The understatement of the century. “She’s crazy,” I say with a slight shake of my head. Wait a minute. I should probably rephrase that. “What she did was crazy,” I amend.

  “She shouldn’t take her anger out on you, or on your workplace. Her emotions should be directed at me,” he says firmly.

  If she took her anger out on him, then her chances on getting him back would be ruined forever. I may not be a crazy person, but I understand—somewhat—why she’s behaving this way. She doesn’t want to necessarily provoke him, but she’s trying to prove a point.

  And for some reason, I’m involved in the point proving she’s doing.

  “I spoke with Tiffany after I got off the phone with Iris,” Alex says as I reach for my wineglass. “I told her to leave you alone.”

  “I’m sure that conversation went well.” Screw it. I grab my wineglass and finish the rest of it. “Does she hate me?”

  “Of course not.” His expression is impassive, telling me that he’s lying. Fibbing? A polite white lie, let’s call it.

  “There’s no need to protect my feelings.” I shrug.

  “Then yes, she hates you.” He smiles, though it’s a little strained, and I understand why she hates me. I also appreciate his honesty.

  “No surprise,” I tell him and his smile grows, making me feel a little faint.

  “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.” He sits up a little straighter, shrugging out of his jacket. I watch in fascination as his muscles strain against his shirt with the movement. He tugs on his tie, loosening it from around his neck before he pulls it completely off, and he shoves it into the pocket of his jacket before setting it on the bench beside him.

  That minor strip show was rather…enjoyable.

  “For some reason, she believes we’re involved.” When he frowns, I say more. “With each other.”

  “She hates the fact that we knew each other, that you’re a part of my past. She’s…” His voice drifts and he shakes his head. “Odd sometimes.”

  I want to talk more about her, but that’s weird considering we’re out on this non-date. I’m sure he doesn’t want to enjoy his meal while chatting about his batshit-crazy ex fiancée. I should probably change the subject.

  But I don’t need to change the subject since our server shows up with two of our appetizers, another server right behind her with the third. The table is covered in food as they set the plates down, and when they leave, I start to laugh.

  “Appetizers are funny?” Alex asks with a slight smile.

  “You ordered enough food to feed ten people,” I say, reaching for a tempura vegetable—pretty sure it’s broccoli—and start nibbling on it.

  “Dip it in the sauce. Makes it even better,” he encourages, and I do as he suggests, dunking the other end of my tempura in the sauce before I take a bite.

  “Oh wow,” I say, my mouth full. I bet the women he goes out with don’t speak with food in their mouths, but this is so freaking delicious.

  “Good, right?”

  We start shoveling it in, though I avoid the oysters at first. I don’t need any aphrodisiacs—that’s just asking for trouble, what with the way I’m downing the wine. The California Tower is delicious, like sushi but not in a roll, and I keep picking at that, to the point that Alex gently slides the plate closer to me, making me laugh.

  “How’s Carter?” Alex asks once we’ve slowed down on the appetizer-devouring. “We’re friends on Facebook, but that’s essentially meaningless, since we really don’t communicate. Plus he doesn’t post much.”

  “He’s what I call a Facebook spy,” I say, wondering if I can eat any more. We haven’t even ordered our main course yet. “Checking up on people, but rarely sharing anything about himself.”

  “I’m the same way,” Alex says with a chuckle. “He’s still selling real estate?”

  “Yes, and doing very well. He lives in Los Angeles, so we don’t see each other much. We don’t talk a lot either, he’s a busy guy,” I admit, hating the shame that washes over me at the confession. We’re not a close family, and we never really have been. More like once we were able to, we scattered to the wind. I can’t remember the last time all three of us—me, Carter and our mother—were in the same place together. “Last time I called him it was on his birthday. In January.”

  “He looks good,” Alex says. “From what I see on his Facebook posts.”

  My brother loves to show off. His expensive car, the shiny Rolex on his wrist, the houses he sells, the vacations he takes, and the beautiful women who accompany him.

  I sometimes wonder if it’s a façade. Is he really that happy? Or is it all just for show?

  “He’s very successful at what he does. He should be, he’s a total workaholic,” I say.

  “I can relate.” Alex reaches for the bottle of wine and pours more in my glass and then his. “I work a lot.”

  “I know.” My lips twitch as I try to contain my smile. He notices, though, and is smiling in return.

  “What’s up with the smirk?”

  “Your ‘I work a lot’ statement is downplaying the truth.”

  “What do you mean?” He seems genuinely perplexed.

  “I knew from the moment you walked into Noteworthy that you were a workaholic. You were far more interested in your phone the morning we met about the invitations than what we were actually discussing,” I point out.

  “I was right in the middle of an important merger,” he tells me, which makes me burst out laughing. All he can do is frown. I don’t think he likes not being in on the joke. “What’s so funny?”

  “You were in the middle of an important merger with Tiffany as well,” I point out, making him chuckle.

  “You’re right,” he says. “I guess that should’ve been a sign.”

  “A sign for what?”

  He sobers up. “That my impending merger with Tiffany wasn’t that important to me.”

  Here’s my chance. I have to ask him, right now, before I lose my nerve. “Then why were you going to marry her?”

  Eighteen

  Alex

  I’m shocked silent for a moment by Caroline’s question. Only because I’m not sure how to answer.

  The server chooses that moment to appear at our table, a tentative smile on her face. “Everything okay? Are you ready to order entrees? Or are the appetizers going to do it for you tonight?”

  “I’d like an entrée.” I look over at Caroline, who shrugs her answer. “My date will have the grilled chicken, and I’ll take the lobster.”

  “Very good.” The server makes a note of our order. “Care for more wine?”

  “Please,” Caroline answers before I can.

  Once the server is gone, I start talking. “Have you ever found yourself swept up into a situation that you weren’t sure how to get out of?”

  When Caroline nods, I explain further. “That’s how I felt about Tiffany. I met her, and we instantly clicked. I thought we shared the same interests, she was always available, accompanying me to the various meetings and dinners that come with my job. She was just so damn agreeable. That should’ve been my first clue something was wrong.”

  Caroline offers a faint smile, but says nothing.

  “Turns out she agreed with everything I said or wanted to do because her only goal was to please me. To get me. She was husband hunting, and in her eyes, I was a good catch.”

  “You have to admit that you’re a pretty damn good catch.”

  Does she really mean that? By the look on her very expressive face, I’d say yes, but I don’t want to sound like an egotistical prick. Even in my own thoughts. “I look good on paper. In real life, I’m not that easy.”

  “Are you saying that just to be humble?” she asks, her gaze narrowed.

  I appreciate the way she doesn’t mince words. “Probably.”

  “Doing what you do, I’m sure being humble isn’t considered an asset.” Her eyes go wide and she covers her mouth with her fingers. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you’re right. I have to sell not only my business, but I have to sell the family. I have to sell me. To investors, to clients, to guests. Our brand is all about trust,” I explain.

  “Are you too trusting of a person? Is that how Tiffany was able to weasel her way in?” Caroline asks, her eyes dancing with mischief. I’m sure over the weasel reference.

  But too trusting makes me sound weak, and I wouldn’t consider myself a weak person. Did Tiffany strike at the right time? Did she take advantage of me? Again, that makes me sound weak, and I don’t like it. “I wouldn’t call myself too trusting, but in that moment…I suppose I was,” I reluctantly admit.

  “I’m the complete opposite,” she tells me, her slender fingers playing with the delicate stem of her wineglass. Her nails are short, painted a pale pink. I remember grabbing her hand and pulling her to me when I was fourteen, how my heart was in my throat, my head feeling as if it would explode. I was so damn scared she would pull away. Laugh at me.

  Instead she came willingly. She trusted me then.

  Who made her distrust everyone now?

  “What do you mean?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything else.

  “I don’t trust anyone. You have to earn my trust before I give it.” She smiles, her hand dropping away from her glass to settle in her lap. “You have an advantage, though.”

  “I do?” I’m surprised.

  “Yes.” She nods. “I knew you when we were kids, and you were always nice to me, Alex. Carter’s friends treated me like crap on the regular, but never you. You were always polite, always kind. Like you actually wanted to hang out with me.”

  “I did want to hang out with you,” I confess.

  She laughs, the tinkling sound filling me with…Christ, is that joy? I can’t remember the last time I felt such a pure emotion. “Knowing how big of a crush you had on me back then is pretty heady stuff.”

  “Still?”

  “Definitely. If I’d only known then, I would’ve totally worked it. We could’ve made out all summer long.” She’s grinning, her eyes sparkling, and she’s reminding me of the girl I knew years ago.

  That had been my plan. After we kissed that night, I’d tried my best to devise a hundred different ways for us to be together again. Alone. With nothing but time on our hands and our lips on each other’s.

  But I’d woken up the next morning to discover my parents wanted to talk to me. They’d made a decision. They were sending me to football camp for two weeks starting in two days, and I would be attending a new high school in the fall. I never saw Caroline Abbott or her brother—my best friend—again.

  Until a couple of weeks ago.

  “That would’ve made my summer much better,” I say wistfully.

  “Same.” She laughs. “Can you imagine? A summer of nothing but makeout sessions? They probably would’ve been disastrous. We were so young.”

  “We would’ve figured it out,” I tell her with a sly smile.

  “I’m sure.” She’s smirking again. “You disappeared, though. Carter would never admit it, but he was heartbroken. I was the angry one.”

  “You were angry I disappeared?” At the time, I wondered if anyone would actually care. That’s typical fourteen-year-old angsty boy for you.

  “Furious. On my brother’s behalf and mine. I couldn’t believe you’d kiss me like that and just…evaporate. Like you never even existed.” She snaps her fingers, considering me. “What happened?”

  “My parents made me to go to a two-week summer camp—and gave me two days’ notice to get ready for it. They also made me go to a different high school,” I explain.

  “You didn’t go to a boarding school?”

  I shake my head in answer.

  Caroline frowns. “Why didn’t you call Carter? Or any of your friends?”

  “I didn’t think they’d care.” Her incredulous expression urges me on. “Look, I was fourteen, and depressed my parents were changing my life without asking. Not that they asked for my input on anything I did when I was a kid, but still. When I came back from camp, I realized none of my friends tried to call, no one looked for me, asked about me, nothing. I got pissed. I figured no one would miss me, so why bother talking to anyone from my old school? That’s why I never reached out.”

  I’m realizing that when you’re fourteen, you’re pretty damn dramatic.

  “You kissed me like crazy, then never called me again. Did you think I forgot about you too?”

  My gaze meets hers. “Yes,” I say, my voice a little rough, which is ridiculous. We were kids and we kissed. No big deal.

  But why does this conversation, and my confessions, feel like such a big deal?

  “Boys are so stupid when they’re fourteen,” she mutters under her breath.

  “We’re kind of stupid now, if that’s any consolation,” I tell her.

  Caroline rolls her eyes. “That’s no consolation. At all.”

  The server reappears with our fresh bottle of wine, filling our glasses with what remained in the old bottle before leaving as quickly as she appeared.

  “I was—difficult when I was a kid,” I say as Caroline sips from her glass. I was stubborn. Opinionated. Drove my parents and sister crazy. I’d get to school, though, and become quiet. I let others lead, while I observed.

  Learned.

  And when I started my freshman year at the new high school, I used all of those traits I observed throughout my middle school years and made them my own.

  I became a leader.

  “I always thought you were nice,” she says.

  “Sure I was. To you.”

  “Do you consider yourself difficult now?” She raises a delicate brow.

  “I can be rather…particular.” I need to choose my words carefully, so I don’t look like a complete asshole. “I like things to happen a certain way.”

  “So you like to be in control.”

  She gets me faster than I thought she would. Faster than Tiffany ever did, as well. “I do. In business and in my personal life. That’s why I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in years—until Tiffany.”

  “And we know how well that went.” A smile teases the corners of her lush lips. She has a pretty mouth. A pretty everything if I’m being truthful. She was cute when we were young, but now?

  She’s stunning. Beautiful. Yet it’s more than just her pretty face that I find attractive. She’s smart. Confident. Funny.

  I shouldn’t feel like this. I broke off my engagement only a few days ago, and I’m already attracted to Caroline. Though my problem is, I’ve always been attracted to Caroline. I’ve often wondered where she might be, what she might be doing. I even looked her up a couple of times over the years. I found her on Facebook through Carter, but her profile had strict privacy settings and I couldn’t see much. Her Instagram is private too. There’s not a lot about her on the Internet.

  She’s a mystery that I want to figure out.

  But would she see me again? Or does my relationship status make her wary? If she were the one who just broke off an engagement and asked me to dinner after only a few days of ending it, I’d run. Anyone who just got out of a serious relationship might still have lingering feelings for their ex. And that’s something I wouldn’t want to deal with.

  She’d be a nonnegotiable.

  If Caroline was smart, she’d let me pay for her meal, have me drive her back home, thank me for a nice dinner, and never see me again.

  Nineteen

  Caroline

  “I’m so grateful you’re all here.” I smile at the women at the table. My closest friends. “I really need your counsel.”

  It’s Sunday, and once a month me and the gal pals get together for brunch. We’re at one of our favorite breakfast places, sitting outside on the patio since it’s a gorgeous spring morning, with barely a cloud in the sky. These monthly meet ups are a chance to drink champagne before noon without shame, eat lots of delicious food and pretend there are zero calories. Plus we can catch up on gossip. The gossip is usually just about us and our lack of—or overabundance of—a love life.

  After my dinner date—yes, fine I can admit it was a date—with Alex Friday night, I knew I’d need to talk to my girls. Here today are Stella, Sarah, Amelia—who works at a fine jewelry store not far from where Sarah works—and Eleanor, who’s a hairstylist and cuts all of our hair for a discount. I would’ve invited Kelsey, but since I need serious advice about the man who happens to be her boss, I thought it best I wait and invite her to the next monthly brunch.

  “What’s going on?” Amelia asks before taking a sip of her mimosa. We all ordered a round, but I’ve already finished mine.

  Yeah. I’m that twisted up over this.

  “I went on a date Friday night.” I pause for a moment, letting this bit of info sink in. It’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual date, and they all know this.

  “That’s great news,” Eleanor says, smiling. She’s a sunny blonde with a positive attitude that makes all of us look like a bunch of bitter Bettys most of the time. I haven’t told her anything about Alex, and same with Amelia, so they’re coming into this completely clueless. “With who? Where did you meet him?”

  I decide to drop the truth bomb with a heavy hand. “He came in with his fiancée to order save the date cards and wedding invitations.” I look around for a server, anxiety clawing at my throat. I need more champagne.

  “Wait, what? He’s engaged?” Eleanor’s light blue eyes look like they’re about to pop out of her head. And she sounds positively outraged. Amelia’s just staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

  She’s the practical friend. The one who will caution you if you’re getting too crazy, and push you when you’re being too reserved. She’s very refined and quiet, probably because she spends so much time with wealthy people shopping for expensive jewelry.

  “He’s not engaged anymore.” The server makes his appearance, and I practically beg him for another round of mimosas. Once he’s gone, I say, “They broke it off.”