“Yes.” We agreed to meet at the house after I got off work, and we’re currently in my bedroom. I’m lucky she doesn’t have more than a large suitcase full of stuff to gather. She’s only lived here for the past month or so, and most of her belongings are still down in Southern California in storage.

  She pauses mid-toss, a pile of lacy, frilly things clutched in one hand, her gaze wild as she glares at me. “What? Afraid I’m going to steal something?”

  I shrug. Don’t bother answering her.

  “You’re impossible.” She drops the lacy things in the middle of her suitcase, then strides across my bedroom, throwing open the closet door and going inside. “I don’t know why I bothered staying with you for so long,” she says as she rips her shirts from the hangers. If she keeps this up, she’s going to ruin something.

  We weren’t even together that long, but I don’t bother pointing out that particular fact.

  “I know why,” I tell her when she exits the closet, clutching her shirts to her chest as she makes her way to the bed where the open suitcase awaits.

  Tiffany drops the shirts inside. Doesn’t even bother folding them. “Please. Do tell me.”

  “My money.”

  The hurt look she sends me makes me want to laugh. So phony. Why didn’t I see it before?

  Maybe because you turned a blind eye.

  “Do you really think the only reason I was with you is because of your money?” she asks, her voice soft, her gaze beguiling. Does she really think she can turn this around in her favor? “That’s not true, Alex. I fell in love with you. And you fell in love with me.”

  I snort my disbelief, and her eyes narrow. “You fell in love with my bank account,” I remind her.

  “And all you ever wanted was a doll who’d look good on your arm who did everything you told her to. That’s not how life works!” She’s screaming at me, her words like a punch, and deep down inside, damn it, I know she’s not wrong.

  “At least Ed knows how to treat a woman,” she retorts, her chin set in a stubborn line as she closes her suitcase and starts zipping it. “He makes me feel wanted. You just make me feel like an afterthought.”

  “I’m sure you and Ed will have a perfect life together then,” I say, following her as she exits the bedroom. “Please give him my regards.”

  She practically flies down the stairs, even with the heavy suitcase, and I follow close after her, making sure she takes no detours as she makes her way to the front door. Just before she opens it, she turns to face me. “Tell your precious little Caroline I said hello.”

  I blink at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, she hasn’t called you yet? Told you about our little chat?” Tiffany bats her eyelashes. Conniving and innocent, all at once. “I figured since she spilled all my secrets, she’d already be riding your stick.”

  Riding my stick? “What chat are you talking about?”

  Tiffany doesn’t answer. She opens the door, offering me an enthusiastic wave before saying with a giant smile, “I hope I never fucking see you ever again!”

  “Right back at you,” I tell her, earning a thrusting middle finger in my direction for my efforts. I slam the door on her hostility. Twist the lock into place. Run a hand through my hair and breathe a deep sigh of relief.

  Thank God she’s gone.

  I glance around as I enter the living room. My house is huge. Simply furnished. My mother says it’s cold and impersonal, that it needs a woman’s touch. I thought Tiffany would be that woman to transform it. To turn it from a house to a home.

  But the moment she walked through the front door and stood in the foyer with wide-eyed wonder, declaring it absolutely perfect, I knew deep down I had a problem. She was merely saying whatever she thought I wanted to hear to please me.

  I didn’t want that. I need a woman who wants to challenge me.

  Like a fool, I believed I was in too deep where Tiffany was concerned, and I went along with everything she planned when I shouldn’t have. I knew it was wrong, I just believed I didn’t know how to stop it. Funny, considering how aggressive I am at work, yet when it comes to personal relationships, I don’t have a fucking clue.

  There were signs, though. The first clue was my reluctance to give her a ring. My mother pointed that out every chance she got, as did Tiffany herself.

  The second was my lack of interest in planning the wedding. Though really, what groom actually enjoys that part of the process? I’m guessing very few.

  Another clue? I never wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be spending all of my time with my fiancée; I’d rather work. My asking her to accompany me to Paris was only to make her happy and get her to quit nagging me, not that I wanted to spend time with her in one of the most romantic cities in the world. Hell, I knew while we were over there I’d be working most of the time and she’d be on her own, exploring the city while I was in negotiation meetings, trying to close the deal.

  The final clue was the flickering attraction I felt toward Caroline Abbott. Before I even knew it was her, I’d been drawn to her. There was something about the way she glided into the café that morning and grabbed her drink, cradling it like a precious jewel, smiling at me in embarrassment when I caught her.

  Adorable.

  And the way she glared at me when I was constantly on my phone during our meeting. Tiffany never said a word. Caroline said about a hundred things, all with one look. She didn’t approve. She thought I was rude.

  She was right.

  I’m making myself a drink in celebration of Tiffany’s departure when I remember what she said. Something about a chat with Caroline? I hadn’t meant to reveal to her what Caroline told me, but during the hours long, pointless argument, a few things flew out of my mouth that I couldn’t take back. One of them being that Caroline saw Tiffany with her lover in my goddamned house.

  Despite my lack of feelings for Tiffany, that fact stings.

  Unfortunately, once that revelation was made, Tiffany truly lost it. She went so far as to accuse me of having an affair with Caroline. Despite my repeated denials, I knew she didn’t believe me.

  So what happened between her and Caroline? When did they talk? Christ, what did Tiffany say to her?

  Grabbing my phone from my pants’ pocket, I start to text my assistant, then pause. It’s late in the evening, and I shouldn’t bother Kelsey with my personal problems. That’s taking it too far.

  I put my phone away and go to the back door that leads out onto the deck that overlooks the ocean. The sun set not too long ago, but there’s still faint light streaking the sky, casting everything in a dim purple haze. I shake the glass in my hand, the ice rattling against the sides, before I take another sip, draining the last of the alcohol.

  Alone. Again. I don’t mind. Having no companion is better than having a terrible companion who doesn’t love you, right? I think I’ve finally learned that lesson. I always tripped over my own feet, eager to make love happen like some sort of slobbery puppy. But I choose wrong. Mother always warned me.

  Yet she never really told me how to choose right either.

  What the fuck do I know about love anyway? My parents are good, decent people, but they’re both consumed with their own lives. They always have been. My sister is off living her own life. We work together, but she knows how to separate her personal and professional life. She’s already married and they’re trying for a baby. My brother is fairly dependent on our parents, though he has a caretaker when they aren’t around—just in case. He believes our parents baby him, and I agree. I try to spend as much time as possible with him, but I’m sure it’s not enough.

  I’m just as busy, just as selfish as every other bastard out there. There are only so many pieces of myself I can give to others.

  The rest, I need to keep for myself.

  Fifteen

  Caroline

  It’s a typical boring Thursday morning at work when a man in a delivery uniform enters Noteworthy, carrying a giant pink floral arrangement that’s so tall, I can barely see his face.

  “I have a delivery,” he says, setting the flowers down on the counter I’m standing behind. He glances at the card nestled among the blooms. “For Caroline?”

  Surprise steals my breath, and I rest my hand on my chest. “That’s me.”

  “Here.” He has me sign my name as confirmation I received the delivery. “Have a nice day,” he calls before he jams out of the building.

  I study the bouquet for a quiet moment, turning it this way and that, leaning in to smell the fragrant flowers. There are pink roses and lilies, and even a few sunflowers. The arrangement is big and bold and I love it so much, I want to dance around with it, but I don’t.

  Since Iris is back in her office, and Cassie isn’t here yet, plus there are no customers in the store, so I get to savor this moment all by myself for a few minutes.

  Flowers. From who? I have no idea. Sometimes clients send them to me as a thank you for helping them—seriously, choosing the perfect invitation or save the date card can be such an agonizing process—but that’s rare. There are no men in my life who would send me flowers, and the ones I’ve dated in the past never sent them to me, so...yeah. There’s no special occasion to celebrate.

  So who sent these?

  Anticipation curling through my veins, I finally reach for the card, studying the way my name is written. Unfamiliar handwriting, though I’d guess it was written by a man. The dark slashing letters gives me masculine vibes. Carefully, I open the envelope and pull out the tiny card.

  * * *

  I’m sorry for what happened.

  ~ Alex

  * * *

  Huh. I’m frowning. I mean, yes it’s exciting that Alex Wilder sent me flowers, but he’s sorry for what exactly? Making my life miserable by bringing his fiancée into it? Though honestly, that’s not his fault. Tiffany is the one who contacted me first. She brought Alex back into my life, not the other way around.

  I tap the card against the counter, contemplating what it says. Perhaps he’s sorry for the way Tiffany came into the store and verbally attacked me. But how does he know she did that? Did Tiffany actually tell him? I find that hard to believe. She behaved like a complete maniac, so why would she want to reveal that?

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I grab my phone and go into my recent calls, finding the number for Alex’s office. I hit the number without thinking, and Kelsey answers on the third ring.

  “Good morning, Alexander Wilder’s office,” she says.

  “Kelsey, hey. It’s Caroline,” I tell her, glancing around to make sure Iris isn’t anywhere near. There’s still no customers around either. Why I want to make this call in private, I’m not sure. But I do.

  “Caroline! How are you?” Kelsey sounds genuinely glad to hear from me, which is nice. I really like her. So did the rest of my friends. I think she’s a good fit with our group. “Is everything okay?” she asks when I still haven’t said anything.

  Her voice is hushed, and she’s talking fast, which tells me that maybe she’s a little busy. Clearing my throat, I get right down to business.

  “Yeah, everything is fine. I was just wondering if Alex was in?”

  “He is, but he’s leaving for an appointment in a few minutes. Hold on.” There’s a click, then instrumental music starts playing. A pleasant rendition of a song that I recognize, but can’t quite place.

  Wait a minute…

  It’s Travis Scott’s song “Pick Up the Phone”.

  Huh. Fitting.

  There’s another click and then it’s him. Alex. His deep, rich voice is directly in my ear and a shiver moves through me at hearing him say my name. “Caroline, hello.”

  I don’t bother beating around the bush. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you like pink.” His voice is warm and friendly, sounding nothing like the last time I spoke with him, when I was delivering a giant load of bad news.

  Come to think of it, he didn’t sound this warm and friendly when he met with me and Tiffany either.

  “I love pink, though actually I love peonies more than any other flower.” Oof, why did I just say that? I sound completely ungrateful for the arrangement he just sent me.

  “Peonies? I’ll make note of that.” He hesitates for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder why he needs to make a note of my flower preference. “Truthfully, I was hoping you would call.”

  “You were?” I squeak. I sound ridiculous.

  “I wanted to talk with you. Privately.” His voice lowers on that last word, sending my imagination into a spiral. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

  Tomorrow is Friday. I should lie and tell him yes, I am soooo freaking busy. That way I don’t look pitiful for not having a date on a Friday night…

  No, that’s stupid. I should be honest. If he wants to get together tomorrow night, I am more than game.

  “No, I’m not busy,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice light. Casual. Like this is no big deal.

  “Care to have dinner? Though I’m not sure if you want to be seen out with me, after my recent and very public breakup.” He actually sounds amused, like he could give a crap if the local gossips catch him out on the town with another woman so quickly after he ended his engagement.

  “I don’t mind being seen with you in public,” I assure him. Has he become a social pariah, all because he ended things with a woman who cheated on him? I should hope not. Talk about unfair.

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, say around seven?” I hear the low murmur of a female voice and I am pretty sure that was Kelsey talking. “Sorry, I have a meeting to go to, but are you calling on your cell?”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll have my assistant give me your number and I’ll text you later. See you soon.” He’s gone before I can say anything else, reminding me of how Tiffany would always end our calls too soon as well.

  I guess I’m going to dinner with Alex tomorrow. The realization fills me with sudden, unmistakable anxiety.

  I ask Iris if I can take an early lunch and once I get her approval, I head to Sweet Dreams so I give Stella an update. She takes her lunch break as well. We both order salads and homemade lemonade and take our lunch up to our apartment so we can eat and gossip in peace.

  “He offered to take you to dinner?” she repeats after I tell her exactly that. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  I’m a little taken aback. “A date?”

  “He asked you to dinner on a Friday night. That constitutes a date in my book,” Stella says with a firm nod.

  Huh. I mean, when he asked me, I immediately thought I should lie and tell him I already had a date on a hot Friday night, so I see where Stella is coming from. But I don’t think he’s asking me out on an actual date.

  Is he?

  “Come on. He just broke it off with Tiffany. He’s not ready to date yet,” I tell Stella.

  “Uh huh. And you are the first girl he ever kissed,” Stella reminds me, not that I need the reminder. “And you accidentally walk back into his life like one of those romcom movies we love on Netflix, so of course he’s intrigued.”

  “He ended his engagement. He’s in mourning.” I stab at my salad with my fork like I’m trying to kill vegetables.

  “He doesn’t seem to be mourning too deeply.” Stella’s voice is laced with sarcasm.

  “She was going to be his wife.” In my eyes—crap in anyone’s eyes—that’s a big deal. Huge.

  “Right, but he never gave her an engagement ring.” Stella takes a sip from her lemonade, her lips puckering up after she swallows. Guess it wasn’t quite sweet enough. “I don’t think he was that into her.”

  “Isn’t that a title from one of those movies we watch?” I point my fork at her. “Or was it the title of a self-help book?”

  “I think it was both.” Stella sets her lemonade down, pinning me with her gaze. When she wants to, my friend knows how to make me squirm. “The point is, I think Alex is totally into you.”

  “That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.” I mean it, but then I think of—for about the hundredth time—when I confessed all and fell into his arms as I was leaving his office. The chemistry between us was palpable in that moment, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was all one-sided. Or maybe he wasn’t feeling it between us because he was so sad about the demise of his relationship.

  Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he did feel the connection.

  “Plus he sent you flowers. What guy does that unless he’s interested?” Stella says.

  “He’s just being nice,” I say quietly as I stare off into space. What do the flowers mean? What does any of this mean? Do I really want to go on a date with a guy who’s on the rebound? That’s exactly what Alex is—rebounding from a terrible relationship that ended badly.

  If it was anyone else, I’d say hell no. I’d have zero interest.

  But it’s Alex. While it’s been years since I’ve seen him and for all I know he could be a complete asshole, because of our past, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Something I rarely give anyone, unless it’s one of my friends.

  Sixteen

  I’m trying to play it cool getting ready for our dinner date—I so hate using the word, but what else can I call it?—tonight, but the nerves are coming at me big time. To the point that I’m a shaky mess and I keep screwing up my eyeliner and mascara. The bathroom is still hot and steamy from my shower so I’m looking a little frazzled, and my hair is going limp.

  In other words, I’m turning into a total date fail.

  “I can’t do this.” I tear a makeup wipe from its package and start scrubbing first one eye, then the other, until all the mascara and eyeliner are gone.

  Stella cautiously enters the bathroom, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “I’ll just go to dinner with a plain face and a bright lipstick,” I tell her, as if that will solve all of my problems.