by Lila Monroe
The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Sure, it’s circumstantial, but there’s way too many coincidences for my liking.
She stares at me, and her anger seems to disappear. “You think I was acting?” Her voice twists on the word. “You think what happened between us has been fake?”
“I don’t know what to think!” I yell, my guilt and anger and fucking vulnerabilities suddenly exploding. “I usually know exactly who a person is. I can size them up like that.” I snap my fingers. “But my instincts are all over the place with you. One minute you’re a sensible assistant, the next you’re some femme fatale. Who are you really, Alice Jones? What have you been hiding?”
“Nothing!” Alice’s face trembles, but she stands firm, glaring right back at me. “I haven’t hidden anything from you. I’ve opened up and showed you everything! I thought . . . I thought . . . this really meant something.”
“So did I.” I curse.
“So why don’t you believe me?”
“How can I?” My voice rises. “None of this makes any sense! The only thing I do know is that hiring you was the biggest mistake of my life.”
The minute the words are out, I know I’ve gone too far. Alice opens her mouth. Snaps it closed. Opens it again and then shakes her head. Without another word, she storms down the hall. I stand there uselessly, wondering if I should follow. My instincts scream yes, but since when have they been worth a damn?
Not since Alice Jones walked into my life on those sexy heels of hers.
I go pour myself a scotch instead, bracing for round two. I should call Jackson, have him do that deep dive into Alice’s background, after all. Study her financials, this time. Look for a pay-off, or—
Who am I kidding? I don’t want to do any of that. My brain is just trying desperately to stay on plan.
So I can ignore the hollow ache in my chest.
Did she really betray me? I don’t want to believe it, but if she has nothing to hide, why isn’t she out here, proclaiming her innocence?
A few moments later, Alice emerges from her bedroom—with her suitcase in tow.
She’s running?
Guilty people run.
She stands by the elevator. “Well?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.
“Well, what?” I ask, suddenly feeling defeated.
“I was waiting for an apology,” she says. “I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d realized what an asshole you’d been, and would say sorry for treating me like a whore.”
“I didn’t—”
“You accused me of sleeping with you as part of some grand double-cross, on the CandyShack payroll.” Alice’s voice is ice-cold. “That sounds like a whore to me. No?” She glares. “Then I guess that’s my cue to leave.”
She stalks to the elevator and gets in.
“And for the record, Nick?” Her steely expression slips, and I see the heartbreak in her eyes. “I wasn’t betraying you. I was falling in love with you.”
And with that parting bullet to my chest, the elevator doors close behind her.
And I realize I may have just made the biggest fucking mistake in my life.
24
Alice
The red-eye flight back to New York is five and a half hours long. I cry the whole way home.
At first, I try to hide it, sniffling miserably while the tight-lipped dude beside me sighs and scowls. But in the end, I can’t help it; I just give up and sob.
Hiring you was the biggest mistake of my life.
I can’t believe it. Any of it. One minute, Nick was waking me up in the morning with red-hot kisses and coffee, the next, he was looking at me like a complete stranger.
A lying, cheating, guilty stranger.
WTAF?!
Does he really think I’d do something like that? Does he even know me at all? I was the one having heart palpitations just giving a fake name to a stranger on the street. Does he really think I’m capable of pulling off a dastardly double-cross like I’m a total sociopath?
Apparently so.
Which just goes to show, I never really knew him at all, either.
My heart aches. Not just because he accused me of terrible things, but because it’s all suddenly over. The two of us, all the in-jokes and wild adventures and, yes, the crazy, oh-my-God good sex.
Gone.
I swallow hard, understanding for the first time why people call it a breakup. I feel broken, like I’ve been torn in two, and the jagged edges of my heart are still raw and wounded.
I thought this was different. We felt different. I’ve never felt this way about someone. With someone. We had fun. We had great chemistry. And of course there’s no denying he’s hot as hell and a god in bed.
But it’s so much more than that. Behind his charming smile, Nick was warm, and sweet, and way more caring than he’d probably want people to know. He cares about justice and doing the right thing—even if he’s willing to bend the rules to make it that way. He has his defenses up high, but once he lets his guard down, you can tell that he’s loyal to the people in his life and wants to help them out.
And he supported me. Sure, he didn’t like me butting in, but once I’d proved I had something to contribute, he trusted my judgement and listened to me. Reflected in his eyes, I saw a better version of me.
With him, it felt like I was the person I was meant to be. Someone smart, and capable, and reckless and bold. Someone who didn’t just live life on the sidelines, but who went out and made things happen for herself.
But I guess it was all a lie. Because right now, I don’t feel bold, I feel stupid. I risked my heart, and what do I have to show for it?
Nothing but a world of pain, puffy eyes, and the sinking feeling that I should have known better.
I should have followed the rules this time.
By the time I get to my apartment, dawn is just breaking in New York. But my internal clock is messed up and on West Coast time. I’ve been up for approximately a zillion hours, other than a very short and neck-killing nap on the plane that made me feel worse. I’m exhausted. And wired. And really, really sad.
I haven’t gotten any messages from Nick, which is both a relief and upsetting. I’m surprised he didn’t send a text asking for the ring back. Maybe, like me, he forgot. It’s just a bauble he probably picked up at a jewelry store as I was flying into town. He can afford to lose track of it for a while.
I dump my bags and make a beeline for the shower to wash the travel off me. Maybe to wash the whole experience of the last few weeks off me.
I emerge from the shower and dry off. I rub the towel over my hair and then comb it out. I reach for my hair dryer.
And burst into tears. It’s back at Nick’s condo.
Which reminds me that so is my toothbrush. And my favorite bunny slippers. I’m still wearing his ring, and my stuff is at his place: it feels like I’ve broken a real engagement. Complete with the heartbreak and loose ends.
Too tired to deal with any of it, I towel dry my hair as well as I can, swish some mouthwash, and throw myself into bed.
Several hours later, I wake up and am instantly restless. I throw on a pair of jeans and a casual top, grab my purse and head out. After a side trip to a coffee shop, I end up at the office. Which, I’m guessing, is soon to be my former office, just as soon as Olivia hears how completely I screwed up on the job.
The marble foyer is dark and still. It seems naked without the vase full of flowers on the table, but no sense buying any while the office is still closed to clients and Olivia is off traveling with Ryan. I head up to my desk and flick on my computer, then I nearly scream in surprise. Because I’m not alone in the office.
“Olivia!” I yelp. “What are you doing here?”
She grins at me. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” She gives me a quick hug and then steps back giving me a once-over. Probably she’s never seen me so dressed down. Though as I take in her own jeans and hoodie, I could say the same.
“I didn’t re
alize you were done with Nick,” she says. “When did you get back from San Francisco?”
Done with Nick. That’s an understatement. I sigh.
“Oh.” Olivia pauses. “That sigh tells me this is going to be a ‘sitting down’ kind of conversation.”
Best to get this over with.
I follow her into her office and throw myself down on the chaise. “You were right,” I say miserably.
“About what in particular?” Olivia asks, still smiling.
“About . . . blurred lines. And boundaries. And getting carried away.”
She exhales. “You fell in love with him.”
I manage a nod, and then I’m crying all over again.
Way to be professional, Alice.
Olivia quickly envelops me in a hug. “And am I to assume it didn’t end so well?”
I shake my head, sniffling. It should be a relief that she’s being so nice rather than writing up termination papers, but I still feel shitty and stupid. Mostly stupid. Though I guess heartbroken factors in there, too.
“Aw, honey.” Olivia hands me a tissue from the box on her desk. “It happens to the best of us.”
“I’m sorry I let you down!”
She smiles. “I’m the last person who can judge you for falling in love with a client. Why don’t you tell me what happened, and we’ll see if we can figure it out?”
I begin the story of what’s happened since I left for San Francisco. I leave out the graphic details, but I pretty much spill my guts.
“Well . . .” Olivia blinks.
“I know. I messed up the whole job. I’m sorry.”
“No.” She furrows her brow. “Actually, you didn’t. Your assignment wasn’t to solve his case, it was to be his pretend fiancée. You fulfilled that role until he no longer required your services, so as far as I’m concerned, the contract is complete.”
Oh. I guess she’s right. But I still feel like a failure.
“I just hate knowing he’s out there, thinking bad things about me,” I admit tearfully. “He wouldn’t even listen, he just jumped to conclusions. I tried explaining my suspicions about Lainey, but he didn’t want to listen.”
“If someone isn’t ready to hear what you have to say, there’s not much you can do about it,” Olivia comforts me. “He’ll see the truth eventually.”
“But it’s already too late. For us, I mean,” I add gloomily. “I can’t believe he wouldn’t trust me. After everything we went through together.”
“Nick Cameron strikes me as a man who isn’t used to trusting anyone,” Olivia says thoughtfully. “I mean, in his line of work, betrayal is the norm.”
“Still. He should have believed in me. At least, if he really cared.”
That’s the part that hurts the most. The sneaking suspicion that Nick never really cared about me at all. Because if he had, he wouldn’t have turned on me so quickly. If he did care, he wouldn’t have let me walk out the door.
Olivia’s phone buzzes. She looks over, then tucks it away.
“Who’s calling?” I ask, wiping my eyes.
“Just Ryan. I’m supposed to meet him, but he can wait a while.”
“No!” I protest. “I’ve already screwed up my love life, I’m not ruining yours, too.”
“He’ll wait,” Olivia says with a confident smile.
I shake my head. “Go.” I give her a push towards the door. “I’ll still be miserable tomorrow. Really, I just want to be alone.”
“Well . . . if you’re sure . . .” Olivia gives me another hug. “I’m still technically on vacation for another week, but call any time.”
“I will,” I lie, and watch her tap a quick reply to Ryan, her happiness evident on her face. She heads out, off to her shiny, happy love affair—leaving me to wallow in my heartbreak alone.
I check my email and go through the snail mail that’s accumulated, but there’s nothing that needs my attention, so I head home. I stop at the drugstore on my corner and replace the toiletries I left in San Francisco, then trudge up to my apartment. I order in Thai and scroll through Netflix to find a new episode of Heartbreak Hospital as I wait for the food to arrive. Just another night in the life of Alice Jones, secretary.
It’s like I’ve never even left.
My adventures in San Francisco already feel like a dream. Glimpses of a wild, passionate life that’s a thousand miles away. My heart aches, and it’s not just for Nick—it’s for the life I left behind. The spontaneity, and surprises, and that feeling like anything could happen.
Back here, I know what tomorrow will bring: wallowing, tears, and more feeling like my heart’s been ripped out of my chest.
Restless, I switch off the TV and go unpack, dreading all the laundry I’m going to need to do. As I open my suitcase, right on top is my blonde Gina wig. Seeing it brings back so many memories of working undercover. How I felt so empowered. Not just because I was unrecognizable, but because I was kickass. It was like pretending to be someone else made me free to really be myself for the first time.
I stare at my reflection in the closet mirror and sigh: there’s no wig, no glamorous outfit, and no hot man at my side. Just Alice.
Brown hair, square-rimmed glasses, sweatpants, and all.
But it’s still the same woman underneath as when I was dolled up in the wig and crazy outfits. Even when I was pretending to be an assistant at CandyShack, it was still me. I just felt braver, for some reason. Out of my element, far from my usual routine. Nobody expecting me to play it safe. Nobody judging me for my crazy ideas.
So what’s stopping me from being that same brave, confident woman right here in my everyday life?
I gulp. It seems crazy to think of myself as different people like that, but can I really bridge the divide? For all the heartache and tears, the assignment with Nick proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m capable of more. More than just filing and research, living a quiet, ordinary life. I don’t think I could go back to it, even if I tried. One day in, and I’m already restless. Itching for a new challenge.
One that hopefully doesn’t end in a broken heart.
I don’t know if I’m crazy right now, looking for something to distract me from the way I feel, but for the first time since walking out on Nick, I feel a surge of something like determination.
Things are different now. They have to be. And somehow, I’m different, too.
When the door buzzer sounds, I go get my Thai food.
And then, while I gorge on spring rolls and cashew chicken, I start making a plan.
25
Nick
The waitress slams a beer down in front of me and waits for my usual wise-rack. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asks Jackson.
“What do you think?” he replies, way too cheerful. “He’s all cut up over a girl.”
Not a girl, I want to correct him. A woman. The most infuriating, surprising, back-stabbing woman I’ve ever known.
I gulp my beer instead. I’m not up for games tonight. I haven’t been up for much in the week since Alice stormed out of the condo. Today was even worse, since I opened the Fed-Ex package containing my grandmother’s ring. No note, either.
Just the ring, fuck you very much.
“So,” Jackson says, still smirking. “I take it from your sunny disposition that you fucked things up with the sexy librarian.”
“Fuck off,” I growl.
He snorts. “That’s a ‘yes,’ then. I’m also guessing it was your fault.”
“Are you supposed to be my friend?” I grumble.
He grins. “Yup. And I know you. Let me guess, you got insecure about being all happy and vulnerable, so you decided to pick a fight and drive her away.”
My jaw drops. “How do you know that?”
Jackson shrugs. “I’m not just a pretty face.”
I scowl. “You’re wrong. About your ugly mug, and Alice. I didn’t do anything, she was the one who lied to me and was hiding things.”
“Uh huh . . .” Jackson takes a gulp. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“No, I’m trying to get your head right. What makes you think Alice was double-crossing you?” He puts his palms up as I open my mouth to rip into him. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate here since you’ve got your balls in such a twist. Did she give you reason not to trust her?”
“She went to Lainey’s store without telling me.”
“And?” he asks.
“It was . . . suspicious. Plus, CandyShack upgraded their security, right after we got access. And she kept insisting they were innocent.”
“Well, gee, Nick, when you put it like that. Lock her up and throw away the key.”
I shake my head. This isn’t coming out right. “It’s not just that. She’s a good actor. How do I know she wasn’t fooling me?”
“How does she know you weren’t?”
“But Lainey . . .” I pause. The only thing worse than the feeling of white-hot betrayal is this new, uncomfortable creeping doubt. I was certain the other night that Alice wasn’t to be trusted, but now?
Now I don’t know what to think.
“Lainey,” Jackson arches an eyebrow, “has a lot at stake here. Tell me this: how much background did you do on her? Because as I recall, you never asked me for Lainey’s stats. I assumed you’d taken care of it yourself.”
I swallow. Hard.
“Jesus, really?” Jackson lets out a laugh of clear disbelief. “Since when are you so trusting of a client?”
“Since she’s an old friend,” I protest, feeling that doubt again. “I know her.”
