A Hundred Ways to Break Up (Let's Make This Thing Happen 2)

by Adams, PJ

  Emily turned and Kayleigh was standing right there. She must have heard everything. Everyone in the damned hall must have heard. Kayleigh reached for Emily and drew her into a hug.

  Then Emily straightened, forcing a smile onto her face. She remembered the strength Kayleigh had shown throughout the day, and in the lead-up to this day.

  She would get through this.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” This was Kayleigh’s day, and Emily was not going to spoil it.

  “You sure?”

  Emily nodded and, without even a glance at Marcia, took Kayleigh’s hand and led her back into the heart of the gathering.

  §

  A few minutes later, she slipped away from the little group gathered around Kayleigh and left the hall.

  Out in the courtyard the sun shone down and the tubs of flowers formed pools of color and everything was blurred because now – only now – Emily had allowed the tears to well up.

  She found a quiet corner and slid down into a squatting position, her back against a wood-paneled wall.

  Marcia? Even Marcia...

  Everything was falling apart around her.

  There were no longer any certainties in her life. There never had been, but now she could see that.

  She concentrated on breathing. On the sunlight and flowers.

  No certainties, but one possibility... She remembered the video he’d sent through the day before. Let’s make this thing happen...

  She rummaged in her bag, found her phone, found Recent Calls and pressed to dial one of the numbers.

  §

  Mo answered. “Hey, friend of Marcia,” he said, as he always did, and only Emily was able to appreciate the irony just then. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to speak to Ray.”

  “I’m his messaging service. Just fire away.”

  “This isn’t one of your dramas or media games, Mo. Just get Ray on the line for me, would you?”

  He must have picked up her tone, because a moment later there was the fumbling sound of a phone being handed over and then Ray was on the line: “Hey,” he said, “What’s happening? Shouldn’t you be at–?”

  “I am.”

  He stayed silent. Her tone, again.

  “Listen. I don’t know where I stand. I don’t know what we are. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know why you left the country or what you feel about me or Róisín or anything. I don’t know anything.”

  She paused and took a deep breath, then continued: “Or rather, there is one thing I do know. I know that if there’s even a part of you that really cares, if you think there’s even a chance that we might be able to make this thing happen, then you’ll get your sorry ass here as fast as you can because my whole world is being ripped apart, and I need to know whether I’m going to be rebuilding it alone or with you. It’s your choice, Ray, and only you can make it.”

  She took the phone away from her ear, stared at the screen for a few seconds, and then thumbed the red telephone icon to disconnect the call.

  Now another of Ray’s songs came back to her, the one he’d played for her when they’d stayed at Ronnie’s mansion. If there are ninety-nine ways to get together, there’s a hundred ways to break up.

  She’d broken up with Thom, but by giving him an ultimatum was she in the process of breaking up with Ray, too?

  18

  She went back inside, pausing briefly in the Ladies’ to fix her face. She had to be strong. She’d already come close to wrecking Kayleigh’s day: there could be no more dramas.

  She looked around, but couldn’t see any sign of Marcia. Had she slipped away while Emily had been outside? She didn’t know what she felt about her old friend and what she’d done, but she understood enough to know she would need time before she could really know. Maybe that was why Marcia had gone now: she always had been able to understand Emily better than almost anyone else.

  She found the wine, and poured herself a fresh glass. It would be so easy to lose herself in a bottle or two right now, but she wasn’t going to do that. Now wasn’t the time for easy.

  She tried not to think about Ray, for now. That old advice: focus on what you can control and let everything else go. She had no influence now over whether he was heading for the airport to get back here as soon as possible, or if he was just kicking back with Rake with a bottle of a local Vouvray by the chateau’s pool. She had to let that go, not even think about it, or she might just be sick.

  She went over to join her mother, who was talking to another cousin and his wife whose name would come back to Emily soon, she was sure.

  Her mother took one look at her, smiled apologetically at the cousin and his wife and led Emily away.

  Finding a quieter spot, she stopped, put her hands on Emily’s arms again, and said, “You look like shit, Emily. Are you going to tell me why, now? It’s more than just Thom, isn’t it?”

  Emily swallowed, then nodded. “It’s a long story,” she said.

  “Then you’d better get started.”

  §

  She hadn’t expected him to just march right into the reception: Ray Sandler, in amongst the wedding gathering. She spotted him before most of the others did and then, slowly, people registered who he was, nudged each other and whispered until everybody had stopped and turned and stared.

  When she’d said he had to come back for her, she hadn’t meant quite like this. Whatever had happened to discreet?

  He stopped a short way into the hall and peered around. When his eyes found her his mouth opened a little, his eyes widened. He stepped towards her, then stopped, suddenly uncertain.

  “I came,” he said.

  The hall was in absolute silence. So much for no more dramas...

  “I’d come back already,” he said. “I hadn’t finished working but I left Rake to finish off the last couple of tracks – he knows what I’m after. I had to come back, Emily. I couldn’t be away from you for any longer. Not when I knew what you were going through. Not ever.”

  Emily didn’t know where to look, or what to say.

  “What do you want?” she asked, finally. “What’s this all about?”

  “It’s about you. You’re the most extraordinary, beautiful person and you just don’t see it. I’m awe-struck by you. Star-struck. Emily, it’s you. It’s always been about you, since I first laid eyes on you. Can’t you let yourself see that?”

  He held out a hand towards her.

  “I should warn you that the press are out there,” he said. “They followed me, and now they’re waiting. It goes with the territory. If you come with me you’re going to have to accept that they’ll be photographing us, in our faces, hoping for a juicy story. There’ll be no hiding: you’ll be there, with me, in public. It’ll be us, Emily. You and me. And that’s exactly what I want. I came back for you, Emily. I love you.”

  She swallowed. Looked around. All eyes were on the two of them.

  She stepped forward, reached out, took his hand.

  Immediately there was a loud whoop from Kayleigh. Emily turned and looked at her, and her cousin was jumping up and down. “You go, Emily,” Kayleigh yelled. “You go, girl!” That was when it struck her that she was the star of this show – Emily Rivers – and Ray Sandler was grateful just to have a role. In his eyes it really had been all about her.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out there and face them.”

  Afters

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  About the author

  Writing under other names, PJ Adams is a successful novelist, with several novels published by major publishing houses and optioned for movies. As PJ Adams, she writes in the genre closest to her heart, erotic romance – love stories with that added heat, including the international bestsellers Winner Takes All and Black Widow. Working as Polly J Adams, she writes best-selling erotica, relationship stories c
rammed full of explicit sex. Among Polly's most popular stories are the Girls’ Club series, and Wings of Desire, the story of a young woman's relationship with the wealthy owner of a New England sex club.

  You can find out more about PJ and her writing on her website, on http://www.facebook.com/pollyjadamswriter and on Twitter as @PollyJAdams.

  More from PJ Adams

  Winner Takes All

  When a guy in a tux walks into a bar in the middle of nowhere, dripping wet from the storm, and pulls out a sodden roll of hundred dollar bills, you just know he's going to be trouble.

  Denny McGowan has lost his girl, his best friend and millions of dollars. All he has are the clothes on his back, the money in his pocket, an easy, wise-cracking charm that could melt the hardest of hearts... and two gangsters on his tail and out for revenge.

  Cassandra Dane is down on her luck, and on the run from a father fresh out of jail. She's probably the last girl you'd expect to hook up with someone as hot and exciting as Denny - and she knows it. But things are not always what they seem and sometimes you're just on the tail-end of a string of bad luck and worse decisions.

  When a one-night stand looks like becoming something more than that, Cassie must decide whether she can trust a complete stranger like Denny and work out what he's really after. As matters of the heart become matters of life and death, Cassie has some tough choices to make.

  And foremost among these: just how many chances do you give a guy like Denny McGowan?

  Winner Takes All: the explosive bad boy romance from bestselling erotic romance author PJ Adams.

  Winner Takes All is available from: Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and other Amazon stores.

  Excerpt

  “Hey, Bub. You going to drink that beer or shall I wrap it so you can take it home?” Same old line, same old grunt of a response. Old Bub would be there till ten, down the rest of his Bud in a single swallow, and then head out into the night.

  Cassie glanced across towards the window table. The young couple didn’t need anything yet. Back to her nails, hooker red and chipped. That kind of summed up how she felt right then. Cheap and worn. She liked it here at Pappy’s, but was she really going to be back in March to open up again? Was this her life now that she’d lasted more than a solitary season?

  She took a cloth and gave the bar a spray and a wipe, even though it already had enough shine that she could do her face in it.

  All this cleaning, it was wrecking her hands. The skin was dry. It made her feel old when she wasn’t even 25 until January. She hated this time of year, hated this sinking feeling, the Fall blues. She needed change. She needed something new.

  She needed this not to be it.

  Just then, with perfect timing, the door burst open, slamming against the wall as the gale took it. Standing there, framed in the doorway, was the guy Cassie would come to know as Denny McGowan.

  In that tailored tux he looked like he should be someplace else entirely, but yet... it looked like he had walked here. On a night like this! His patent leather shoes were scuffed and dirty, there was mud around the cuffs of his pants; his shirt was untucked, his undone bow tie hanging loose. His jacket hung heavy with the rain, and his black hair was plastered to his skull. Maybe there had been an accident, or his car had broken down back on the highway.

  Then, with a cheeky grin that cracked his face and put a sparkle in his eyes, he reached into his pocket, produced a fat roll of hundred dollar bills, and casually thumbed one free of the sodden mass of paper.

  “So tell me, what does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?” he asked in an accent somewhere between Boston and genuine Irish, and then he stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him and shutting the wild storm out.

  (continues...)

  Winner Takes All is available from: Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and other Amazon stores.

  The Object of His Desire

  When Trudy goes to her estranged brother's wedding, the last thing she expects is one of those moments: a handsome stranger, their eyes meeting across a crowded room... a tempting, but dangerous stranger. Determined to find out more, she discovers that dark secrets bind him to her brother; she also learns that he's the kind of man who gets what he wants, and what he wants right now is Trudy.

  Introducing her to the world of the super-wealthy, he showers her with designer clothes, shoes, and diamonds, whisking her off to dinner dates by private jet... what more could a girl want?

  But as she finds out more about him, Trudy begins to wonder if she can ever love a man she can never fully trust. A man involved in murder and blackmail, who may just be using her as an alibi. Should she run or let herself fall for him? And will he give her a choice?

  A passionate erotic romance, where scandals buried away in the past lead to murderous intrigue in the present, in the intensely steamy world of the super-wealthy and powerful.

  The Object of His Desire is available from: Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and other Amazon stores.

  Excerpt

  Even now, I’m unsure whether it was a genuine Jane Austen moment or the worst of clichés: eyes meeting across a crowded room, for heaven’s sake.

  What can I say?

  I was nervous, in a crowd of mostly strangers and distant acquaintances.

  I was feeling flustered after a difficult journey and finally arriving at this little chapel in the middle of nowhere later than I’d intended – I hate not being in control.

  I was unsettled by the rush of mixed emotions in my head. I was about to see my big brother again after far too long; despite following him across the Atlantic to England we’d drifted ever farther apart over the last couple of years.

  I was thrown by the realization that his best man was Charlie, the ex who could still wrap me around his posh little English finger after all this time.

  Under these circumstances a girl can surely be forgiven a lapse into cliché. No?

  §

  I’d driven for nearly four hours to reach this remote little Norfolk chapel. It had taken far too long to escape the tangle of London traffic, and even longer driving through the winding East Anglian lanes trying to find the place.

  Deep breath, Trudy. I was here. I’d made it on time.

  I stood outside the chapel and straightened my three-quarter length Anoushka G dress. Deep cornflower blue, with scooped neck-line and a lily fascinator pinned to my long auburn hair, even I’d admit that I felt good in my wedding outfit.

  I realized I was falling back on coping strategies I’d developed in my teens: a constant interior monologue of commentary and pep talks.

  You look good, Trude.

  That dress will make up for all sorts, and you can get away with those sucky-in Magic Knickers you bought in desperation, because you just know you’re the only one who’s ever going to see them.

  Nice shoes, by the way.

  Whatever it takes.

  I recognized a few of the faces of the guests milling around in the churchyard. They were Cambridge buddies of Ethan’s. When I’d first come over from New Haven, I’d hung out with him in his college halls for a few weeks before landing my temporary job at Ellison and Coles, a wonderfully quaint traditional publisher with offices just off Covent Garden, right in the heart of London.

  As we waited to enter the chapel, people smiled at me and nodded, but they were all in their own little groups and no one seemed particularly interested in me. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in any mood for small talk, just yet. Instead, I checked my cell phone, only to find that there was no signal. I opened my mail just the same, and glanced through emails I’d already downloaded.

  “You’ve got signal? Or are you just bluffing so you look busy even though you’re here on your own and nobody’s talking to you?”

  I didn’t look round. I didn’t have to.

  “Bastard,” I said softly.

  “But a good-looking bastard, right? You always did say that I scrubbed up rather well.”

  I turned. Honey-blond hair, sharp blu
e eyes, and the way the tuxedo and neatly pressed pants hung on his lean body... I took a deep breath and tried not to find him attractive.

  Charlie didn’t look a day older than when I’d last seen him over a year before, ducking a flying ash tray as he backed out of the Islington apartment we’d shared back then.

  “Last time I saw you–”

  “You were a lousy shot. I only ducked to make you feel better about your aim. See? Even then I was looking out for you, babe.”

  “I only missed because I didn’t want blood on the carpet. It was deliberate.”

  “You preferred that dent in the door?” The ash tray had made a nasty gouge in the wood-panel door on impact. I’d never got round to fixing it: my little memento of the year with Charlie.

  “Okay, so I misjudged that one. I should have hit you with it.”

  “You look good, Trude.”

  “Too damned right I do. You think I’d come to my brother’s wedding and look like shit?”

  I was smiling by then. Our arguments went like that: they either got more and more intense or we’d end up laughing and wondering what we’d been fighting about.

  “It’s been a long time, Trude.”

  I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He smelt of Issey Miyake and cigarettes.

  “Shouldn’t you be inside with Ethan? I assume he’s turned up?”

  “Fresh air break,” said Charlie, tapping the cigarette-box-shaped bulge in the breast pocket of his tuxedo. “You know how it is.”

  “Haven’t you given that stuff up yet?”

  “Everyone’s got their vices, Trudy. Even you.”

  I raised one eyebrow and fixed him with a hard stare until he was forced to look away. If the occasional vodka and tonic too many and a tendency to over-stretch my credit cards on Karen Millen and Jimmy Choo were vices, then yes, Charlie had a point, but he was pushing it.

  I looked around again. The chapel was set in a stand of pine trees, a short distance from a sprawling country house, all tall windows and mock classical columns. The landscape was so flat here: fields stretching away to another line of dark pine trees, and the sea beyond. I don’t think I’d ever seen a landscape so haunting, so weighted down with sadness.