“You’re breaking up with me because of the tickets?” The light turned and she stepped into the street.
She walked faster and flung an answer over her shoulder. “No, I’m breaking up with you because I met someone else.”
Oh. Carter stopped and stared. She raced away then turned the next corner and disappeared. He pulled the mass of electronic debris from his pocket and cursed. His phone agreement still had six months left, and the only way he’d be able to replace it was—if it were destroyed. Now that was a commitment, a long-term phone agreement. Which he hadn’t been all that satisfied with anyway.
“I was kind of hoping I could get an upgrade.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and headed down the street to the phone store. An odd calmness settled across his shoulders. Why was he numb to the rejection? He had no idea. Maybe Jackson was right—commitment just wasn’t his thing.
Chapter Two
Still in her running gear, Abigail Jeffries flicked the switch to light up the sign over the new store door. She stepped outside and turned to give appropriate admiration. Her own shop, with a lighted sign over the door, and tomorrow it was open! She wanted to hug herself but instead dropped hands to her hips and nodded at the words “Jeffries Florist.” Bright red had been a good choice. The lights certainly got attention. God knows the drab brick needed a boost. She wished she could call home and share the excitement.
“You’re going to catch a cold if you keep standing out here admiring that sign.” Her friend and top employee-slash-partner, Caroline, peeked her head out the door then retreated.
“I can’t believe it’s mine. Ours.” Abby closeted the touch of bittersweet victory and followed her in before twisting the door lock.
Caroline shrugged. “It is. And so is the life-long debt associated with it.”
“Not life-long. Just a ten-year loan. We’ll pay it off in no time.” She silently thanked the decision to cash in her company investment plan when she’d left her old job managing new store openings for her family’s retail business. Her parents still hadn’t gotten over the betrayal to their business heritage. She was the only one that hadn’t followed the flock. Still, after the big blow-up meeting, her heart wasn’t in it. The money cut her loan down significantly. Of course, it was also the only thing standing between her and destitution if the store failed.
Losing everything was a little scary but losing her mind to that job had seemed worse. Abby shuddered, thinking about the meeting that had led to her decision. It had been a harried week at the office. Her dad had delegated one of their biggest new projects, the opening of ten new stores, to her. She wasn’t ready and she knew it. Still, he’d assured her she would get whatever support she needed from the real estate development contractors.
Yeah, right. What a group of dirtbags they were.
At the initial meeting, she’d started off by introducing herself. She was so nervous she’d forgotten to let them do the same and later had to ask each man’s first name.
Halfway into the details, one of them kept interrupting. She tried to rein the group back in but he just kept asking her personal questions and it was—creepy. Why did the guy care whether she was old enough to run a project of this type? Why did he keep alluding to her “boyfriend” or “husband”? Was he fishing? Then he made the casual remark that they’d be going out for drinks after work and wanted her to meet them.
She’d ignored the questions up to that point, but that one came off as if—the guy was hitting on her. Right in front of the entire team, on a conference call, no less. The hair on the back of her neck had risen. “No, I will not meet you for drinks, nor does it make one iota of difference if my “boyfriend” or “husband” is concerned about the time on this project since I currently have neither. However, right now what I actually do need is a real estate contractor that I can trust to do this project without taking this to a personal level. Someone that isn’t always chasing skirts or trying to sleep with the boss, secretary, or house-cleaning crew. That obviously isn’t you so this meeting is over.”
A strained silence filled the space between each side of the call. Abby had waited for a response and right about the time she’d given up, one of the other voices spoke. “So, you’re one of the power-hungry bitches that rips a man’s heart out personally and professionally. What next? You send him packing or you just disappear? Isn’t that the way your type does things?”
What the hell? Who had the balls to say that? She hit the end button on the conference phone and steamed away from the meeting. Her brother, father, and one of the staff sat with their mouths agape, watching her leave.
When her dad tried to talk her into making nice with them in order to get the project back on track, she refused. Instead, she packed up her office and left. She’d planned to do it for some time. That meeting just nailed the coffin in her corporate career.
It wasn’t until later that she’d learned the company fired the guy who’d made the last statement. They apologized to her dad. Maybe they would have done so with her, too, but she was already gone.
Badeep deep.
Abby’s phone signaled a text message from the depths of her purse, lodged under the sales area. She reached behind the ornate filigreed wood of the counter and pulled the phone up to view the message.
She broke up, idiot. Tickets shit idea.
“What is it?” Caroline asked.
Abby shook her head. “Someone apparently has the wrong number.” She held up the screen for her to read.
“So, it’s a text message, not that Justchat app? Jesus, Abby, you need to cut back on the social media.”
“I know, I know. Yes, it’s a text message.”
Caroline squinted at the display. “Oh! Poor guy. He should have bought her flowers.”
Abby grinned. “Yeah, flowers from us. Wait! He still could.”
Caroline flipped a light switch near the door. “Do you even know who that is?”
“No, but judging by the area code, he’s local.” She held the phone up and tapped in a message.
Sorry. U should have bought flowers.
She hovered a finger over the send button, hesitant to deceive the poor guy.
Caroline pressed a finger over hers and the message was gone, sent over the airwaves to a poor schmuck that needed to make good with his girl.
Badeep deep.
Right. What was I thinking? Listened to u, so obviously I wasn’t. Guess I’m still a little chapped about the work thing.
Caroline peered over Abby’s shoulder then yanked the phone away and tapped in a response before handing it back.
Har Har. Still could. New flower shop on main by PD
Abby punched Caroline on the arm and grabbed her purse. “You’re shameless.” She dropped the phone into it and pushed Caroline toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow, and I really need a shower.”
Caroline pinched her nose. “You are a little ripe. Have you told your family about the store opening? Are they coming?”
“I sent them one of the flyers we mailed out. They know, but they don’t usually have time for these shindigs.”
Abby had managed to hide the disappointment all day, but if they stayed much longer, she was sure to break down. The pain in her leg from her encounter with Ruckus served to muffle the more intense pain in her ego. None of her family had called with well wishes. Not one out of the six. Her new business—her new world—meant nothing to them. They were probably all still mad at her for quitting.
Her purse beeped several times on the drive home, but she ignored it. She should stop pretending with this guy. It was cruel. Whoever he thought she was, she needed to set him straight when she got out of the car.
But there were three more messages. Reading through them, her stomach clenched.
First message:
What’s a PD?
Second message:
U have to go to games with me. She probably hated Astros. Should have seen it coming.
Third
message:
The real pisser. I made reservs at 8 for Sotby’s. U know how hard to get? Screw her, I’m going. Wanna go?
Uh-oh. Now what? Abby wiped her thumb across the screen, as if to clear the message, or perhaps clarify it. Should she answer? He was going to expect someone to show up. It would be unconscionable not to set the poor guy straight. He’d sit there alone at that nice, expensive restaurant, the restaurant she’d never been to and probably never would because she couldn’t afford it. She had no boyfriend to buy her tickets and take her there.
She’d regret her next step … but she took it anyway.
PD = Police Department. Sure. Meet you there.
She had lost her mind.
Chapter Three
“Now what?” Carter growled as his phone started ringing. He glanced at the display on his new phone and cursed himself for not backing up his contacts the past several months. Not only was he now sans girlfriend but he had lost every phone number he’d accumulated. Business and personal. He’d managed to copy the numbers for Jackson and a few others from his buddy Roger while at the office, but the number displayed matched none of those. “Thanks, Amanda.”
He might not have a clue who was calling, but at least the phone was cool.
He let it go to voice mail; he’d deal with recovering everything tomorrow. He was going to dinner at Sotby’s and, by God, he’d have a good time. It had taken three weeks to get the reservation and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Besides, he needed to eat.
An hour later, he lounged at the bar of Sotby’s, awaiting his table. He was a few minutes early and his reservation wouldn’t be ready for at least thirty. A good thing because Jackson hadn’t shown yet. Garlic, cilantro, and, oddly, lavender overpowered him. The deep mahogany finishes in the restaurant and the bright cheerful colors of the upholstery were elegant. It had been finished off with neon lighting tucked into various portions of the woodwork. The lighting cast a warm yet subtle glow in the room that enhanced the romantic atmosphere. Add the jazz music to the background that promised a night to remember and it would have been the perfect place for a celebration. Would have been being the key phrase. Now it was just an expensive place to eat and bullshit with Jackson.
“Got any Band-Aids? I lost a battle with a small horse today and have a hellacious scrape and bruise on my leg.” From nowhere a leg was pushed into his line of view, shoved against his thigh. It wasn’t the tiny bruise that caught his attention.
Her. Running Chick. Was she one of those lucky rich people who managed to eat here frequently? He couldn’t contain the grin that swelled. If there was a God up there watching, Jackson would be delayed—indefinitely.
“Would a napkin work?” He held up the black cloth. “I’m really sorry about that. I had no idea he’d bolt after you. He’s not mine—”
She waved off the napkin. “I know. I know. He’s your neighbor’s. Maddie told me she was going to have someone walk him while she recovered from the surgery. I expected some old miserly woman. Not you.”
“She described me like that?”
Man, he really liked her laugh. Listening to it was like eating candy. You didn’t want to stop. She must be meeting someone; she glanced around the room and then leveled on him. “No, not at all. I just, I don’t know, jumped to conclusions, I guess. You’re eating here tonight?”
“Yeah, meeting a friend. He hasn’t shown yet.”
“Me too. Although, I don’t really know what he looks like.” The door blasted open and she glanced nervously at the person entering until he was followed by a lady who seemed permanently attached to his hand. “How is Maddie, by the way? That foot thing sure turned into a big deal. Who would have thought? It’s nice of you to help out.”
Carter hadn’t quite understood what the surgery on Maddie’s foot had been, or why it handicapped her so extensively. A broken bone would be easily mended and less painful. Perhaps Maddie had low pain tolerance? “She’s irritated as hell about being cooped up, but who can blame her. You’re on a blind date?” He threw that last part in to make it sound casual. Would she notice?
She pulled off her jacket and threw it over her arm. “Um, sort of. You eat here a lot?”
He shook his head. I wish. “My first time. You?”
“Same here.”
He had never seen her with her hair down. Nice. Black-ish, straight, and hugging her cheekbones like it loved being there. Normally, it was in a ponytail. The bartender moved nearer and rather than miss the chance, Carter held up a couple of fingers.
“What can I get you?” he asked Running Chick. “Wine? Daiquiri? Beer?” He wanted to text Jackson and tell him to take his time, but that would be rude. Rude to her—he didn’t really care about Jackson. Only a loser texted someone when they were with a woman.
The fact he thought so brought a small amount of clarity to his breakup. He’d thought he was giving his all with Amanda and learning to trust. But he hadn’t exactly followed his no-texting-while-with-a-woman rule … Had he simply been a loser, after all?
“Wine, any red is fine. Or maybe white. Wait, what’s that?” She pointed to a glass in front of a lady at the other end of the bar. Frothy clear bubbles with green leaves and limes floating within.
“Mojito, I think.”
“I’ll take that.” She pointed at the drink and held out a card to the bartender.
Carter pushed her hand down, surprised by the warmth of it. “Oh, no, you don’t. It’s the least I can do since I nearly put you in the hospital.”
The noise in the bar was a gentle rumble; it would be bad form to be rowdy in a place like this. Or at least he assumed as much. He didn’t know. He fit the place about as well as a glove on a foot. Overhead, jazz music, soft and sexy in a sleepy sort of way, wafted by. Perfect for elegant dining, good discussion—or great sex. Not that he was anywhere close to that, at the moment. In fact, he was probably in for a dry spell.
“Tell me about this blind date. Where’d you find him?” Was she doing the internet dating thing?
“Um, I didn’t really. He’s sort of a friend of a friend and just went through a breakup, I think.”
He grunted. “Welcome to the club.”
“You too?”
“Yeah, but it actually worked out pretty well. I got a new phone out of it. I’ve wanted one for a few months but couldn’t trade up until my contract was due.” He waved the phone back and forth. One of the new models with a larger screen, more memory, voice activation, and a high-resolution camera.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ve wanted one of those too! How does breaking up equate to a new phone? You weren’t on her plan, were you?”
Uh-oh. No, that would mean it was long term and he was some sort of boy-toy jerk—the kind that had women pay his bills.
“Of course not. We only dated a few months. She threw my phone on the floor when she told me she’d met someone else. Not sure why that was my fault but, oh well.” Okay, maybe the fact that he’d spent as much time texting as talking in Amanda’s presence should have been a clue to his level of commitment. Was his social media usage why she’d looked elsewhere for attention?
“Good riddance.” She held up the mojito the bartender had slipped in front of them and clinked his glass.
“Good riddance.”
She wore pink polish on her nails.
“So, what does this guy look like? I’ll help you find him.” Carter surveyed the room, searching for singles, of which there were none.
“I don’t know.”
“Seriously? You have a blind date with someone and don’t know what he looks like? Do you have his name?”
“Not exactly. I guess this wasn’t very well thought out. To be honest, it was a last minute thing. I just kind of—caved. I thought he’d need cheering up. I know. Stupid, right?”
He wasn’t going to say that, but he wondered if she really intended to meet the guy. Not that he cared.
“Not really. His loss, my gain.” Okay, that was a cheesy t
hing to say.
“What about you? Where’s your date?”
“Not a date. A buddy. He’s supposed to meet me here. I’m a little early.” He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes late. Odd for Jackson. Not that he’d complain. He’d rather talk to Running Chick. He held out a hand. “I’m Carter, Carter Coben.”
She clasped his fingers in hers and he held tight. “Abigail Jeffries.”
He ordered more drinks and took a sip, then searched the room for Jackson. If he didn’t show pretty soon …
The maître d’ tapped him lightly on the arm. “Your table is ready, Mr. Coben.”
Carter whirled around, glass in hand. Okay, make a move. Here’s my chance. The one I waited four months to get it … and it took a dog to make it this far. If I wimp out now, I really am a dumbass. He smiled at the serious face before him.
“Abigail, I really don’t feel like sitting alone at a table for two.” He took a sip of courage. “Why don’t you join me? At least until one of the people we came here to meet shows up.”
Seconds ticked. She could sit at the bar in this fancy place, talking to no one, and waiting—or she could be at a table with him. He doubted either option was what she’d planned, but option two was better than nothing, right?
“Okay, who wants to sit alone when everyone else is with someone?”
“Agreed.”
“What a couple of losers we are.” She stood and grabbed her bag and drink.
He shook his head. “Depends on how you look at it. I just traded up from an old friend that probably has forgotten all about this to one really gorgeous woman. Not exactly loser in my book.” He touched a hand to her back to guide her after their host. The slinky fabric against his fingers tingled. The citrusy scent on her skin did other things to him.
Chapter Four
What is it about me that makes him feel comfortable telling me his girlfriend woes? Does that put me in the nice-to- talk-to-but-not-interested category? And why do all the good ones just see a buddy in me? Look at him, sitting there sipping his drink in his fancy clothes. He could model for GQ. Except for the fact most models were seriously lacking in personality and he had it in spades.
Text Me Page 2
