more. Leaving is easier than facing her.

  Chapter One

  Baxter

  Trust, it’s not something my father has ever given me. I’ve tried but failed many times over. Now, I have just the thing to turn the tide. I’ve settled down. Yes, the playboy, the irresponsible son, the jerk who couldn’t keep a girlfriend through high school and didn’t catch one in college where there were so many beautiful women to choose from, has found a woman and settled down.

  My dad takes every opportunity to remind me I’m in line to produce the next Jason Delany Baxter-Scott, another heir to the Baxter-Scott fortune. My father, Jason the fourth, thought I wouldn’t amount to anything—Ha, given time without rules in place, I may have proven him right, but I’m tired of not having control of the Baxter-Scott company. It’s mine, and I want it.

  I’ve worked hard, graduating in the top three in my class at Stanford. I received honors with my masters from Yale—I didn’t do law like I’d wanted. Instead, I studied business. To top it all off, I graduated early, but that wasn’t enough. No, I had to have the beautiful woman not just on my arm, but on my bank account for my father to think I’d achieved something worthwhile. He thought marriage would make me responsible, hell, it would probably make me wilder.

  Sandra, my intended, may not be the smartest woman in the world, but she looked good doing it—whatever “It” was. Currently, it was sugar scrubs. Not that she sold them or made them, or produced any money with those sweet-smelling scrubs. No, she spent my money finding the best sugar scrub in Manhattan, going from store to store, purchasing a scrub then taking it back to our apartment—which she hated—and Snapchatting the whole adventure to her fans. Yes, she has fans and takes every opportunity to rub it in my face.

  I didn’t hold her activities against her. She seemed happy, at least from my point of view she did, not that I spent much time with her. Her parents were the exact opposite of mine and required nothing from her. From my perspective, it was all good. She would produce beautiful children, which my dad informed me at least once a week was what it was all about, and I would have my company to run.

  The main issue was and continued to be that my dad threatened to leave the business to someone else unless I produced another Baxter-Scott. He would shake his hand at me, shouting to the night, the moon, the stars, and God only knows who else would listen as he listed my faults. I h
ad plenty. From underage drinking—what football playing, drag car racing high school senior didn’t drink—to going with the wrong girl. Hey, it was a girl I’d been caught with, and he wanted me to produce an heir, just not an heir with someone so young or from the wrong zip code. She was amazing but vulgar as a stripper the day rent was due. I don’t remember her name, but she’d been smoking hot and ready for fun.

  Expectations were set at a young age. I had to be responsible, get my degree, get into Harvard—of course I rebelled and defied my father by going to Stanford for my undergraduate degree, and Yale for my graduate degree—get a job, and then get married which would fast be followed by having a baby, and then and only then would my dad think I was good enough to be allowed to take over the business. He’d said time and time again that a family would mature me, and until that time, he deemed me too immature to lead the company.

  I didn’t get it…at all.

  To be honest, the group in charge of running Baxter-Scott Enterprises would probably do better than I could, but it was the principle of the matter. I’d worked in the company mailroom when I was too young to get a job. I cleaned toilets when my dad thought I needed more structure. When I proved myself, I was allowed to give input to the person doing the landscaping. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Landscaping. My father must own a landscaping company; it couldn’t be further from the truth. After I proved myself in landscaping, I was allowed to shadow the sanitation crew. I cleaned every single office in the building at least once and all the toilets a hundred times, if not more. Then, finally, after I’d received my degree from Stanford, I was allowed to be an intern. I wasn’t a paid intern. No, I was the chump who got coffee and donuts for the guys in sales—did I mention I didn’t get paid?

  It was wonderful…so wonderful. I’m not sure if I gave off enough sarcasm there. I freaking hated how much my dad manipulated my life.

  In the middle of my master’s degree, my dad had a health scare. He installed the new management team then dangled the carrot again. If I got married, proved I was responsible, then and only then would I get the company. We both thought I had time to get to this point, but newsflash, I didn’t since my mom insisted he not work.

  From my perspective, getting married had nothing to do with proving I was fit to run the company, but I was in this to win it. Thus, enter Sandra. Pretty, but not bright. I could marry her, produce one child, maybe two, possibly three, and continue with what I wanted to do in life.

  Yes, it was sad that I didn’t love her. But this was business, and she didn’t care. Okay, maybe I hadn’t really been one hundred percent honest with her, but she would have money and she could do her own thing, which she really seemed happy doing.

  I checked my watch for the tenth time. Where in the heck was Sandra anyway? She was supposed to be here by now. Maybe she was going to meet me at the bar, but we’d discussed this more than once. I should have made her come to my office earlier. She was habitually late.

  The problem is my parents are flying in from Venice, not the Venice, but Venice, Florida today, and want to meet us at their favorite bar before they head to their apartment. My mom had always wanted to retire to the beach. My dad hated living in Florida. I’m a little ashamed to admit it gives me pleasure that he suffers.

  My phone rang and I notice Sandra’s name on the display. “You’re late,” I bark, irritation deepening my voice.

  “I’m not coming.”

  Her words hit me like a splash of freezing water on a cold winter day. Responses form in my mind, but I can’t get them out.

  “Ha, speechless. If I’d known that’s what it took, I would have done something like this a long time ago just to get you to shut the hell up.”

  Anger boils and I fight the urge to yell. “Get over here now,” I say calmly. “We can talk about this later.”

  “No can do. I’m headed to Miami to spend time with another man I’ve been seeing. The thing is, he pays attention to me. Bye, Baxter, see you never again.”

  She hangs up, leaving me holding my balls on a platter. Why hadn’t I seen this? Why didn’t I know about her seeing another guy? We were supposed to be engaged. That was the plan. Why the hell hadn’t she called earlier and told me she wouldn’t be here?

  There is no way I can find someone to be my fiancée in the—I check my watch—forty-five minutes I have before my parents are set to show. What the hell am I going to do?

  My secretary steps into my office and for a brief moment I think about asking her, but my dad would never believe I was dating this woman. She was too old, and not my type.

  No, whomever I presented them with had to be amazing. Telling my dad the truth wasn’t an option. Sure, it would be the right thing to do, but he would never allow me to run the company if I couldn’t keep a woman. He would say something like If you can’t keep a woman, how the hell are you going to keep a company? Yes, I said those words in my head in his voice and it almost made me laugh, but this wasn’t a laughing matter.

  Since I’d gotten serious about my now ex-fiancée, I’d stopped dating other women. There were no alternatives. No women I could call. No backups. I had nothing, and my parents would be in Manhattan, ready to meet the future Mrs. Baxter-Scott in less than an hour.

  I am doomed. There is no one at work. No one in my building. No one I know who is available.

  I leave my office as I scroll through my contacts. I find no one I can call. This was terrible. After not finding anyone in my desperate attempt to search my contacts, I pull up LinkedIn and search through my connections from school. I had forty minutes to find someone, convince them to be my fiancée—well pretend to be my fiancée—and present them to my parents all the while keeping the truth hidden.

  I open my messages in LinkedIn and freeze. I can’t. I won’t. The message is from someone I swore I’d never contact again because she’d broken my heart. She’d moved to New York last month—okay, two months ago I see after reading her whole message—and wanted to get a drink. I hated myself for what I was about to do.

  Hell, this was worse than rush week, worse than finals, worse than working with my dad, worse than anything—but not worse than meeting my dad and telling him I was a failure.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. She’d been nice through school—too nice really. I close my eyes, wishing I could avoid Hurricane Heather, but I’m desperate.

  Chapter Two

  Heather

  I’m not gonna lie; I love New York. It’s not what I expected, but I still love it. I’d been warned about how bad New York City was when I’d moved from LA, but they’d been wrong. The city, the people, everything was so much different from LA. I like the people, the community, and yes, I even love the subway. My sweet little walk-up on the west side, just south of Columbia University, is perfect.

  I still have a store in LA and one in San Francisco, and a couple of large retailers want my items, but I’m not sure I want my line available so widely. Exclusivity keeps me in high demand. I was weighing developing a line for a midline retailer, but it would change everything.

  One thing which helps me think is yoga. I’m in the middle of warrior pose in a field close to the Great Lawn in Central Park when my phone rings. Honestly, I was going to ignore it but I can’t, not with everything I have going on.

  “Hello, Heather here.”

  The person on the other end clears their throat then silence ensues. I’m about to ask if anyone is there when they speak.

  “Hi, um, Heather.”

  The voice takes me way back and a mix of pleasure and pain hits. God, I’d been stupid sending him a note. In my defense, I’d consumed a half bottle of chardonnay. I mean I wanted to see him, but the reality of facing Jason had me shaking.

  “Jason Delany Baxter-Scott the fifth or is it the sixth, I can’t remember.”

  He chuckles and my heart squeezes. That chuckle had invaded my dreams for years.

  “I go by Baxter now.”

  “Of course you do.” Everyone
in college who didn’t like him had called him Bastard. I’d defended him, losing more than one friend over that name.

  “Um, so I was wondering, you know if—”

  “Spit it out, Baxter.” In college, if he didn’t want to tell me something, he would stammer. It made me sad to remember so much from that time.

  “Would you like to meet for drinks tonight?”

  I wipe my face with a towel. A one of a kind HipFeather—that’s me, HipFeather, not the towel—that had been sold in my boutique in Hollywood last year. I was going to say no, but I’d been the one to send the first note. I needed to see him to know I’d dodged a bullet. Plus, I need a diversion. My best ideas hit me after a distraction.

  “Sure. Where and when?”

  “So could you meet me at Red Fire off Madison at 76th in twenty minutes?”

  Baxter has me intrigued. “I don’t know.” I gather my water bottle and start walking that way. I want to pull his chain and hold back a giggle as he sighs.

  “Please, I could throw in dinner too.”

  More than curious, I pick up my pace. “Okay, if you toss in dinner. A girl’s gotta eat.”

  “Thank you. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

  I roll my eyes and skip a little as I approach the Met. I’ll be dressing two women at the huge gala next month. It’s an honor. My clothing line is quirky, more do yoga in the Great Meadow and grab coffee with friends kind of clothes, not Met Gala type of designs. I do have a few dresses and casual occasion clothes I’ve developed. Since the women had both asked for me specifically, I couldn’t say no, not that I ever would. I mean come on, it is the Met Gala.

  “Baxter, I’ll be there, and you’d better be prepared to explain everything.”

  I hang up and hitch my bag higher on my shoulder. I tug down my crocheted shirt, taking it from right under my bra to a near bellybutton covering crop. It was one of my favorite pieces because it was so versatile. My hair had been in a ponytail for most of the day and I pull the band out, letting the length drop. I shake it out and then pull a braided leather strap from my purse, securing it in my hair. A quick look at my reflection in my phone confirms I’m presentable.