The One I'm With (A Sweet Somethings Novel Book 3)

by J. Lynn Rowan

  “But how can it be anything other than temporary?”

  She shrugs. The answer to that question lies between Josh and me, and I certainly don’t know the solution.

  A few seconds of silence go by, during which Beth’s brows lower in a frown of concentration. “What’d you say his last name is?”

  “Mattingly.”

  She taps her fingers against her bottle of water. “That name sounds so familiar.”

  “He said his family’s corporation is a global enterprise. I’d never heard of it, but maybe you’ve come across it in passing.”

  “Are they headquartered in New York?”

  I shake my head. “His immediate family lives in St. Croix. I assume they operate from there.”

  “Mattingly . . . St. Croix . . .” Sitting up straight, she snaps her fingers as pieces fall into place for her. “Now I know where I’ve heard that name. You know my photographer friend, Kate Miller?”

  “The one who did my magazine spreads?”

  Beth nods. “Her younger sister is married to Josh’s older brother.”

  “Huh. Small world.” Now it’s my turn to frown. “Do you know any dirty details?”

  “About Josh? Nothing specific to him. But according to Kate, her sister married into big money. The Mattinglys, and I would guess Josh by extension, are loaded.” She hmphs. “Have you Googled him?”

  “Not yet.” Though now I wish I had.

  “Do you want Rick to run a background check?”

  Beth’s husband doesn’t work in law enforcement, but he has friends who do. I need only ask, and everything I could ever want to know about Josh—and probably a few things I don’t—would be available for perusal.

  But that feels like a betrayal of trust. “No, that’s okay.”

  “Suit yourself. But you might want to do a search, just to see what you’re getting into.”

  A nervous half-grin tugs one corner of my lips. “I don’t think he’s committed any crimes, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Of course not,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But don’t be stupid. From what little I know about the Mattingly family—and remember, what I know is like third-hand knowledge—this Josh guy has some interesting baggage. Probably a lot more interesting than yours. It’d be worth the time to see what he’s not telling you, and might shed some light on why you think he’s acting out of character. Promise me you’ll look him up, sooner rather than later?”

  Her advice is sound, and I give a little nod of assent.

  Beth continues. “And it might not be a terrible idea for you to tell him about Jared. All of it, not just the superficial general stuff I’m sure you’ve already glossed over.”

  That advice is a little harder to swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

  Though I can tell I haven’t reassured her, she smiles and pats my hand. “I have to get to the airport. I hear security gets backed up a little this time of day.”

  “I have a two-and-a-half-hour drive back home myself. I’d like to avoid rush hour.”

  We stand and toss the remnants of our lunches into a nearby trash can. Then we link arms and head outside, pausing on the sidewalk to allow our ears to adjust to the din of traffic on Tryon Street. After a moment, Beth pulls me into her arms and squeezes tight.

  “Don’t be afraid to let him in,” she whispers in my ear. “It’s time to put the past to rest.”

  Unexpected tears prick my eyes as I hug her back. “Safe travels, okay?”

  Beth eases away and smooshes my cheeks between her palms, the way she’s done ever since we were kids. “Enjoy the one you’re with, little sis. Life’s too short to do anything else.”

  “Isn’t that from some corny song from the seventies?”

  “Not exactly. But you get my drift.” She grins. “Text me when you get back home. I’ll probably still be waiting to board.”

  “I will. Let me know when you get into Atlanta.”

  After bidding each other goodbye, Beth and I head in opposite directions. My heart feels a little lighter for sharing everything with her. But my head still reels with the decisions I have to make, and soon.

  Chapter 10

  Getaway

  A sultry August breeze finds Josh and me, where we relax on a bench in the botanical gardens adjacent to the UNC-Asheville campus. He’d met me, a picnic lunch in hand, for a spur of the moment mid-week afternoon off. Now, lunch finished and no solid plans for the rest of the day, we enjoy a moment of quiet in an otherwise busy workweek.

  “I wanted to run something by you.” He drapes his arm across the back of the bench, fingers lightly running up and down my arm. “I have to go out of town at the beginning of September.”

  His touch lulls me, and I tip my head against his shoulder. “Out of town where?”

  “Home.”

  A little pang strikes my chest, and for a minute my lungs don’t quite work right. I know he’ll have to go home eventually, then move on to his next business venture. But this is the first he’s mentioned leaving Asheville, even temporarily. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Technically, the trip only needs to last a couple days. I have to check in with my dad and brother on how my current project is going. Maybe try to convince them to let me branch out with my own startup company.” His fingers grow still on my arm, and he presses a kiss to my temple. “I was wondering if you might like to come with me.”

  “To St. Croix?” I fight to keep from tensing up.

  Sensing the jumps in my muscles, Josh turns toward me. “I know it’s a big step. And yes, it would mean meeting my family. But I had an idea that might make it more palatable.”

  A smile hints on my lips. “I wouldn’t call a trip to the Caribbean unpalatable.”

  Josh chuckles, resting one hand against my cheek for a moment. “We don’t have to go straight to Christiansted. I thought we could start by going to St. Lucia for a long weekend, relax and disconnect with everything but each other. Then, if the idea of meeting my family freaks you out too much, you don’t have to go on to St. Croix. We can settle the travel arrangements so you can come back here, while I suffer through two or three days of business debriefings.”

  I stare into his eyes, reading something behind his laughter. “Sounds like you aren’t looking forward to this trip.”

  “It would be a little more bearable if I had you there to distract me.”

  With a sigh, I turn my gaze back to the riot of flowers surrounding us. Blood pounds in my ears. “Can I think about it?”

  “Sure. I’d say take as long as you want, but we do have a bit of a time limit on the decision. I’m not bound by any specific dates, but air travel does take a little planning.”

  I glance at him. “You don’t already have your reservations made?”

  “Mattinglys have a way of making things happen when we need them to.”

  “Don’t tell me you have a private jet or something.”

  He grins. “Dad sold it during the 2008 recession. Now we just fly first class.”

  “Well, if the promise of a tropical beach vacation couldn’t convince me, flying first class would clinch it.” My expression turns serious as I face him full on and take his hand. “But you are not covering the cost of my ticket. Whatever it ends up being, you will let me reimburse you. Mattinglys might make things happen on a whim, but O’Briens don’t take advantage when we’re able to pay our own way.”

  “Marissa, it’s not taking advantage,” he murmurs with a frown.

  “I pay for my flight, or I don’t go.”

  Our stare down lasts less than ten seconds before Josh takes my face between his hands and gives me one of those comical, smacking kisses, complete with the mmmuahh sound effect.

  “Anything
to satisfy your stubborn heart, Red.”

  I’m not naive enough to agree to an international weekend getaway with a guy I’ve been dating for three months without following up on his life story. So after promising to give him a final answer by Sunday, at least regarding St. Lucia, I head home and type Josh’s full name into a search engine.

  The majority of the hits on the first page of results link Josh to various deals, mergers, and philanthropic activities done by Mattingly Enterprises, and by extension the Mattingly family, in the past three to five years. A few news articles include photographs of him standing beside two older men, with whom he shares enough facial features to be his father and older brother. I even find some generic announcements about his graduation with honors from the University of Southern California.

  His professional credentials line up, and after a dozen pages and a few creative keyword combinations, not so much as a traffic citation shows up. In terms of public record, Josh is completely upstanding.

  Personally? That’s the part I’m afraid to Google.

  I pause for almost five minutes, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Josh has become the face of Mattingly Enterprises’ public relations in the past two years. I’ve long suspected he has a string of broken hearts in his wake. But having that suspicion confirmed in tabloids or images would be a bit of a blow. Given his charisma and sex appeal—let’s call it what it is—I doubt the press has just now started highlighting what he’s up to outside of the boardroom.

  “Come on, Marissa,” I mutter to myself. “Just grow a pair and type it in.”

  My self-pep talk doesn’t do much right away. But then I pull in a huge breath, hold it, and search Josh Mattingly dating life.

  As expected, a series of tabloid and celebrity gossip sites pop up. Blowing the air from my lungs in a long, slow exhalation, I click on the Images tab.

  And get sucker punched in the gut.

  There’s Josh at parties, on the beach, walking down city streets, his arm looped around one gorgeous woman after another. Not one of them shows up in two or more pictures. He literally has a different girl by his side everywhere he goes.

  I close my eyes, unsure why they’re burning. I knew this is what I’d see. He’s a player, and clearly always has been.

  So what’s he doing with me? Am I just the most recent conquest? If so, he’s going about it in a strange way, one that doesn’t seem to match his usual habits at all. I sort the images by date, then cross-reference them with the articles on the main web search. The most recent picture is from over two years ago.

  Interesting. Either Josh suddenly got really good at being incognito with his personal life, or he stopped dating altogether.

  I push away from the desk and stare at the grid of images on the computer screen. Everything Josh has done and said with me since we met is in direct defiance of his romantic history. Granted, he’s stuck in Asheville and may have just latched onto me for short-term fun. But other jobs have taken him to places around the world where he’s been more in the public eye. If he’d engaged in similar casual, yet exclusive relationships, photographic evidence would be showing up online.

  But there’s nothing. As far as I can tell, I’m the first girl Josh has dated in two years.

  Fair enough. He’s the first guy I’ve dated in three.

  And he wants me to meet his family.

  My thought process scrambles and surges. I should call my sister. I should pow-wow with the girls. I should sleep on this decision for at least three days.

  Instead, I grab my phone and send Josh a text.

  So, when do we leave?

  “This island’s name sounds like the ocean,” I call over my shoulder. “St. Lucia. Looo-sha.”

  I stand on a balcony overlooking a bay with clear turquoise water so smooth, the deep green peaks of the Pitons on its southern edge are reflected in its surface. Behind me lies a luxury suite replete with every creature comfort a vacationer could want: wide couches and chairs with downy cushions you could drown in; a travertine-tiled shower and matching Jacuzzi tub, with an assortment of soaps, body washes, and lotions in tiny bottles; a fully-stocked wet bar with real crystal glasses and stemware.

  Let’s not forget the infinity pool to my left. From the moment we walked through the door and I saw the missing fourth wall leading to the balcony and pool, I wanted nothing more than to dive in.

  That is, until I saw the beach.

  Josh strolls to my side. “What do you want to do first?”

  “Swimming.” I stretch my arms overhead, then let them fall to shoulder height as if I’m hugging the bay below. “Maybe falling asleep down there on a lounge chair.”

  “We just got here, and all you want to do is take a nap?”

  “And swim. Don’t forget the swimming.”

  Our bags were brought up while we checked in. I brush past Josh and practically skip into the bedroom, where our luggage sits on racks beside the closet. If we were going to be here longer than two nights, I would unpack. But that seems a waste of time and energy. Unlocking my suitcase, I pull out my tankini and a cover-up, then slip into the bathroom to change. In less than ten minutes, I emerge, ready for the beach.

  Josh’s suitcase also stands open, and when I reenter the living room, I see him standing on the balcony, looking out over the vista. He wears his swim trunks but no shirt, so I indulge in an unapologetic gawk at the lean muscles bunching across his back and shoulders.

  I wonder what he’s been doing to stay fit in Asheville. Probably hits the gym every lunch hour.

  A ripple of unease brings on a queasy feeling, and I flatten my hand over my stomach to quell it. Some of the image results in my web search come to mind, reminding me of all the beautiful women he’s dated. How many has he taken on luxury beach vacations like this?

  A lot, I’m sure, though I’d be surprised if those vacations included a trip home to meet the parents.

  The lack of full disclosure on both sides of our little love affair suddenly doesn’t sit well.

  “I Googled you.”

  Josh whips around at the sound of my voice, eyebrows raised in surprise. “When?”

  I fight to keep my gaze on his face, though I make a mental note to tease Ava that she was right about his six-pack abs. “Before I agreed to come on this trip.”

  “You’ve always struck me as the sensible sort.” He watches my tentative steps toward the center of the room, but makes no move to meet me halfway. “I have to wonder what turned up that convinced you to come, rather than tell me to bugger off.”

  “It’s what didn’t turn up that convinced me.” I toy with the drawstring of my cover-up. “There are lots of pictures of you out there, with one woman after another. Never the same one twice. But as far as I could tell, I’m the first person you’ve gotten romantically involved with in two years. Maybe the first you’ve dated exclusively in, well, ever.”

  The line of his jaw hardens, but he doesn’t reply.

  Taking a deep breath, I plunge ahead. “I won’t lie and say I’m not scared shitless about whatever’s going on between us. It’s a little unprecedented for me, too. But I kind of felt like it was time to go all-in. Whatever happens, happens.”

  “And you’re fine with everything you learned about me?” he asks quietly.

  My hands drop to my sides as I cross the remaining space to stand before him. “You’re just thinking about how the gossip rags have painted you. Josh Mattingly, second son of a rich and prominent family, always on the prowl for the next pretty woman. Right?”

  Color rushes into his face.

  “That’s their version of your story. I’m sure there’s a big grain of truth in it.” I reach up to place my palms on his cheeks, my stomach twisting at the embarrassed heat I feel there. “But I also found out that you graduated college with
close to a four-point-oh GPA, and honors. That you’ve spearheaded some fantastic charity projects and made good business deals for your family’s company. And I haven’t forgotten the picture you showed me of you and your nieces.”

  A look of conflicted gratitude appears as Josh pulls my hands away, then laces his fingers with mine. “There’s a lot I need to tell you, if you decide to go to St. Croix.”

  I’ve already decided. “Later. Right now we should just have some fun. That’s why we came to St. Lucia, isn’t it? Three days to disconnect with everything but each other?”

  “Damn right, Red.” He grins, then grows serious again. “But just to be clear . . . I’m not expecting anything from you on this trip. You can have the bedroom. I’ll rack out on the couch.”

  His meaning sinks in, and it’s my turn to blush. We haven’t done much more than kiss since the night of the power outage, and aside from one time when we fell asleep on my couch watching a classic movie marathon, we haven’t spent the night together. I never thought one way or the other about what potentially could happen between us on this trip. “That’s totally not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is.” He pulls me close and leans down until our foreheads touch. “I’m trying to break a few bad habits. We started off taking it slow for your sake. Now, I guess we’re taking it slow for mine.”

  “We’re both adults,” I say. “Nobody’s expecting you to be a saint.”

  His grip tightens on my fingers. “I am. The last thing I want is for us to get involved like that, when there’s still a chance of this blowing up in my face.”

  “Okay.” My voice sounds tiny and worried. Wouldn’t it blow up in my face? I’m the one who’ll be left behind.

  Josh runs his hands up my arms and rests them on my cheeks, not unlike the way I touched his just a moment ago. “Marissa, I’m trying not to do things the way I always have before. Two years ago, I would have done everything in my power to get you through that bedroom door, and a lot sooner than this. Believe me when I say that waiting—doing the right thing with you—has been the most difficult challenge I’ve ever undertaken.”