“Of course you don’t. It doesn’t matter to you.” She snaps her menu shut and slaps it on the table. “I’m tired of you putting it off.”

  “And I’m tired of you nagging me about it.” Trying my best to smile, I reach across the table and take her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. She blinks at me, her mouth formed into a pout, and I wish I would’ve just asked her to marry me with a ring already picked out. “Come on, Tiff. Lighten up. We haven’t seen each other in a few days.”

  She gently withdraws her hand from mine. “We’ll meet with your mother this week?

  “Yes,” I say firmly, earning a faint smile.

  We remain quiet, me checking my phone while Tiffany rifles through the Fendi bag I purchased for her the last time I went to New York—my assistant picked it out for her—pulling out the shiny pink lip gloss and mirror so she can apply it right at the table.

  “Did you send out the save the date cards yet?” I thought those cards were a stupid waste of time and money, but Tiffany definitely did not.

  “I haven’t got a chance to, no.” She nibbles on her freshly glossed lower lip, a move I used to find sexy. Now, it just seems…

  Contrived?

  “Why not?” I ask. “I thought that was your plan for this weekend, getting them ready to mail.”

  “I became occupied with other…things. There is truly so much involved when planning a wedding, Alex. I don’t think you can comprehend exactly how much I’m dealing with at the moment.”

  “I’m sure it’s a lot.” I reach across the table to take her hand again, but before I can grab it, she settles them both in her lap.

  Odd.

  “Though thank goodness we have the location already.” She glances around the restaurant, taking it all in. We’re getting married outdoors on the hotel grounds and holding our reception in one of the ballrooms on site. “That’s such a huge relief.”

  “You should send out those save the date cards before it gets too late. We’re running out of time,” I remind Tiffany before smiling at the server as she makes her approach. “Hello, Nina.”

  “Mr. Wilder. So good to see you again. Are you and Ms. Ratcliffe ready to order?” Nina asks, smiling at the both of us.

  Tiffany doesn’t even bother to say hello.

  “We’ll both take the buffet,” I tell Nina, not bothering to check if that’s what Tiffany actually wants. Not that she’ll protest.

  She goes along with everything I want. Just as I do for her.

  Mostly.

  Seven

  Caroline

  First thing Monday morning and I’m at Noteworthy twenty minutes early, knowing full well Iris will already be there. The situation with Tiffany and Alex has been weighing on my mind all freaking weekend, to the point that I feel like I’m about to burst from the stress of it all.

  I need Iris’s opinion. She’ll know what to do.

  “Caroline,” she greets me when I find her in her office, bent over her datebook. She frowns when I assume she sees the stressed out expression on my face, and closes the datebook, setting her silver pen beside it on the desk. “You’re here early. Are you all right, dear?”

  “No.” I enter her office and sit in the seat opposite her desk. “No, I’m not all right. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

  I proceed to tell her everything I saw late Friday afternoon at the Wilder house. Iris’s face grows more and more horrified the more details I add, especially when I mention that I saw Tiffany clad in a pair of panties and nothing else.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t her fiancé with her?” Iris asks when I finish.

  She sounds just like Stella. “It wasn’t him,” I say firmly. “I know it wasn’t. It was another man.”

  “Oh my.” She shakes her head and sighs. “This is quite the predicament.”

  “What should I do? Should I tell him? Should I go to her first and tell her I know? Warn her that if she doesn’t tell him first, I will?”

  “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?” Iris asks gently.

  Again, Stella said the same thing. Told me I watch too much reality TV and no way in hell would Tiffany appreciate me threatening her like that. I had to run it by Iris, though, just in case she thought it was a good idea.

  Clearly, it’s not.

  “If you were in this situation, what would you do?” I ask.

  Iris grabs her silver pen, tapping it against the edge of her desk as she contemplates my question. “I think I would tell him,” she finally says. “It would be a terrible conversation to have, and he most likely wouldn’t believe you and possibly even consider you’re behaving like a jealous shrew, but I would definitely tell him. Just so you’re able to get rid of that guilty feeling I’m sure you’re carrying around.”

  “Wait a minute, you believe he’d consider me a jealous shrew?” I’m a bit taken aback at that statement. “Why would he think that?”

  “Oh, absolutely he might think so. If he’s madly in love with her and eager to make this woman his wife, do you really think he’s going to believe the girl who ordered his invitations when she comes to him and says his future wife is cheating on him?”

  “Wow, you make me sound so…menial.” I’m a little hurt over it too, I can’t lie. “I do know him.”

  Iris’s brows rise. “You do? How?”

  “He was my older brother’s best friend when they were in middle school,” I explain. “He recognized me first.”

  “That was so long ago, though, wasn’t it? Too many years have passed. He doesn’t really know you,” Iris says.

  “I guess,” I say with a shrug.

  “I’m not trying to make you feel less than, Caroline. I’m just simplifying the situation as best I can from his perspective. I know and adore you, darling, but Alexander Wilder doesn’t really know you at all. And he comes from a very powerful family in the area. I’m sure he’d dismiss your sordid little tale as jealous gossip and carry on with his wedding as planned.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Would he really do that? Even after everything I told him?

  “I know, I agree. But you have to realize that she’ll surely convince him that you’re lying.”

  “I’m not, though.”

  “We know this,” Iris reassures me. “They don’t.”

  I don’t want to be thought of as a liar. What if he tells his friends and colleagues that I lie? Convinces them that I’m some psycho who’s hot for him and made up stories about his fiancée? Then they tell their friends and so on and so forth until Noteworthy’s business is…

  Ruined.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t tell him,” I say tentatively. “I don’t want him—or Tiffany—spreading rumors about me. Or saying damaging things that could ruin the store’s reputation.”

  “He won’t. I don’t believe he’d take it that far. He doesn’t have time for that. Trust me, I know his father, though we haven’t spoken in years. And if he’s anything like his father, he’s not the type to gossip—his father is a very private person. Tiffany, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about. I don’t know her at all—is she even from the area?” After I shake my head, Iris continues, “Well, if she’s smart, she’ll keep her mouth shut since she’s the guilty party.”

  My mind is seriously spinning with all of this information that I want nothing to do with. “This entire situation is so…insane,” I say, sounding a little dazed and confused.

  Maybe because I feel a little dazed and confused.

  “Isn’t it? Oh, I haven’t had this much commotion with a wedding since that one a few years ago, when the father of the bride brought a loaded shotgun to the ceremony and threatened his daughter’s new husband with it.” Iris claps her hands together, the pleasure on her face unmistakable. “I do enjoy a little drama here now and then.”

  “This is way too much drama for me,” I mutter.

  “Yes, it is.” Iris reaches across the table and clasps my hand with hers. “But I know you can handle it.”

  My heart is beating so hard I swear it’s going to pop out of my chest, and my palms are sweaty. But here I am at Wilder Hotel on Pebble Beach, the most exclusive hotel in the area, sitting in the foyer of Alex Wilder’s office and waiting for him to see me.

  That he even agreed to an appointment this afternoon is still a surprise. I figured he’d have no time to meet with me. Or, at the very most, I’d probably see him next week. That would’ve been plenty of time for me to figure out how to approach this touchy situation, and what to say.

  But nope, when I made the call, his assistant put me on hold, then came back on the line and said he had a half hour slot this afternoon available to meet with him at two o’clock, and that was it for the week. Iris had no problem with me leaving work early to meet with him either, damn it. How I wish I’d had a two o’clock appointment too, but alas, my afternoon was completely free.

  So here I am, fidgeting in my seat, picking at my pale pink nail polish, a nervous habit I thought I broke myself of years ago.

  As I make the pink flakes continuously rain onto my knee, I realize the annoying habit is just as strong as ever.

  “Miss Abbott.” I glance up to see his assistant smiling at me from where she sits behind her desk. She’s absolutely stunning, with long, straight black hair that falls far beyond her shoulders, and deep blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. I wonder if he has certain criteria when hiring people who work for him. I bet he does. I bet there’s not one plain person who works at this hotel or its offices either. “Mr. Wilder is ready to see you now.”

  I rise to my feet, brushing away the pink flakes of polish from my black pants. I’m also wiping my sweaty palms on my pants too, so it’s like killing two birds with one nervous stone. “Thank you.”

  When I don’t move, the assistant tilts her head, her delicate brows wrinkling. “His office is right there.” She indicates the closed door to her right with her hand.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. Exhale loudly. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.” She seems ready to say something else, but the phone rings, distracting her.

  Taking another deep breath, I approach the door, my fingers clasping around the handle, slipping a little before I can give it a turn. This causes me to fumble with the door, and I practically stumble my way into his office, gripping the edge of the door so I don’t fall on my ass in front of him.

  Thank God, I’m not wearing a skirt or a dress.

  When I right myself, I see Alex has risen from his chair and is rounding his desk, headed right for me. Next thing I know, he’s standing in front of me, his hand touching mine, concern etched in his face. “Are you all right?”

  My cheeks are so hot, they surely must look like they’re on fire. He reaches behind me with his other hand, so close I can feel his body heat, inhale the scent of his spicy cologne as he shuts the office door.

  “Sorry. I guess your door handle is giving me a hard time.” I wave a hand, like it’s no big deal, causing his hand to fall away from mine. My cheeks are still warm, and I’m sure I look flustered. I know I certainly feel flustered.

  His lips tip up at the corners, a barely-there smile that is still dazzling, damn him. Why does he have to be so extraordinarily good looking? It’s the most annoying thing ever. He’s not wearing a suit today, though I see the jacket hanging on a nearby coatrack. His trousers are navy blue. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick tanned forearms. A silver tie hangs loose around his neck. His dark hair is a little mussed.

  Looks like he might be having a rough day.

  I’m afraid I’m about to make it even rougher.

  Eight

  Alex

  There’s something about Caroline Abbott that always appealed to me, even when I was a kid. Especially when I was a kid. In middle school, I was painfully shy. Insecure about how I looked, insecure around girls. I didn’t know how to talk to them, even though I have a sister—and my little sister was more popular than I was at that time.

  Caroline was always nice to me. I thought she was funny. And sweet. Carter gave her endless shit, but I always hung back, didn’t want her to think I was giving her shit too. After a while, I developed a little crush on her. Even though she was in the sixth grade and I was in the eighth, I was drawn to her. To the point that one summer night while hiding out together in a neighborhood game of hide and seek, the darkness made me bold and I kissed her.

  She kissed me back. We kept kissing each other until someone banged on the side of the shed. The noise startled us, we sprang apart from each other and…that was it.

  We never kissed again. Hell, we never saw each other again. My grandfather told my parents they were finished playing at being regular people and living in a normal neighborhood in Monterey. He wanted them closer. He wanted our family to move to Carmel, even though we weren’t that far, and he wanted us kids in the best schools in the area.

  So we moved. I never saw the Abbotts again.

  Until now.

  I thought of her off and on throughout the years. Where was she? Did she grow up to be a beautiful woman? Did she even still live in the same area? Does she still remember our kiss with fondness, or is it a bad memory she’d rather forget?

  I could ask her, but now is not the time. Currently she’s standing before me with bright red cheeks and a vaguely frazzled air about her, her shirt wrinkled, and there are odd flakes of pink dusting her black pants. She’s reminding me of how she was all those years ago. A little bit of a mess—a pretty one.

  If Carter ever knew I liked her when we were kids, he would’ve made fun of me for days. Weeks. Probably months, if not years.

  But she was cute back then. And funny. She had a way of talking that I found interesting, and I liked the same TV shows she watched. Sometimes we’d all sit together in their living room and watch TV, and I liked those moments.

  They felt so normal.

  She’d grown up to be a beautiful woman, there’s no denying that. Sleek brown hair that’s parted in the middle and stops just above her shoulders. Dark brown eyes that flash with curiosity as her gaze wanders about my office. She has sharp cheekbones and a sharp nose, lush lips and a pointy little chin. Smooth skin and a lean body.

  She reminds me of a cat, if a cat came in human form.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at the last minute like this,” she says, her gaze looking everywhere but never meeting mine.

  She seems terribly nervous. Do I make her nervous? I tend to do that to people, but usually only when I’m trying to close a business deal and I’m playing hardball.

  Or is she nervous because of our shared past? Should I bring it up? Should I bring up the kiss? If I do, and she doesn’t remember it, then I look like a freak fixated on a moment that happened over ten years ago. Closer to fourteen years ago. And while she was my first kiss, and I have a feeling I was hers, it’s not normal to be hung up on someone you kissed when you were fourteen.

  Especially when I’m engaged to be married to someone else.

  I realize she said something and I never answered her. Jesus.

  “It’s not a problem. Would you care to sit down?” I have exactly thirty minutes to speak with her, which is a damn shame. I wouldn’t mind catching up. Maybe even over a drink.

  Yeah. That’s probably not a good idea.

  “Sure.” She settles into the chair opposite my desk while I sit, leaning back to take her in. She’s fidgety. Still not really looking at me.

  “What exactly brings you here to my office, Miss…” My voice drifts because it feels strange to call her Miss Abbott. I still think of her as Caroline, or Carrie. That’s what her mother called her.

  “Abbott,” Caroline finishes for me. “Caroline Abbott. You do remember I’m from Noteworthy, right?”

  “Of course.” I’m a little offended that she’d think I actually forgot who she was. “I know who you are, Caroline. I was going to call you Miss Abbott, but that felt strange, what with me knowing you when you were twelve and your hair was always in braids.”

  She’s frowning, her delicate brows wrinkled. It’s a cute look, I have to admit. “Braids? That’s what you remember about me?”

  “I remember lots of things about you,” I tell her, and from the look on her face, I just shocked her silent. Good. I need to cut to the chase, not dwell in the past. Having her in my office is too…tempting. And I shouldn’t be tempted. “Is there a problem with our invitation order? The payment?” We all know the only part I played in the order is that my credit card paid for everything.

  Her nervousness is long gone. She is all business. “No, there was no problem. Well.” She bites her lower lip, and while I find the move contrived from Tiffany, when Caroline does it, I find it…

  Intriguing. I vaguely even remember what that mouth tasted like. Sunshine and strawberries. She used a strawberry lip balm that was so fragrant, I always knew when she slicked it on her lips. I’ve had a fondness for strawberry scented anything ever since.

  “Well?” I prompt when she remains silent.

  She sighs and shakes her head, her hair swinging gently, sleek and shiny. “This is so hard for me to discuss, I’m sorry. Let me start from the beginning. Your fiancée called me Friday afternoon saying she hadn’t received the save the date cards.”

  “Right. And they were supposed to be delivered on Friday afternoon.” Irritation flashes through me at the idea of that not happening. I paid a fortune in shipping fees to ensure we’d get those stupid cards by the end of the week. She was so damn insistent we get them by Friday, yet she didn’t bother addressing and stamping any of those cards over the weekend. The delivery fee I paid turned out to be a waste of money.

  “They were delivered Friday afternoon, they were just somehow delivered to the store and not your house. So your fiancée requested that I bring them to your home.” She takes another shaky breath.