The Romeo Effect

by Monroe, Lila

  I shake my head, trying to process everything he’s saying. “So, you didn’t do it to keep your job as a Romeo?”

  Seth blinks. “What? No! I quit the Agency.”

  “You did?”

  He nods. “It wasn’t the right place for me, not anymore. But God, April, I’m so sorry I let James get inside my head. And I’m so, so sorry that I hurt you.” He takes my hands, staring deeply into my eyes. “I should have told you, but I didn’t want you to lose what you’ve worked so hard for all because of me.”

  I pause. “You broke up with me to protect my business? Because you love me?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  My heart melts.

  “Thank you.” I kiss him. “Even though it was stupid and dumb-headed, and you should have told me from the start. Thank you.”

  He kisses me back, and I lose myself in his arms again. It feels so right, so perfect to be here with him again. Soon, I’m breathless, and he’s panting, our hands sliding over each other’s bodies and our mouths demanding more. I slide my hands under his shirt, wanting to feel him against me, when suddenly, there’s a burst of laughter from the living room. Whoops. We’re not alone here.

  Seth pulls away, red-faced. “Why don’t we go to your place?” he suggests, tugging his clothes back into place.

  I grin. “You read my mind.”

  “Besides, there’s something I want to show you,” he adds, taking my hand.

  I smirk. “I’ve seen it before, but it’s been a while, so yes, please.”

  Seth laughs. “That’s not what I meant.”

  It takes us twice the time to get back to my place, because we have to stop to make out in the street every five minutes. And by the time we finally make it up the stairs of my building, I’m more than ready to drag him straight to bed and make up for lost time.

  But instead of following me to my door, Seth takes my hand, and pulls me in the other direction instead, up another flight of stairs, towards the roof.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. “It’s kind of cold for open-air sex,” I add, teasing. “Not to mention that it’s still daylight. But OK, you’ve twisted my arm.”

  Seth laughs and tugs me up the final flight of stairs. “Come on.”

  “Alright,” I agree, pretending to sigh. “But if we get busted by a police drone and end up on YouTube, that’s on you.”

  But let’s face it, the sex would still be more than worth it.

  We get to the roof, and I look around, wondering what the big surprise is. The place is empty, with old trash sacks strewn around and the remnants of my greenhouse.

  Oh, my greenhouse.

  “So, not that I need candlelight and roses or anything,” I venture, since Seth is still looking at me with a secretive smile on his face. “But this isn’t exactly getting me in the mood.”

  He laughs and pulls out his phone. “How about this?” he asks, showing me the screen.

  It’s architectural plans of some kind. I squint closer. “What is this?” I ask.

  “Your greenhouse.”

  I blink. “No, they tore it down. Permit violations or something. It wasn’t allowed.”

  “Because it was old and falling down and made the roof leak,” Seth says.

  “Just the one time,” I protest.

  “So, the new one won’t leak.” Seth smirks.

  I stop. “. . . New one?”

  Seth’s smile gets wider. “That’s what the blueprints are for. A brand new, totally permitted, completely legal greenhouse for you.”

  I gasp. “Are you serious?” I squeal, snatching the phone from him. I zoom in on the pictures in disbelief.

  “A friend of mine is an architect,” Seth explains. “He drew up the drawings, and I went to city hall and got the permits all approved. And I had a chat with your landlady and that bitchy neighbor of yours. I promised them no more leaks. And that you probably wouldn’t mind sharing some of your herbs and flowers with them.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I say, stunned. “You thought of everything.”

  All that’s left after that is to kiss him. A lot.

  “But why?” I ask, coming up for air. “You did all this before you even knew I wanted to get back together with you.”

  “Because I wanted to show you how sorry I am,” Seth says, holding me close. “Even if you’d never come over, I wanted you to have this. Because you deserve it, and I knew it would make you happy.”

  My heart swells. “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you too,” Seth says. “And . . . I’m also freezing my buns off here.”

  I laugh. “Well, let’s go warm your buns up,” I tell him.

  And so we do.

  Twice.

  25

  April

  “Come on. Let’s take this wall down!”

  It’s a few weeks after Seth and I reunited, and we’re gathered in my shop with, well, pretty much everyone in my life. Remy, Poppy and Natalie, and their boyfriends. Even Katie is here to help out.

  Because today is demolition day!

  “You should still make the first ceremonial smash,” Seth says. “This is your business, Buttercup.”

  I grin at him. “Alright.” I pull the safety goggles down off my head and arrange them over my eyes. “Sexy, huh?”

  Seth gives me a kiss. “You have no idea.”

  He hands me the sledgehammer . . . which weighs about seven hundred pounds. It nearly pulls my arm out of the socket. “Ugh!” I grunt, nearly dropping. “Maybe you should be the foreman. I’ll do the detail work.” I reach for a regular-sized hammer, making everyone laugh.

  “Here we go!” I take a huge swing and hit the wall with my hammer, making a less than impressive hole.

  It still counts, though. I may as well have knocked the whole wall down the way everyone whoops. Someone even yells out, “Mazel tov!” And just like that, we can see the first bit of light filtering through from next door.

  Aka the future site of my newly expanded store.

  In the weeks since I got on the Bridal List, Bloom Florals has taken off. More than I ever hoped for or even could have dreamed it would. Some days, there’s a line of people outside trying to cram their way into my tiny space. Which means I need way bigger premises. But after my realtor took me on a disappointing tour of available stores, I decided to expand into the vacant shoe-repair store next door. So here we are, taking down the adjoining wall to start making the two shops into one big, beautiful, flower-tastic space. I’m terrified and excited all at once.

  “That’s it?” Seth teases, when I put down my sledgehammer after just the one swing. “You’re done?”

  “I’m leaving it to the skilled professionals!” I protest.

  “And I’m very grateful about that,” Remy speaks up. “Since I don’t want cinderblock falling on my head.”He hands out celebratory glasses of sparkling wine, and I grab one and raise it in a toast.

  “Thank you, everyone,” I say loudly, looking out at the people I care about most in the world. I know I’m lucky to have found them all. “It’s only because of all of you that this is even happening. I love you all!” I look over at Seth. “Especially you,” I add in a stage-whisper.

  He laughs. “Ditto.”

  My heart glows. Before I met him, I had all these ideas about soulmates and true love, but in the end, I realized that’s not the only way love works. I may not have been destined to meet Seth, but we have something even better than fate: a love that we both choose, every single day.

  “Now, let’s get out of the way so the contractors can do their thing!”

  We step back and let the guys who know their load-bearing walls from their ornamental beams get to work. They waste no time, attacking the wall as we all move a safe distance away.

  It doesn’t take long for the wall to come down and even with all the broken-up drywall and construction debris, I’m amazed at how big the shop looks already. It’s going to be amazing.

  “Admiring your handiwo
rk?” Seth asks, teasing. “They couldn’t have done it without that first magnificent swing.”

  I laugh. “Are you mocking my puny muscles?”

  “Me? Never. I love your puny muscles,” Seth says, pulling me close. He kisses me, hot and deep, and I melt against him, happier than I could ever imagine.

  He looks around. “Think you can sneak away for five minutes?”

  “Five?” I arch an eyebrow. “You are feeling confident.”

  Seth snorts. “Come on.”

  He leads me over the piles of rubble and through the shoe-repair shop. I follow him up the stairs that lead to the office on the second floor. When we get to the door, I see that there’s a piece of material hanging over the door.

  “You’re not the only one with a big unveiling . . .” Seth says. “The sign for my door came today.”

  “Your door,” I repeat, smiling.

  “That’s right. I have a door. And an office too,” Seth jokes. “Are you impressed?”

  “Hell yes.”

  I kiss him, because this is the other big new development happening now. Seth—after much nudging, ahem, encouragement—is launching his own event-planning business. Which is basically the perfect use of his skills.

  And bonus, everyone involved knows he’s the one staging the scene.

  “Voila!”

  Seth tugs the fabric down, revealing a classy-looking plaque by the door.

  Seth Harding, Setting the Scene.

  I clap my hands together. “I love it!”

  “You don’t think we’re making a mistake,” Seth checks again, “working so close to each other?”

  “Are you kidding?” I grab his shirt and pull him close again. “You’re just starting out. You’re going to need business advice from a pro,” I tease.

  “You’re right. It’ll be great having you right downstairs.”

  He tugs me closer still and gives me a kiss. “And there are other perks.”

  “Like . . . uhhhhh . . . shared office supplies?” I ask innocently.

  “That too,” he says with a chuckle against my lips.

  “Oh, I know,” I tease. “Lunch dates.”

  “Obviously,” he drawls, pressing his hips into mine, the hard length of him reminding me of how we were almost late to my own demo party. How I am suddenly in no rush to get back to that demo party.

  “Hot dog lunch dates,” I say as I reach for his belt.

  His laugh turns into a groan.

  “You know,” I say as I lead him into his inner office and lock the door. “I think before you officially open your doors to the public, it’s tradition to christen the place for good luck.”

  “Is that so?” He grins back at me.

  Nodding, I hop up on the desk and pull him in close so he’s standing between my thighs.

  I glide my hands up the hard planes of his chest. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  “Well in that case . . .” He bends down to kiss me. “As you wish.”

  THE END

  (Almost!)

  Thank you for reading! If you’ve enjoyed April’s exploits, then I have great news: the next book in the series is available to order now!

  Keep scrolling to read a sneak peek of the next book in the series, Katie’s book. The Break-Up Artist is available to order now. CLICK HERE to purchase or scroll to read Chapter One!

  >>>

  The Break-Up Artist

  Cupids: Book 4

  Chapter One:

  Katie

  People say that the only things you can rely on in life are death and taxes. Well, I have one more for you: break-ups. Because unless your childhood bestie becomes your high-school sweet-heart, and you get married and live the next sixty years in sappy Hallmark bliss, feeding each other bon-bons, you’re going to have to deal with a broken heart, sooner or later. And believe me, I’ve seen it all.

  The guy who dumped his girlfriend when she was literally in the delivery room, with their first-born crowning between her thighs. The woman who decided to break the news by filming a revenge porn sex video with her boyfriend’s brother – and then screening it at their anniversary party. And how about the guy who ended things via a barbershop quartet dispatched to his lucky wife’s office, to serenade her with Daphne and Celeste’s little known 2002 hit ‘Ooh, Stick You (And Your Mama Too)’?

  So, what’s the deal? Do I have the worst romantic luck in the world? Well, not quite. It’s all in a day’s work for me…

  “I just don’t know what I’m going to DO without him!”

  The woman opposite me bursts into floods of messy tears, clutching a grungy sweatshirt I’m guessing belongs to her ex. Honestly, I’m impressed she still has any water left in her body; she’s been weeping since she walked through the door, an hour ago.

  “I know this is hard,” I tell her gently. “But break-ups happen. You get to have a fresh start now, and find the right guy for you.”

  “He WAS the right guy.” She hiccups. “I love him so much, I’ll never find a man like him!”

  “Sure you will.” I give an encouraging smile. “It’s common to romanticize a partner after the break-up, but nobody’s perfect. Did you make that list I asked, about all his flaws?”

  She nods reluctantly.

  “Why don’t you read it to me, and remind yourself that it wasn’t all good?” I suggest, sitting back in my chair.

  She unfolds a crumpled sheet of paper. “It wasn’t easy to think of anything,” she says, “I mean, our relationship was pretty much perfect. Except, maybe… he wasn’t a great listener. And, umm, he would be kind of nit-picky sometimes.”

  “This is good,” I encourage her. “Keep going.”

  “Well… he refuses to brush his teeth,” she continues. “Or shower more than once a week. And he wouldn’t cook, or do any of the chores around our apartment. And he only ate green M&Ms. He had me pick the rest of the colors out of the bowl, and if I missed one, he would make me watch all three parts of the Lord of the Rings trilogy to make it up to him.”

  Wait, what?!

  I sit there, trying to hide my stunned reaction, as she continues her list of personality traits that should be landing this guy a spot on the FBI’s ‘Most Wanted List’. This is the guy she’s been calling perfect and wonderful and impossible to live without?

  I shouldn’t be surprised. Welcome to romance, in all its messy, wonderful, irrational glory. Some people say that love is blind, but I’ve always thought it’s more like that third margarita: it makes your head spin, and your knees unsteady, and can lead to spontaneous outbursts of Celine Dion’s greatest hits – with the right person. But when it’s Mr. Wrong? Well, you find yourself waking up the next morning with a killer hangover, regretting just how fast your pants came off.

  Which is where I come in.

  I’ve made a career out of helping people wave goodbye to bad relationships – so they can free themselves up to find Mr. (or Miss) Right instead. I started my blog, The Break-Up Artist, a few years ago after I got dumped in an epic, painful way. I’m talking, ghosted so hard, I should have called Bill Murry and the rest of the Ghostbusters team to track him down. It pretty much destroyed me, but I wondered, why couldn’t there be an easier way to say your goodbyes and move on? If people could just say how they felt, and part on reasonably civil terms, then there would be no need to wallow in rejection and insecurity, eating your body weight in French fries and ice-cream until you feel like a used-up husk of your former self.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  Either way, the blog has taken off in a major way over the past couple of years. It turned out, I’m not the only one who wants to avoid piling on the self-pity (and the pounds). Now, I coach clients with their post-break-up blues, and mediate couples through those brutal final fights, helping them figure out who gets the dog, the Netflix login, and custody of their favorite bar. I even have a book coming out soon, which is amazing and terrifying all at once. Amazing, because my name is emblazoned across the cover like a
real author; terrifying, because my editor has taken a massive chance on me, and I don’t want to let her down.

  “…And then he slept over with his co-worker, because they were up all night on an important project. And yes, they shared a bed, but he swears, nothing happened!”

  My client is still talking, but luckily, the display on my phone ticks over. “Time’s up!” I interrupt, leaping to my feet. “I think you’ve made some real progress here.”

  “Really?” She hugs the sweater tighter, and now I know about his ‘no shower’ policy, I make a mental note to Purell the couch after she’s gone.

  “Really,” I tell her, and it’s true. “Remember, things didn’t work out with him for a reason. It may hurt now, but this is a good thing. Now you’re free, to go out and find someone who’s more compatible with you. Someone with basic oral hygiene!”

  She manages a smile. “Thanks, Katie,” she sniffles. “You’re way more helpful than my therapist. She thinks I have low self-esteem issues!”

  No comment.

  I steer her to the door. “I’m not a qualified therapist,” I tell her. “I’m just someone who’s been where you are, dumped and miserable. But believe me, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.”

  “So did you meet Mr. Right?” she asks, looking hopeful.

  “Not just yet,” I say, flashing a bright smile. “But I’m having plenty of fun looking for him!”

  I send her on her way, and let out a massive sigh of relief. Sure, I love coaching people past the heartache and despair, but sometimes, it’s hard to keep a straight face. Plus, I’m running late to meet my friends, so I grab my jacket, and go catch the subway uptown. The train is packed and steamy: it’s the start of summer, and everybody’s checking everyone else out, looking for their next romance.

  Myself included.

  I wasn’t lying to my client before, I am having fun out there on the dating scene. Not that I have any choice. A hazard of my profession is that I’ve seen all the ways a relationship can fail, so I usually cut things off the minute I see the red flags waving. I must have been on a hundred first dates… but only a handful of fifth ones. Which is a good thing. Believe me, when I was younger, I went falling head over heels for the kind of guys who were all wrong for me – and I’ve got the heartache to prove it. Now, I can see the warning signs a mile away, which means I know when to put my emotions on the line… and when to keep things purely fun and casual.