Fling Club (Serendipity Book 1)

by Tara Brown

  “À la Hugh Grant and Colin Firth in Bridget Jones?” Her tone lightened. We’d loved those movies growing up. Ella and I were always watching movies, talking about how we would change them or recast them or make them better.

  “No. More like a single punch delivered to the face with a side serving of ‘never go near Cherry again.’”

  “I like him already.” She outright laughed. “Did Griff fight back?”

  “He didn’t stand much of a chance. I don’t think he saw the punch coming.” I covered my eyes, not joining her in joking about it.

  “Man! I wish I could have seen that. Guess I can cancel the hit I put out on him.” She was still laughing, even as she said hit like we were in The Godfather and not Bridget Jones at all.

  “Hit?” I prayed she was kidding but feared the worst. It was unwise to underestimate the power of Ella’s wrath.

  “Yeah. I have a couple of friends who owe me for some computer work. Big guys.”

  “Jesus, Ella!” I gasped. “You can’t put hits out on people for cheating. That’s insane!”

  “Maybe. But I bet I could make him think twice about doing it again.”

  “Seriously, back down. Watching Cait fall off her throne will be retribution enough.”

  “I’m passionate. What can I say?” She was still joking, but I could tell she meant it.

  “Passion doesn’t need to hurt other people. That’s not who we are,” I reprimanded.

  “Well, how are things otherwise?” she said, changing the subject.

  “Not awesome. He’s disinterested and judgmental. It’s like being around Andy. He mocks me.”

  “Not falling for sweet Cherry Blossom’s charm.” She laid it on thick.

  “I’m not trying to charm him. I still have a broken heart, ass!”

  “Is he hot?” She was grinning, I could hear it.

  “He’s—nice,” I lied.

  “Nice? Cait won’t fall for nice.”

  “We both know he doesn’t have to be hot for Cait to like him. I just have to bat my lashes at him and she’s interested.”

  “True enough. Well, I have to go. No use making idle chitchat when there are lives to ruin. Don’t bore him to death. And don’t forget to warn him about everyone. You suck at not wanting to point out people’s worst traits. Don’t blow this! I’ll see you in a couple of days.” And she hung up before I could defend myself.

  Like our mother, Ella didn’t feel the need to say goodbye. She never did anything she was supposed to. I envied her that. She might have been a hot-tempered mess, but she was free. No one controlled Ella. No one abused Ella. No one would ever cheat on Ella. Andy always joked that God mixed up Ella’s and my hair color, stating that I should have been the demure blonde and her the fiery redhead.

  I sat and stared at the fire flickering across the room, directing my thoughts to the summer. In some ways, I dreaded how things would play out. If Ashley would find Cait irresistible and give in, rendering my efforts and sights on revenge useless, or if he was strong enough to resist her temptation and accomplish the mission. Honestly, the more this mission shaped up, the less inclined I was to be part of it. Maybe I should call the entire thing off, forget my expectations for what summer was supposed to bring, and make myself scarce in the city.

  I could take some courses or go to Europe and sit on a beach in the French Riviera. Anything but endless time spent lounging on the east shore while contemplating the infinite ways this could all blow up in my face. The worst-case scenario, of course, being my sister sitting on the wrong side of an interrogation table, explaining why she ordered my scumbag of an ex-boyfriend to be made into Hannibal Lecter’s next skin suit.

  My phone vibrated with a message. I glanced down to see a text from Ella: He called you a slut and put his hands on you? The hit is so on!

  I sighed.

  Clearly she’d spoken to Andy, who must have talked to Ashley.

  Crazy Ella.

  Bitter Andy.

  Reactive and sexy Ashley.

  Yup, this was going to be one long, brutal summer.

  Fortunately Ashley didn’t come down for dinner after all. I ate alone, and he had his meal brought up to him. It gave me time to reflect, specifically on the fact that I suddenly felt like the Beast at the other end of a long banquet table, waiting for Beauty to grace him with her presence.

  Chapter Eleven

  MORNING PEOPLE

  Cherry

  The next morning, I leaned across the counter, eating cereal and texting Erica about the first date of Fling Club. Our start of summer was a week away. The plan was scaring me, and my chicken-out personality was starting to win the battle of what I should do.

  “Mr. Jardine, would you like some coffee?” Mary, our chef, asked softly over my head.

  I spun, not expecting Ashley to be up yet. I was suddenly made aware that his last name translated to garden in French. That seemed somehow too delicate, but entirely appropriate for him.

  Ashley looked different in the morning, even sexier. His dark scruff had started to come in, like a five o’clock shadow, only fifteen hours too late. And he wore a Batman T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. Nothing stereotypically sexy about it, and yet I had never been more attracted to a single human in my life.

  “Morning.” I smiled, trying to be polite and not overtly stare.

  “Hmmm.” He moaned and flumped onto a barstool.

  “Not a morning person.” I grinned and lifted my bowl of cereal, turning from the kitchen. “I’ll give you your space to wake up.” Desperate to put some distance between us and my obvious attraction to him, I sauntered into the solarium to sit in the sun and stare at the back garden. His rude behavior wasn’t enough to rob him of his looks.

  I lounged in the huge papasan near the fire and folded my bare legs in. My shorts weren’t warm enough by far, but the heat from the fire felt cozy.

  Chewing away on my cereal, noting the milk was winning the battle of time, I glanced out the window and got lost. There were designs on the bricks on the far side of the courtyard, shapes in the trees, and thoughts filling my head.

  “Mind if I join you?” Ashley interrupted me.

  “No.” I tried to sit more ladylike in my short shorts.

  “Didn’t see Captain Crunch as a breakfast choice for you.” He grinned and nestled into the oversize armchair, sipping black coffee.

  “I only let myself eat crap here, when I’m home. At the beach I eat keto, and at school I eat fairly paleo. So, at home, where I rarely am, I eat whatever the hell I want.”

  “You have one life.” His eyes met mine, and I fought the urge to sigh. I didn’t know what it was about him, but something was ringing my bell. A bell I did not even want to exist, let alone have ringing. He continued, “Why waste life eating a certain way? Why not live? You never know what’s around the corner. Enjoy it.”

  “What?” I snapped out of my ogling session. “Uhhhhh, cancer. Obesity. Society’s version of what a woman should look like.” Was he serious? Did he know what it was like being a young woman?

  “That last thing you mentioned is all you care about. Don’t church it up,” he mocked.

  “What?” I wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business, but it was still a bit early in this so-called friendship to unleash my inner asshole. The character trait I saved for my siblings. Not to mention I needed him. On a strictly professional basis, of course.

  “Let’s be honest here. Obesity doesn’t seem to run in your family. Your brother doesn’t have any weight to lose, and neither do you. In fact, you could stand to gain a couple of pounds. And cancer: pretty unlikely. You’re twenty-one, not forty.” He scolded me like I was five. “So be honest, the only reason you starve yourself is to look skinny because society tells you that’s how to attract a man. You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” He laughed, possibly at me. “All you girls are the same. Hung up on what someone else tells you you’re supposed to be. If I were a girl, I’d eat nothing but pizza an
d ice cream and stare at my gorgeous body in the mirror while telling everyone else to stick it.”

  I may have imagined it, but I thought I saw his eyes take inventory of me when he said the words gorgeous body. But it didn’t save him from the wrath of Cherry.

  “You know what?” My blood boiled.

  “What?” He sounded unaffected by his own rudeness, making me even more irate.

  “You’re just like my brother.” I meant it as an insult, but the jab made him beam.

  “Thanks.” He puffed his chest a little.

  “It’s not a compliment, you idiot. I don’t know why I’m trying to be nice to you. Clearly, you’re not nearly as nice as you pretend, Mr. Holier Than Thou. Let’s not get too personal here with opinions and feelings. We don’t have to be friends and share all our thoughts. Let’s just get you ready for the summer. You’re an employee, after all.” I regretted it the moment I said it, even if he had skinny-shamed me. I hated my inner asshole for even peeking at the daylight from the dark cave where I usually hid it.

  “By all means, let’s keep this strictly business. I’d hate for you to have to get personal with the help.” He got up. “Sorry I bothered you, madam. I’ll go back to eating with the other people you keep on hand to service your needs.” He bowed slightly and left.

  Shit!

  My cheeks flushed as I stared outside, wondering how I had come out the bad guy in this scenario. He stereotyped all women, while calling us girls, and body shamed me, but I was the one to blame?

  He really was just like Andy. Good with words and even better at manipulating me.

  Well, if he wanted to act like my brother, I would treat him like my brother.

  I got up to storm after him, but as I rounded the corner he was there, coming down the hall at me like a freight train. I stopped short, bracing for the impact, but he didn’t make contact.

  He halted abruptly and hovered over me, taking up all the space in the hall—sucking out all the air—and blocking out the light from the window behind him.

  “You’re an asshole!” I said with more emotion than I intended, staring up at him like an ant shouting at a dog.

  “I know.” His voice was filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have been such a dick. I’m not a morning person. And regardless of the time of day, I tend to say everything I think once I get comfortable with someone, and my humor isn’t always everyone else’s cup of tea.”

  “What?” I lifted an eyebrow, confused.

  “I’m sorry. I was trying to be funny. I wasn’t.”

  “No.” I wasn’t prepared for this. “I’m sorry.” All the fire left my fight. “I shouldn’t have called you an employee. That was rude.” I lowered my gaze. “That’s not how I see you. Even though we do have a job to do, together.”

  “Friends, then?” His hand shot into my line of sight, almost stabbing my stomach with his fingertips. He held it there for me to take.

  He was so strange. Foreign. He was sorry and owned the mistake the second he made it. What was this sorcery? He was like an upgraded version of a guy like Andy.

  “Sure.” I lifted my stare to his, trying not to look shocked that he was apologizing even before I really had a chance to be angry. Or maybe, even better, he was nothing like my brother after all. This moment was pivotal in proving that.

  “You forgive me?” He offered a hint of a smile.

  “I think I can find it in myself.” I maintained eye contact, not because I wanted to but because I couldn’t look away, as I slipped my hand into his. I felt enveloped with warmth as he shook our hands slightly, moving mine for me. “If you forgive me.”

  He held my hand hostage, not squeezing, but certainly not letting go. “Can we have another crack at breakfast and coffee with slightly better behavior?”

  “I would like that.” I turned, still holding his hand, and led him back to the sunroom. As I approached the papasan, I realized I had to let go of him. I slipped my fingers from his, noticing a subtle tensing of his fingers as I got away, almost like he didn’t want to let go.

  Unless that was my imagination.

  “So, why don’t you tell me more about your family. Since we both know far too much about mine,” I offered lightheartedly. “Yours are professors at Brown.”

  “Yes.” He contemplated his coffee for a moment. “But maybe we should talk more about my fictional family. I don’t want to get confused.” He was avoiding the subject of family. Noted.

  “Sure.” I grabbed my phone and scrolled through Ella’s texts. “Ella’s come up with this whole alter ego for you. But you’re a nerd. Used to living in an alternate reality and all that.” I said it jokingly, unable to control myself from going tit for tat for his earlier remarks. “You’re from the University of Oxford. You’re English. Try not to let that offend your flaming Scottish sensibilities. You’re at least given free rein to pick the location you’re from. Somewhere you know and are comfortable with.”

  “Well, I lived in Stratford-upon-Avon before we came to America. It’s about two hours to London, in the countryside where the estates are. Warwickshire.” He sat in the chair he was in before, chuckling to himself.

  “And that’s an upscale area?” I was completely lost, starting with the Stratford thing he said, like I should have known about it.

  “Yes, nice area. Good place to grow up.”

  “Oh.” I was still lost, still stuck on the fact he’d apologized so easily, before I’d had to guilt him into it. And he didn’t ignore my feelings or twist words to change my feelings. It wasn’t just Andy; every guy I knew did that.

  “Right. You’ve been, then?”

  “Where?” So lost.

  “The UK.”

  “Yeah, when I was seventeen we went for a month and toured around.”

  “I see. And did you like it?”

  “I did. It’s quaint and pretty.”

  “And did you stay in some castles?” He got that sparkle in his eyes, the one I suspected of mocking me.

  “I did. We stayed at Thornbury Castle, near Bristol. It was creepy. I mean, it was cool but also creepy.” I blushed, looking down in shame. “This sounds stupid, but I swear I could feel someone watching me when I was in my room alone. I didn’t sleep at all.” I laughed at myself for admitting it.

  “Those old castles are totally haunted; I believe it. I’ve stayed in a fair few, and every time I feel bothered.” He laughed with me, not at me. It was a nice change.

  “Do you like it here?” I asked, imagining he must miss home. I would miss home.

  “It’s home now. I love exploring in the US. It’s so huge and vastly different. The history is short but violent and fascinating. The culture is lacking, and yet I can’t help but enjoy how real things are over here. Apart from people like you.” He couldn’t help jabbing me.

  “Right. We’re more closed off.” I had to admit it, even though he meant it as a joke.

  “And you have weird things like Fling Club.”

  “That we do.”

  “Tell me more about it.” His humor slipped away.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Our lives are run around functions and galas and fundraisers and dinners. So basically, we have the same guy escort us to different events all summer, to make it so no one is the odd man out. Back in the day, girls fought over guys, and of course jealousy and cattiness ensued because guys were playing the girls. So, we took back the control. We decide who our fling is; we decide what kind of fling it is. I generally hook up with someone I know will be fun and have no expectations. A few times I’ve had flings who didn’t live nearby, so I only had to spend time with them at functions.”

  “Sounds so scripted. Where’s the romance?”

  Romance? I thought. Where was the romance? We didn’t have romance in our lives. Scripted couldn’t have been a better word. I used to imagine love as a fairy tale, like “Cinderella.” She goes to a ball and meets a prince, and they fall in love. But then I grew up and realized that the prince would neve
r have been allowed to marry Cinderella. She was a commoner, and her family brought nothing to the table. Had she been a banker’s daughter or a real estate investor’s niece, perhaps. But being the kitchen girl of some random family meant the prince could love her all he wanted, but she couldn’t infiltrate his world.

  “Our lives can be fairly scripted,” I said, popping back from my little daydream. “But we still sneak some romance in. Just not in front of anyone. There’s what you do for show and what you do behind the scenes. Romance isn’t for show.” I defended us and our weird traditions; I just didn’t know why anymore.

  “That, I can agree with you on. Romance is supposed to be between the two people. No one else needs to know.” The way he said it made my stomach tense. “But I disagree with the Fling Club; I think a guy should ask a girl out. I think some of the older, more outdated ways of being were nicer. Having a girl pick me out of a lineup and then give me instructions for the entire summer seems a little mechanical for me.”

  “Well, it’s lucky that you don’t agree with our way of living. It will make it easier for you to avoid falling for Cait and all her charms. Fair warning, you’re going to have to be made of steel to avoid that happening. Not a single man has been able to resist her in Hamptons history. Just keep telling yourself she’s a stone-cold, vapid bitch who would screw your own brother if there were something in it for her. Believe me, I know.” I shuddered at the thought of Cait and Andy together.

  “No need to worry there. I couldn’t ever fall for someone like Cait Landry.” He wrinkled his nose and scoffed at the idea. “She’s not my type at all.” He sounded like I was offering him the most disgusting thing in the world. “Not only do I prefer honor and brains over breeding and looks, but I’ve grown up middle class. We despise nothing like we do the aristocracy. No, I enjoy the company of women who want to better themselves, not their family’s social standing or net worth.”

  His words hit me right in the gut, where I could tell he meant for them to. He was blatantly telling me that I fell into the same category as Cait: distinctly not his type.

  I wished to the gods of all that was holy that I would find him just as repulsive as he so clearly found me.