by Hazel Kelly
Club Abbott
Part One
Pretend You’re Mine
Hazel Kelly
© 2016 Hazel Kelly
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, brands, organizations, places, and situations is purely coincidental.
To all the readers who loved the Tempted Series.
This one's for you. Xo
Chapter 1: Carrie
I was usually so decisive, but choosing the final version of the ad was doing my head in.
I mean, it’s not every day a person puts a one page spread in the New York Tribune, and if the ad didn’t work, my advertising budget would be blown and my brand new business would stand a very real chance of shriveling into nothing.
After all, the entirety of my current design portfolio- which was gorgeously featured when a visitor clicked the “gallery” tab on my new website- all came from the work I did with just one client.
What if someone called about the ad and wanted references? Ugh.
Whatever. I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to stay positive.
And I had to make this decision immediately if I wanted to get home in time to surprise Simon with the reservations I made at his favorite restaurant. Otherwise, he’d snack on something as soon as he walked in the door like he always did and spoil everything.
Then again, as a runner, he could pretty much drop whatever he was doing and feed at a moment’s notice, never showing it because of his hummingbird’s metabolism, but still.
If I was going to take him for a meal that cost what I’d normally spend on a week’s worth of groceries, I wanted him to be really hungry.
I put my head in my hands and stared at the pictures on my desk. Did I really have to include my headshot?
Simon said I did, said I needed to get used to being the face of the business and that people would be more inclined to call if they could see the person behind Carrie Callihan Design. He also recommended I use the photo where I was smiling a little less intensely than the one where my dimples were more prominent. He said they made me look too young… and that he liked being the only one that saw me smile so big.
“Nora!” I yelled at the door.
She opened it a moment later, her eyebrows raised.
“Can you give me a second second opinion?” I asked, laying my hands on the desk. “So we can both get out of here?”
“Of course,” she said, stepping inside. “Second second opinions are my specialty.”
I smiled, but my face dropped when I saw Jesus sitting in one of the chairs in the reception area behind her.
She closed the door.
“Who is that?” I asked, raising a finger towards the door.
“Who is who?” she asked, her voice almost sing song.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “That man I just saw.”
“Oh, he’s just my date for tonight,” she said, dismissing my concern with a wave of her hand. “But don’t worry. I told him I couldn’t go out until five.”
“Sorry.” I craned my neck forward. “Why is he here?”
She sat in the chair across from my desk and crossed her legs as casually as if happy hour had already started. “Cause I wanted to try this new tapas place, but I couldn’t remember the name. So since I couldn’t ask him to meet me there, I just suggested he meet me here.”
I didn’t want to seem judgmental. I knew how lucky I was to have Simon and that most people had to kiss some frogs first, but the guy in the lobby looked like he hadn’t bathed in a decade. “And how do you know him?”
Nora shrugged. “I don’t really. I met him on Tinder.”
I pursed my lips and took a deep breath. “Nora.”
“Yeah?”
“You can’t meet your Tinder dates at the office.”
“Why? It’s not like we’re expecting any clients today.”
“Thanks for saying ‘today’ like there are days when we have them.”
She smiled. “No problem.”
“But it’s still not professional. Or safe.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t intend for him to be so early, but I didn’t think I should make him wait outside in the cold.”
I cocked my head. “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”
“Okay.”
“So you’re really going to go out with him?” I asked, noticing how easily she could cast off her cardigan and go from day to night.
“Well, yeah.”
“Even though he looks-”
“What?”
I swallowed. I wanted to say like an unwashed drug user, but it seemed kind of harsh. “Like Jesus.”
“Sure,” she said. “He might be brilliant fun or have great taste in music. Or maybe his best friend is my soul mate, ya know? Or his brother. Anyway, I don’t see the harm in-”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know it’s easy for you to forget in your loved up state that not everyone has already found the perfect fiancé.”
I smiled. “He’s not perfect,” I said. Not cause I meant it, but because it seemed like the right thing to say.
“How did you meet him anyway?”
“Tinder.”
Her eyebrows jumped up her face. “Seriously?”
“No. Not seriously.”
Her shoulders dropped again. “Oh.”
“I met him at a party my senior year of college.”
“And was it love at first sight?”
I nodded. “Pretty much. I mean, he was kind of a geek back then but-”
“Back then?”
“Okay, so he’s still kind of a geek, but I like that he’s smart.”
“Sure.”
“And he matched my list perfectly.”
She furrowed her brow. “Your list?”
“Yeah, you know, my list of things I wanted in my perfect man.”
“Whoa, Carrie. I knew you were intense, but that’s crazy.”
“No it’s not. Lots of people have a list.”
She looked skeptical. “Do they?”
“Of course. Otherwise how are you supposed to know when you’ve met your match?”
“I guess I just figured I would know when I met him.”
“No harm in meeting him in your imagination first,” I said. “Might help you recognize him when you cross paths.”
“I guess that makes sense, but I think I know better what I don’t want at this point than what I do want.”
“Well that’s a start,” I said. “What don’t you want?”
She leaned against one armrest. “I wouldn’t be with a guy who hated animals. I find that very unsettling.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
“And I couldn’t be with a racist.”
“Obviously.”
“And I don’t think I’m secure enough to date someone that gets naked for a living.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Like a stripper?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything else?”
She pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling. “I’d prefer to be with someone who didn’t travel a lot for work.”
“Like Simon does?”
“No offense,” she said, her eyes wide. “It’s cool that he flies planes and everything but-”
“It’s just not for you.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s ok
ay. I wouldn’t expect us to have all the same criteria.”
She smiled, but it was obvious that she thought she’d put her foot in it.
“So let me get this straight,” I said. “As long as someone isn’t an animal hating racist stripper who travels a lot for work, you’re happy to give them a chance?”
She righted her head. “Yeah. I think that’s pretty spot on.”
“Good to know.”
“Why did you call me in here again?” she asked.
“I just need some assurance on this ad one more time so we can move on with our lives,” I said. “I think my brain is shot from choosing all the wedding stuff, and I can’t make any more decisions this week.”
Nora’s eyes flitted to the side of the room where a bunch of potential invitations were set up in a row like dominos.
“So this is the layout I think I like best,” I said, standing up so I could rotate the page of loose pictures around to face her. “With the samples up here and my face down there by our contact details.”
She cocked her head and considered the layout. Then she reached for one of the pictures. “May I?” she asked, glancing up at me.
“Sure.”
“I would put this one in the middle as the main picture.”
I scrunched my nose.
“I think it’s a stronger shot.” She looked at me. “You disagree.”
“I do, yeah.”
“Well you’re the designer, Carrie. You should go with your gut.”
I squinted at the layout she’d arranged.
“It hasn’t steered you wrong yet.”
“You’re right, Nora, thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.” I put the pictures back the way I had them before. “Would you mind sending it to the Tribune just like this before you leave?”
“No problem,” she said, picking up the poster.
“And can you lock up?” I asked, grabbing my purse and sliding my chair under my desk.
“Sure.”
As I made my way to the door, I considered asking her if she would also make sure her scruffy ass date didn’t steal anything, especially since I wasn’t even moved into the space yet and everything was conveniently boxed up. But as she’d so gently reminded me, I was extremely lucky and shouldn’t rub other people’s noses in my good fortune.
“Let me get that for you,” I said, opening the door so she could carry the mock up for the ad over to her desk.
“Huh,” she said as she turned the corner and laid the poster down carefully. “My date’s gone.”
I closed the door to my office and reached for my camel coat on the hook beside it. “That’s weird.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And so is my purse.”
Chapter 2: Ben
I wanted to punch him in his smug face.
“Cheer up, son,” he said. “Can’t win ‘em all.”
I rolled my eyes and walked to the court’s exit as I pulled my shirt up and wiped it across my sweaty forehead.
“Or ever in your case.”
“Is this how you act when you beat, Frank?” I asked, following my dad up the stairs to the clubhouse.
“No. The gloating got old a long time ago with Frank, whereas beating you is still a novelty.”
“You’re sure your cocky attitude isn’t why he couldn’t make it today?”
“Positive,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “He couldn’t make it cause Becky’s gonna burst any day now.”
“Oh right.” I lifted my head and saw there were only a few more stairs to go. “How many kids will he have then?”
“I don’t know. A few more than he ever wanted, that’s for sure,” Will said, holding the glass door open.
“Thanks,” I said, stepping inside.
“Grab a seat by the window there so you can watch how the other winners do it.”
I shook my head and pulled out a chair by a table overlooking some of the other indoor courts.
Will sat down across from me, his shirt twice as sweaty as mine.
“You do realize that you barely beat me, right?”
“A win is a win,” he said, leaning back.
“Whatever. Tennis is literally the only sport you even stand a chance in against me.”
“I think I could probably whoop you at golf, too.”
I craned my neck forward. “You’re a terrible golfer.”
“Yeah, but if your performance at the driving range last summer was any indication of your competence-”
“Okay, fine,” I said, lifting my hands. “I can’t golf for shit.”
Will smiled at a waitress who was on her way over with a pitcher of ice water.
“Hello gentleman,” she said, setting it down between us. “How are you today?”
“Fine, Marion,” my dad said. “And yourself?”
She smiled. “I can’t complain.”
I filled our empty glasses while my dad made small talk.
“That’s good,” Will said. “Tell me Marion, are there any specials today that might cheer up my poor son. He just lost to me again and he’s feeling very down.”
I smiled at Marion. “I’m in a real state as you can imagine. Anyone would be after losing to a man this old,” I said, raising my hand in my dad’s direction. “I mean, he beat me a whole five minutes ago. I’m surprised he even remembers.”
My dad narrowed his eyes at me before lifting them back up to meet Marion’s. “I’ll have the usual,” he said. “And you can bring this smart ass whatever he feels like.”
Marion and I suppressed matching smiles.
“But you might have to read the menu to him cause he didn’t learn until he was six, and I’m not sure how much of it stuck.”
I laughed. “Seems like someone’s happy dishing it out but as soon as-”
Will raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you dish out your order so Marion can get on with her day?”
“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” I said. “In case it’s the secret to his good game.”
My dad smiled and puffed his chest up again. “Good choice,” he said, nodding at Marion. “Two Peronis and two clubs with those spicy sweet potato fries if you have them today.”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll put your order in right away.”
I watched her walk away, wondering where a woman so petite kept her digestive organs. “Sweet potato fries, huh?” I shook my head. “No wonder you’ve gone soft.”
Will shrugged. “I know. It’s the domestic bliss. It’s ruined me.”
“I didn’t realize Ella had moved in.”
“Technically, she hasn’t, but she’s staying over most nights these days.”
I furrowed my brow and lifted my ice water. “Why not every night?”
“I don’t know. To torture me? Cause she secretly loves staying out late with Jackie and getting up to who the hell knows what…”
My body was so hot I felt the ice water travel down my throat into my empty stomach. “Seriously?”
“No, not really,” he said. “Well, she does do that, but she also maintains that it would be nice to have something to look forward to if we ever, ya know…”
“What?”
He raised his glass and took a long drink. “You know.”
I craned my neck forward. “If you ever what?”
“Get married.”
My eyebrows jumped up my face. “Holy Shit.”
“I know.”
“And are you?”
He raised his eyes to the sky. “I don’t know. I thought I ruled it out a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but Ella’s young,” I said. “She might not want to give up the dream of wedded bliss just cause you’re a bitter old man who’s been there done that.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mocked my age in the last five minutes,” he said. “Will you give it a rest?”
I laughed.
“Seriously, my knees are reminding me of the ticking clock plenty without your clever quips.”
