Copyright © Lovy Books Ltd, 2019
Summer Cooper has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
Lovy Books Ltd
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CONTENTS
1. Emily
2. Dylan
3. Emily
4. Dylan
5. Emily
6. Emily
7. Emily
8. Dylan
9. Emily
10. Dylan
11. Emily
12. Dylan
13. Emily
14. Dylan
15. Emily
16. Dylan
17. Emily
18. Dylan
19. Emily
Liar liar…
Summer Cooper
Emily
I had to live my life. My brother could take a long walk off a short pier if he thought he could control me with threats. I was the master of my fate, not him—not anybody else.
Even if my life had just been turned upside down and I was left alone again. I’d chosen to tell my brother to back off when he’d found out I was seeing Dylan James. Unfortunately, I’d just walked out on Dylan. I didn’t want to sign another one of his contracts, so I’d left him in his apartment. I’d made the choice to tell Dylan he could shove his contract. Okay, so I’d hoped he’d follow me out and proclaim his undying love. Well, maybe not all that, but an agreement to not have a contract would have been nice.
It seemed I’d made this lonely, empty bed I’d just woken up in. I’d only been able to sleep a few hours off and on throughout the night. My brain kept waking up and replaying the words I’d had spoken with Dylan. I’d go to sleep for an hour, and then I’d wake up to remember every sentence that was said between myself and Trent.
I was exhausted from my attempts at sleep, but hopeful that someone had contacted me. I dragged my phone over to lay it below my pillow so I could see if the light was blinking. It always blinked when I had a message or voicemail.
I stared at the dark screen of my phone: no texts messages, no missed calls, it was just blank. Nobody wanted to talk to me because I’d chosen to live my life how I wanted to. I was paying the price for that rebellion now.
My head started to pound, and I curled up around the extra pillows on my bed. When would this nightmare end? Alright, it had only been a few hours since all of this happened, but somebody could have contacted me. Roxie, or, well, she was about the only one who might have.
Trent and Dylan may hate each other, but I could guarantee you they were thinking the same thing right now. I could just imagine them both, sulking and having a bit of a temper tantrum, while I was here alone with nobody to talk to now. Dylan could talk to his mother, or his father now that the man was better and on the mend. Trent had Jess, or his children, our brothers, or our mother and father to talk to.
According to Trent, they were all off limits to me now. Even my nieces and nephews. What a mess this all was. I rolled over, but that only made my head pound even more. This was not how I’d planned to spend the rest of my life. Of course, I’d not really had a plan, other than get rid of my virginity, experience some real sex, and find out what life had to offer.
I rolled out of bed, took a shower that partially relieved my headache, and then had some orange juice while two pieces of bread toasted in the toaster. The juice seemed to clear the rest of the headache away, and I was left with possibilities. I reached for a notebook I’d left on the table in the kitchen and grabbed a pen.
I wrote the words ‘My New Life’ at the top and started to put numbers in. I added a few lines into the list as I munched on the toast but soon came up short. I’d written down new haircut and new clothes, but I’d already started on the second one. I had a new home of my own, and a car, my own income, and I didn’t have to work.
I could do whatever I wanted to do. But what did I want to do? I’d wanted to help my brothers run the hotel and had finished a degree in that field. Now, it seemed pointless. I could go to work for other hotels, but would they hire a Thompson? I bit at the inside of my cheek as I pondered and tapped the end of the pen against my notebook.
Would anybody want someone who could very well be a spy in their midst? Would they be too afraid my loyalties would lie with my family and keep me in low positions where inside information would be kept from me? What else could I do with my degree?
I wasn’t sure, so I put that down on the list. Find out what I could do besides hotel management. Why? My brain eventually protested. I didn't need to work.
I looked around the house and knew I had to have something to keep me busy. The charity I volunteered at with Roxie wasn’t doing a lot lately, and we had nothing planned for the future either. Maybe I should organize a fundraiser or something? I marked it down as a possibility.
Perhaps I could volunteer at another charity? Or take up a new hobby?
My phone buzzed, and I hated to admit it, but I nearly broke it as I tried to pick it up, and it went flying off the table. I finally got it in my hand and swiped without even looking who it was. Was it Trent? Dylan? Roxie? Jesse maybe?
“Hi, Emily? This is Debra down at Happy Nails. You have in an appointment in half an hour; we just wanted to remind you.”
“OH? Do I? I’ll be right down then.” It wasn’t anyone I’d hoped for, but getting my nails done would be a distraction.
I threw on some clothes, just a pair of skinny jeans and a long, slouchy sweater in baby pink, and a pair of ankle boots in black leather. I looked shabby chic and left the house without a backward glance.
I might be a lonely girl, but I’d find a way to fill my time. I arrived at the nail salon early and looked around. I had two colors picked out by the time Debra came to get me.
“You ready, Emily?” She asked as I sat.
“Yes, I’ve picked these two out; could you do something with that?”
I’d been going to Debra for years, and she looked at me now with confusion.
“Are you sure you meant to pick up those colors?” She looked down at the pearly midnight blue powder polish and the neon green and blinked.
I’d never picked out such gaudy colors before, I was usually a French manicure kind of girl, or I’d go for a demure pink or nude color, but this was bright and would catch attention. I wanted something pretty, to make me feel pretty, and I knew she’d come up with a design that would amaze me.
“I’m turning over a new leaf,” I proclaimed and waved my hands down my slouchy attire. “No more always serious, business-ready Emily for me. From now on, it’s pretty, fun, and maybe just a little loud.”
I gave her a wink and a smile, and she got to work prepping my nails. “Anything you want, Emily. I aim to please.”
I watched as she took the old gel polish off, trimmed, shaped, and buffed my nails, and then, finally, delicately polished each nail with precision. She did a diagonal line on several fingers, a vertical line on two, and painted one blue and then used a white and green to make flower petals on one finger of each hand. Some glossy gel polish and the manicure was done.
I looked down at the chaotic, but absolutely beautiful colors that she�
��d given me and grinned. “Perfect. I’ll be looking at these all day.”
“I bet you will,” Debra agreed and took her mask off. We finished up the business of payment, and soon I was on my way.
I knew I was just avoiding going home. I loved that place, and still did, but damn, it was big and empty with just me there. I didn’t like the way sound echoed back. Maybe I needed more furniture? Pillows and stuff like that. Big rooms always sounded emptier when there wasn’t a lot of clutter in them to dampen the sound.
I headed to the nearest mall and bought even more stuff to put around the house. Candles, candle holders, giant vases full of faux plant life, wall hangings, little chairs that would never hold the average American but would fill space, and even several sets of beer crates. They would hold … stuff. I didn’t know what, but I’d find something to put in them.
I headed home with my new household junk, and it took me four trips to empty out the car, but I didn’t care. It was eating up the minutes that I was alone. Another hour saw the house a little more decorated, but still silent. It also kind of looked like I’d gone crazy at a yard sale, but I didn’t care. The house didn’t feel as empty now.
That was the crux of the problem. My phone hadn’t beeped or buzzed all day long. I checked it quite often. Far more than I cared to admit. I was a sad case, but this was just pitiful. I didn’t even have business contacts to call me.
For a minute, I thought about calling Jessi just to see if she’d answer. I talked myself out of it and scrolled through my contacts. Dylan’s name was there at the top, an A in front of his name to make sure of that. My fingers hovered, and then finally I clicked on it. I’d send him a text message.
I composed a dozen different lines but deleted each one. He didn’t deserve me. Not if he couldn't take me without a contract, or at the very least, explain to me why he so desperately needed a contract. I knew the stories of men who had been taken to the cleaners, but in the majority of cases, things like being sued didn’t happen.
For that matter, he should’ve known by now that I wasn't like whoever the woman was who gave him such a complex. I wasn’t about to kid myself and pretend that this need for a contract was normal. I saw it as childish, but I also knew it was some deep part of his psyche, something in him that would not allow him to relax without that piece of paper to reassure him.
It was like women who wouldn’t have sex without marriage first. Did they really think that would stop a man from sleeping with another woman? Or that the marriage would last forever? Okay, maybe that was a bit snide of me to think like that, but really? What did people think a piece of paper could really do?
It was what the promise on that piece of paper said that mattered. As far as this ridiculous contract went, it held no water at all legally. A promise, as far as I was concerned, meant far more to me because I had a little bit of integrity. I didn’t like going back on my word, and if I said I’d do something, then I’d do it. Barring unforeseen circumstances, of course. Sometimes you just couldn’t get to a charity function if you were too busy being sick from a stomach bug you picked up from your niece or nephew. Otherwise, I did as I said I would.
So why Dylan felt this was necessary really got to me, you would think by now I’d proven myself to him. He’d done things to me, seen parts of me; seen me in situations that I’d never allowed another human being to experience. Didn’t that deserve some kind of trust? That was what it had boiled down to, really. He didn’t trust me. Or was it himself?
Now, where had that thought come from? I went to the fridge, poured myself a glass of wine, and came back to the couch. Was he afraid of himself maybe? Did he think that piece of paper would put a shield around him and prevent him from developing feelings for me? Was that it? If that was the case, he failed already.
The man had said from day one that he didn’t want a relationship. He’d asked me for a contract for a few days, then a couple of weeks, and now, he wanted another one? As I pointed out to him last night, we were already in a relationship by now. That brick wall he’d built with his contract hadn’t worked this time.
Maybe that was really the problem? He knew I’d already gotten under his skin, and that made me pause with the glass halfway to my mouth.
Dylan had feelings for me. Shit.
I blinked and then chugged my wine down.
It was so obvious, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t it dawned on me until now?
It hadn’t stopped him from asking for that contract, though. Would his feelings win out over his head now? Maybe?
I couldn’t swear that; I didn’t want a lifetime of what Dylan gave me. So far, he made me feel like I was perfect, as if no other woman could make him as happy as I did. If I was honest, I doubted anyone could make me as happy as he’d made me. I loved being with him, whether that was during sex, when we slept together peacefully, or when we were watching films.
I remembered our trip to the island and thought that might have been the most perfect time we’d had so far. I wanted more days like that, days when we were almost a normal couple. Days when I could care for him as more than just my sir. I wanted to rub his feet when he’d come home from work and to cook for him. I wanted to ease into long baths with him and wash the day away from his skin.
I wanted to hold him when he needed to be held and laugh with him when he needed that. Instead, I was alone on my couch, my pride intact, but my heart starting to crack. Trent had already broken it, but Dylan had put his own little crack there now.
I didn’t know if I could stand this loneliness or the way everything had turned out. I’d given up my family for my pride. I wasn’t even technically with Dylan, but I’d chosen him over my family. Well, that wasn’t the whole of it. They’d treated me like shit for ages now, and I’d basically dumped them because of it, but I would have gone back, eventually. If Trent hadn’t come over here and shown his ass.
I wouldn’t be disrespected in my own home by anybody, least of all my brother. I was paying the price for that pride, and before long, it might be me who cracked. I went for another glass of wine, the need to drown my sorrows strong now.
Dylan
She’d left me, and it was a hard concept to swallow. And I really needed to swallow; my mouth was as dry as a desert. My brain quieted down once I put my head on the pillow, and my thoughts turned right to Stephanie. I’d never been left by a partner before. Ever. Our time together would end, and they would move on; well, most of the time it was me who moved on, but I’d never been walked out on.
I’d woken up with a hangover of epic proportions, and the words she walked out on me banged in time with the pain that pulsed in my head. I rolled over in bed and stared at the window. How was it still dark outside? Surely the sun should have risen by now?
I flopped my hand around for my phone to see what time it was and blinded myself when the screen came on. The pain that lanced from my eyes into my brain was just one more thing telling me I’d had too much to drink last night.
It was seven pm. How the hell had that happened?
I went into the kitchen, where I’d left my laptop, and sure enough, the clock read 7:03. I’d scratched my head and tried to figure out how the fuck I’d slept the day away. I ignored the notifications of emails and messages on my laptop and phone and went into the bathroom. None of the attempts of contact were from Stephanie, so fuck it. I’d wanted a shower, a shave, and some kind of food.
And maybe a couple of aspirin with some orange juice. The orange juice gave me pause when I saw it in the fridge. I’d never kept juices or healthy snacks in the house until Stephanie came into my world. Now it was routine to grab some juice or a banana instead of a soda or a bag of chips.
I’d picked up the banana on the counter, looked glumly at the brown spots, and ate it anyway. It might give the aspirin time to kick in before I got dressed to go out. There was no real food in the house, so I’d have to go out and find something somewhere.
I could always call for food to be delivered, bu
t I needed to get out. The pain in my head made me restless, and I needed to distract myself. I drove to a diner close by and went in. The smell of cooking waffles made me sick to my stomach, but I knew I’d get used to it. I sat and ordered a steak and cheese sandwich with hash browns, and I stared out of the large pane of glass.
Cars with bright headlights whizzed by, and I couldn’t help but wonder where they were headed. It was something else Stephanie had taught me, curiosity about those around me. She was always wondering things like where the woman with the red bag and the bright yellow pants was off to in such a rush, or if the man with the sad face that kept staring at the same page of the paper needed someone to lend him a hand. She’d noticed things like that, and it was just one of the many endearing things about Stephanie.
Until I’d met her, people had either been in my way or on the peripheral and didn’t matter. Now, I wondered if the man with the briefcase who sat in the booth ahead of me was a banker, a drug dealer, or a doctor without a family to go home to.
She’d already changed me, and I’d barely spent any real time with her. We’d spent a lot of time having sex and going out, but that still wasn’t quality time. Not like my parents’ marriage.
My brain kind of froze at that point. My real parents. I’d tried to never think of them because it just brought back heartache for me. A flashed memory flitted through my mind. Mom as she screamed at Dad that she hated him. She always hated him when she was in that mood. The tears on her face as she screamed. The accusations she’d made that final night, her face as she left my room, just before the smell of gasoline hit me.
I’d learned to fear my mother long before that moment, and something had told me to get out of the house. I’d climbed out of the window and tried to find my dad. I’d thought he had been in his shed in our back yard, toddling around with his HAM radio stuff, but he hadn’t been there. As flames flickered in the dark windows, it had hit me that Dad must have been in the house still. I’d tried to get back in, but the house had lit up like a bomb had gone off inside.
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