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

by J. Lynn Rowan

  “I haven’t been comparing him to Jared,” I sputter, keeping my head down.

  “Maybe not consciously. But the way you’ve approached this whole relationship is directly tied to what that asshat did to you.” Ava stands and gets the coffee pot to refill my cup. “Granted, we haven’t spent a ton of time getting to know him, but Josh doesn’t strike me as someone who’s deceitful.”

  At this, I lift my head. “He’s not. He’s never lied to me.”

  “Then why didn’t you believe him when he told you how he feels?” Caitlin asks.

  I wrap my hands around my cup. “Actions speak louder than words sometimes.”

  “Okay, so let’s look at his actions from last night.” Ava plunks back into her seat. “First, when he was introducing you to Dave and Brenda Connors, how did he do it?”

  “Gave them my name. Told them I was an interior designer, that we’d met right after he got to town.”

  Ava waves a hand to dismiss my answer. “I didn’t ask that right. How did he behave while he was introducing you?”

  “He . . .” I pause, thinking. “He made sure to keep my hand on his arm. Kept looking down and smiling at me. He told them I was the most talented interior designer he’d ever met, and threw in a silly joke I used with his parents about seeing each other across a crowded room the night we met.”

  Caitlin catches on to Ava’s line of questioning. “And when he was taking you around to the execs and managers. Did he shoulder you aside or keep you on the fringes?”

  My heart begins to thump against my ribcage. “No, he included me in the conversations, even though I didn’t have much to contribute. It seemed like most of them knew who I was, and that Josh and I had been dating for a while.”

  “And what did he do after bitch Brenda came onto him?” Ava asks.

  “Nothing.” My voice catches. “He just stood there.”

  Mel squeezes my hand. “Exactly! He didn’t react to her at all, didn’t even acknowledge her proposition. You’ve got to figure, a guy with Josh’s romantic history—no offense—knows exactly how to stay in control of a situation like that. And since the only person he wants to be with is you, nothing Brenda Connors could say or do was going to convince him to sleep with her.”

  “And,” Caitlin says, “you know he came after you. He said so, and Boomer mentioned that Josh had come here looking for you before he found out you’d gone to the bar. The amount of time that passed between you running out and Josh finding you is too short for anything to have happened between him and Brenda. He saw you bolt but had to wait for an elevator. He probably called while he was waiting, but by then you were already gone.”

  I start to speak, but Mel preempts me. “If you go back even further, you have to take into account the fact that he didn’t just treat you to a tropical beach getaway. He took you to meet his family. Guys don’t do that if they aren’t planning on sticking around for a good, long time. They especially don’t buy two-million-dollar houses in the town you call home, if they’re about to say sayonara.”

  Glancing from friend to friend, I press my palms onto the table. All of them have brought up excellent points, and if I just go by Josh’s actions, his intentions are pretty clear. The addition of his words solidifies them.

  “I broke up with him,” I murmur. “He cried big ugly man tears. There’s no going back.”

  The girls sit in silence, though I’m sure they’re all dying to point out that he tried his damnedest to keep me from walking out on him.

  Walking out on him.

  “I just did to Josh what Jared did to me.” My voice is flat, and I lower my forehead to the table again.

  “You know what?” Caitlin finally says. “I think there’s too much of Jared still haunting you. Somehow, you have to find a way to exorcise his ghost once and for all.”

  Lifting my head, I meet her gaze. To either side, Ava and Mel nod in emphatic agreement. I sit back and drum my fingertips on the table. “You’re absolutely right. Where’s my phone?”

  Ava launches from her seat and disappears down the hall, returning a moment later with my cell in hand. I take it from her, suck in a huge breath, and dial the number of the best real estate agent in Asheville.

  Three days later, a For Sale sign is planted at the end of my driveway.

  The girls had expected me to call Josh, not start the process of putting my house on the market. But Caitlin was right. The thing that’s held me back for years is the lingering ghost of Jared “the Asshat” Turner. Every decision I’ve made about my career, my love life, even who I am as a person, has revolved around regaining control and stability after he left me. Even my house has stood as a testament to what I once hoped to share with him. While I hold out zero hope of ever seeing Josh again, given the way I voluntarily destroyed our relationship, I’ll never find my way out of this emotional mess if I’m still tethered to my past.

  It’s time to move on.

  While I wait for showings to be scheduled, I throw myself into the final preparations for the grand opening of my friends’ event planning boutique. After full days working in the space they’ve leased in Grove Arcade, I come home to bury myself in planning for design jobs that will start later this autumn. Only after I’m too exhausted to think do I drag myself to bed. Then I fall asleep before thoughts of Josh can worm their way into my mind.

  The first offer on my house comes in a week after it’s listed, and a second follows close behind. Both are good offers, and would let me to pay off the rest of my mortgage and still have money left over to rent a small apartment downtown. There won’t be enough for commercial office space as well. But maybe the change in finances will allow me to allot enough in savings that I can find someplace to lease after the start of the year.

  Signing the sale documents is easier than I thought it would be, given how much time, energy, and effort I’ve put into my house. The difficult part is knowing I’ll have to leave my garden behind. I’ll have to rethink my signature final touch. My camellias will just have to go on hiatus until I figure out what to do.

  My real estate agent sets the closing date for one month from now. I drag my feet over packing, but with the girls to help sort and organize, and Boomer to do the heavy lifting, all but the bare necessities are boxed up in a single weekend. Anything that won’t fit in a one-bedroom apartment gets listed on a couple different online yard sale sites. Ava offers her spare bedroom in case I can’t find a new place before the closing.

  To the outside observer, everything seems to be going according to plan. But the night before the girls’ grand opening, I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, as a single thought spins around and around in my head.

  Josh hasn’t tried to contact me, not even once, since I got on that elevator three weeks ago.

  I do the math. From what I remember, today was supposed to be the deadline to sign his deal with Connors Technologies, making it part of Mattingly Enterprises. Josh’s business in Asheville is over. He’ll be on a plane back to St. Croix tomorrow or the next day, if he hasn’t left already.

  Tears leak from the corners of my eyes and trickle down my temples into my hair.

  Josh is gone.

  And I have to live with the fact that I’ve broken both of our hearts in one fell swoop.

  Chapter 18

  The One I'm With

  I stand at a round, marble-topped table, placed in the center of my friends’ boutique space, and fuss with the arrangement of early camellias. They’re the last I’ll be able to cut from my own garden, which makes them even more special to my friends. Finally satisfied with the cloud of red and pink blooms, I place my hands on my hips and rotate to survey the room.

  Everything looks just so. The cream tile floor has been scrubbed to a shine and covered with several all-wool oriental rugs, woven in shades of deep brown
and cream. Two of the walls sport a crisp linen paint with undertones of pink, while the rear wall pops with a deep strawberry color. The combination draws the eye to the back of the room, and will hopefully entice people to enter through the chestnut-framed French doors at the entrance to the boutique.

  A series of sconces provides ample light on either side of the room, while matching pendants hang from the ceiling above the reception/waiting space and each work area. The desks and tables are chestnut to coordinate with the doors, and are matched with cushy armchairs that will beg clients to settle in for a consultation. I’ve tucked folding screens beside each of the three desks, sturdy but lightweight enough to move as needed to provide privacy.

  The walls are dedicated to photos, certificates, and other accolades each of my friends has collected independently over the past couple years. One back corner holds two decorative wire dress forms on a small raised dais, one of which currently displays a gorgeous ball gown that Caitlin just finished beading this morning. She artfully draped the other with scarves and long chain necklaces. A small, partially screened doorway behind the dais leads to a good-sized storage closet, which Caitlin has converted to a fitting room. The marble-topped table holding my enormous camellia arrangement divides the boutique’s waiting and consulting areas.

  I sigh, taking in the extent of my work. A feeling of accomplishment washes over me, along with a rush of sadness.

  If only Josh could see this.

  Before I grow too downcast, the jingle of the bell hanging off the door jerks me out of my reverie.

  “This is so awesome,” Mel says as she stops beside me. Together, we back up to stand in front of the door, arms linked, to smile at the final product. “It might be the best you’ve ever done.”

  “I second that,” Ava says as she and Caitlin push inside, bumping Mel and me out of the way with the door. “But I still wish you’d let us pay you the usual service fee.”

  “Not a chance.” I fold my arms and cop a stubborn glare. “I told you all up front. A little space on each desk for my business cards and priority placement of my print portfolio in the waiting area is payment enough.”

  Caitlin lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, well. Guess that means you don’t want the celebratory cheesecake we bought for after closing time.”

  “Now, I didn’t say I wouldn’t accept cheesecake as payment.”

  Laughing, we crowd in for a group hug.

  Then Ava hands me the morning newspaper. “Did you see this?”

  “See what?” I ask, unfolding the paper.

  “The front page,” she replies.

  “I don’t have a print subscription and didn’t look at the electronic edition yet.” The girls exchange knowing glances with each other. My skin prickles, and I lower the paper to my side. “Do I want to look at the front page?”

  They don’t answer, so I lift the paper again. My mouth goes dry at the headline.

  Mattingly Enterprises’ Senior Exec Signs Merger Deal with Connors Tech, Announces Asheville-Based Consult Firm. A huge color photograph is centered below the headline, showing Josh in a posed handshake with Dave Connors in front of a group of executives. The story takes up almost the whole front page. A couple columns are broken up by a small headshot of Josh, as well as a picture of the house in Montford.

  I raise the paper higher, squinting to make out the tiny caption below the picture of the house. “Mattingly plans to renovate an historic Montford home, recently purchased, and utilize a first-floor guest suite as an office for his web development start-up,” I read aloud.

  “He’s staying,” Mel says.

  I shrug, folding the paper and tossing it on one of the tables beside the waiting area chairs. “He’ll probably just rent it out to whoever he hires as the local face of his startup. He can work remotely from anywhere on the globe. Not like we’ll ever run into each other again.”

  Ava throws her hands into the air and lets out an exasperated groan. “Are you kidding, Marissa? How much more public do you want his intentions to be?”

  “Maybe he’s just decided an Asheville property is a good write-off on his taxes.”

  Mel picks the paper up and studies the picture. Inclining it toward me, she points to a plainly dressed woman standing behind Dave Connors. “Is that bitch Brenda?” At my nod of confirmation, she hmphs softly. “She looks like she just ate a lemon.”

  Caitlin peers over her shoulder. “Definitely not like a woman who’s fulfilled her mission to have her way with Joshua Mattingly.”

  I snatch the paper out of Mel’s hand. “Enough. Let it go.”

  “Touchy,” Caitlin mumbles to Mel behind her hand.

  “Seriously. Drop it.” Once more, I toss the folded paper onto the chairside table. “Don’t you all have a business to open?”

  Right on cue, the alarm on Ava’s phone goes off. Though my friends are dying not to forget the topic, they have to at least table it. Launching into motion, they quickly settle their purses behind their desks. Mel turns on the satellite radio and switches to a station that plays instrumental versions of pop music. Caitlin hurries to her dress forms and adjusts the fall of the ball gown’s fabric. Last, Ava unlocks and opens the door. The slight squeak of a cart’s wheels announces the arrival of the pastries, coffee, and tea they’ve ordered from a bakery on the other side of the Arcade.

  My role in their grand opening is almost over. Though they have a receptionist, I agreed to sit and welcome people as they come in. I help the bakery employee arrange the refreshments on the sideboard in the waiting area, putting out business cards the owner sent along with the food. Then I return to the reception desk and set out a basket of small contest entry forms and a glass fishbowl, where people can drop completed forms or business cards for a chance to win a percentage off an event-planning package.

  Within a half hour, the boutique bustles with curious customers and employees from other shops in Grove Arcade. My friends circulate, answering questions and taking down contact information from prospective clients. All the while, I sit at the reception desk, content to watch them work and smiling when I overhear a comment about the decor. But overall, I have nothing to do.

  My mind keeps backtracking to the night I asked Josh to join me for the grand opening. He promised to be here, and every time someone walks through the door, my heart leaps in hopeful expectation. Slumping further into the receptionist’s chair with each dose of disappointment, I mentally chastise myself for the wishful thinking. I broke Josh’s heart. It would take a huge act of contrition to start repairing the damage I caused, but I don’t know how I can ever face him again.

  I try to swallow the sudden lump in my throat and pull my phone from my purse. A few taps and swipes, and the picture of Josh and me at Chimney Rock appears on the screen. Upon seeing it, my chest seems to implode, forcing a choked sob from me. I press my fist against my mouth to stifle it.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  What was I thinking? I can’t let Josh leave without telling him the truth, that I love him and I’m abjectly sorry for everything I said the morning after his work party. He has every right to slam the door in my face, but if I don’t at least try, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I cast a quick glance around the boutique. A slight lull in activity has let Ava, Mel, and Caitlin sit down at their desks for a few minutes. A few women have clustered around the camellias, poring over one of Caitlin’s design books, but they seem content to be left to their own devices for the time being.

  Pushing back from the desk, I swipe up my phone and shove it into my purse. Then I march into the consulting area and pause between Mel and Ava’s desks. “I have to go. I’ll come back later if . . . I have to go.”

  All three of my friends rise and move toward me, each with her own version of an encouraging smile. After giving me hugs and pats to bolster me in my mission, th
ey prod me toward the door.

  It takes all my effort to keep from sprinting out.

  Twenty minutes later, I speed walk into the lobby of Josh’s hotel and head straight for the elevator. I’m not exactly sure what I plan to say to him, but it may involve some begging.

  I just hope I can hold it together long enough to get everything out coherently.

  The hallway is deserted when I step off the elevator on his floor, and I pause to draw a deep inhalation before marching to Josh’s room.

  Moment of truth.

  Holding my breath, I knock on his door.

  No answer.

  I knock again, but then release the air from my lungs and lower my hand to my side. My heart drops past my stomach and settles somewhere near my feet. It’s possible he’s just out, but it’s more likely he’s already gone. There’s only one way to find out.

  The walk back to the elevator and the ride down to the lobby are a blur as I fight to keep from bursting into childish tears. As soon as the doors slide open, I walk to the front desk and flash a bright smile at the clerk.

  “Hey, is there a way to find out if a guest has checked out?” I ask.

  The clerk nods and starts typing something into the computer. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Joshua Mattingly.”

  He glances up at me, one eyebrow arched.

  I soften my smile. “Please.”

  The clerk studies me for another second, then starts typing again. A minute later, he lifts his hands from the keyboard. “He hasn’t checked out yet. Do you want to leave a message for when he comes back to the hotel?”

  “No, that’s okay. Thanks anyway.”