Chapter Fourteen

Normally, a brunch trip to Grounded Coffee with Daphne meant Clover rushed to claim the seat at their regular table that would give her the perfect view of the coffee house’s amazingly hot in-house pastry chef as he made the chocolate-filled croissants and other goodies destined to go straight to her ass. This time, though, she didn’t even realize she was sitting with her back to the large window dividing the kitchen from the seating area until Daphne slid into prime viewing seat number one and dug into her food.

“Oh my God.” Daphne gasped, her forkful of bacon and spinach quiche stopping halfway between her plate and her mouth. “It really must be love.”

Trying not the burn with guilt, Clover finished the bite of taste-free and chalky croissant. Okay, it probably tasted wonderful but not to her at the moment. The evil eye her conscience was giving her pretty much killed any good the delectable could do for her taste buds.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, sounding as convincingly innocent as she had when she’d been eight and had gotten caught with the last crumbs of an entire plate’s worth of Christmas cookies.

“Hot chef,” Daphne responded. “You didn’t even look before you plopped down.”

Buying time by stuffing another bite of flaky, buttery chalk dust into her mouth, she forced herself to make eye contact with her best friend. Daphne had her elbows on their table and her chin propped up on one hand, her brown eyes wide with interest.

“I’m just keeping the mystery alive for our friendship.” Oh yeah, Clover. That doesn’t sound like bullshit at all. “What fun would it be if you knew everything about me?”

“Like that game is even necessary,” Daphne argued and popped another bite of quiche into her mouth. “I’ve barely heard from you lately and this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you in weeks.”

“It’s been a little busy.” In a hot, sweaty sex against the wall, in the shower, and occasionally on the bed kind of way.

Daphne arched an eyebrow. “All that wedding planning, huh?”

What once had probably been a perfectly good croissant transformed into a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. God, she hated lying. This was why she’d been dodging her bestie and her mom. It was easier to forget what a total asshole she was being to the people she loved if she wasn’t eye to eye with them. The truth danced on the tip of her tongue before pounding against her clamped shut lips. But instead of letting the words out, she forced herself to walk the Sawyer Carlyle personal buffer company line.

“Exactly.” She nodded and slammed back the remains of her espresso cup, kind of for real hoping it would make her spontaneously combust on the spot.

It didn’t. Instead, she just gave her insides third degree burns.

“That is bullshit,” Daphne said.

Clover jerked to attention, torn away from her own pity party.

Daphne rolled her eyes and continued. “I know you’re not getting married.”

“According to the paper I am.” Mostly true. Heart rate? Autobahn fast.

“Where’s the ring?” Daphne asked.

“I don’t have one.” Her palms started to sweat.

“Does he dress left or right?” her best friend asked in a rush and a wicked little grin.

“Left.” Totally true. Also, her lying-induced anxiety was making her stomach cramp up.

“Middle name?”

She gulped. “Charles.” It could be Charles. It also just happened to be the name of the guy who’d taken their brunch order.

“Favorite breakfast food?”

“Waffles.” At least that’s what Sawyer loved to pop in the toaster for post-coital refreshment—a mental image she didn’t need when her pulse was already jackhammering in her ears.

Daphne took a sip of coffee and looking bored all of a sudden asked, “When are you leaving for Australia?”

“Two and a half weeks.” Finally, one she didn’t have to mislead about.

“Called it!” Daphne raised her arm and pumped her fist. “The whole engagement is bullshit. So what’s the real story?”

Oh crap. If she was getting married, there would be no Australia.

Figuratively cornered by Daphne’s eyes and the power of long-term friendship, her cheeks blazed, her heart slammed against her ribs, and the words rushed out—along with some very unfortunately timed stress tears.

“Just because I’m still going to Australia doesn’t mean the engagement is fake or that I’m dodging my mom’s calls because I hate lying to her or that I’ve been making myself stay away from you guys because I knew you’d figure out the truth.” Breaths coming in short gasps, she looked down at the napkin she’d shredded without realizing it and grabbed a fresh one from the dispenser on the table to dry her cheeks and wipe her runny nose. Damn. She did not mean for all of that to come out. Maybe it hadn’t. If she prayed hard enough maybe it had only happened in her head. She glanced up at Daphne, and she was staring at her with mouth agape. Nope. She’d definitely said it out loud. “Tae.”

“I don’t know what that last word was,” Daphne said, “and I’m still processing the rest.”

“It means shit in Tagalog.” Which was the best possible word for what she’d just said because there would be no stopping the interrogation that was going to happen next.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” Her friend took a quick sip of coffee. “You’re not engaged?”

Clover shook her head. “No.”

“Thank God,” she said and sank back against her seat. “I thought you’d lost your fucking mind or had joined a cult.”

“None of the above.” She reached for her espresso with hands that didn’t shake for the first time since she’d arrived at Grounded Coffee. “I’m Sawyer’s personal buffer.”

“You’re a fluffer?” Daphne asked in a stage whisper. “Like in porn?”

“No!” Clover said, perhaps a bit too forcefully considering the looks they got from some of the people sitting near their table. “Mierda.”

Great. Let’s just add making a public fool of yourself to everything else.

She offered the strangers a smile—a perfectly polite response if she’d been in small town Sparksville, but one that only elicited confused and wary reactions from the good people of Harbor City who learned from birth not to acknowledge each other. The only benefit of that being that they all very quickly turned back to their own tables.

Daphne leaned in close and lowered her voice, “You’re having sex with him, though.”

“What makes you say that?” And there went what little remained of her napkin.

“Because if you weren’t you would have just straight denied it,” she said, bold as brass. “Face it, Clover, you can’t keep shit from me—obviously, since it took about ten minutes to break you. Don’t ever turn to a life of crime. You’d suck at it.”

And didn’t she know it. “Noted.”

“So what’s the real deal?”

Glancing over at the other tables to make sure no one was listening, Clover scooted her chair closer, relief at finally being able to talk to someone loosening the tension tying her guts in a knot. “You can’t tell anyone. Ever.”

“Goodie. That means this is gonna be good.” Daphne held out her hand to the middle of the table and held out her pinkie. “I solemnly swear I’ll keep my big mouth shut. Spill.”

Clover couldn’t help but grin. It was a sign of unity they’d developed one night years ago in their freshman dorm after half a dozen too many cheap beers. Still, the silly action represented them and their unrelenting loyalty. So she held her hand aloft, finger pointing, and touched her pinkie to Daphne’s. Then, she told her everything—minus all the glorious naked details. By the time she got to the end, Daphne had been rendered silent.

“So in a few weeks, we break off the engagement, he finalizes some big deal and gets his mom to cool her matchmaking efforts, and I jet off to Australia fifteen grand richer,” Clover said. “We both walk away happy.”

She relaxed back against her seat, able to enjoy hanging out with Daphne without any weird I’m-lying-my-face-off guilt eating away at her. A lightness filled her, happy and content. All was right with the world. However, judging by the expression on Daphne’s face, she wasn’t feeling the same.

Finally, Daphne spoke up, “But you’re sleeping with him.”

Okay, this was an obvious misunderstanding, but Clover had this one down. “It’s not like I’m an employee, and he’s not paying me for that. It’s just for fun.”

One of her eyebrows popped up practically to her blond hairline. “Uh-huh.”

Clover stiffened, indignation zapping up her spine. “What’s that mean?”

“Well…” Daphne paused, pushing the broken pieces of crust from her quiche around her plate. “You’re not exactly a casual sex kinda girl even with your obsession with new experiences.”

“I’m not a prude.” And why was she having to defend herself? It was her life.

“You can take the girl out of Sparksville,” Daphne said. “But you can’t take Sparksville out of the girl.”

Her chest tightened and Clover pressed her lips together before she said something she’d regret later. Daphne was her friend. Her best friend. They’d disagreed before. They’d disagree again. But that didn’t change the fact that they were always there for each other. It’s just this time, Daphne didn’t understand. Taking a deep breath, she counted to five before letting it all out in a slow exhale.

“It’s just sex,” she said, her voice calmer than she felt. “It’s not like I’m falling in love with him. We just hang out. Did I tell you we renovated a flea market find into a bar cart?”

“He went with you to the flea market?” Daphne squeaked out the question.

Clover relaxed, thankful her attempt to change the subject worked. She could understand why. When she pictured the Sawyer Carlyle from the paparazzi photos and news clips, she had to admit it sounded ridiculous. But there was more to him than just the skyscrapers and the fancy parties—maybe more than even he realized.

“Yeah, we do all sorts of stuff together,” she said. “I’ve been spending my days at his office helping him with his proposal for a deal in Singapore. You don’t even want to know what kind of cultural missteps he was making.”

“What else do you do?” Daphne asked. “Dinner out?”

“Of course, we have to make the fake engagement look good.” The fact that the past month and a half had been a complete blast had nothing to do with it. That was just gravy. Honest. “There are dinners, cocktail parties, the flea market, and movie nights in—he has a total thing for old RomComs—don’t ever tell him I told you his darkest secret.”

“But it’s all fake,” her friend said.

Ouch. That hurt. “As a three-dollar bill,” Clover said with enough cheer to cover whatever was pinching her between the shoulder blades.

“And you’re 100 percent positive of that?” Daphne asked, concern bleeding through so there was no doubt it wasn’t judgment motivating her friend but worry.

The realization settled what was left of the apprehension stringing her tight, and she smiled at her bestie.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m not morphing into my mother with dreams of a happy little life of domestic bliss where all I want is to fall in love. I have a life to lead and adventures to have.”

“As long as you’re sure…” Daphne let her worlds trail off.

“I am,” she said with a conviction she almost felt. “Now tell me everything I’ve missed.”

There was a beat of silence before Daphne started in on the latest shenanigans of their fuckboy neighbor down the hall and his ludicrous attempts to flirt with her. Clover listened and laughed without once wondering what Sawyer was up to—well, maybe once.

…

Something was missing—or to be more specific, someone was missing. Sawyer looked over to the conference table where Clover had left four neatly stacked rows of research on the construction market in Singapore in general and Mr. Lim’s luxury apartment business specifically before going out for an early lunch with her friend. He had plenty to do, but his attention kept traveling back to the empty chair at the end of the conference table. With each look, each wondered question about what she was doing right now, he got more and more annoyed with himself. So much that the sudden appearance of his mom in his doorway filled him with a sort of twisted joy. A little mother-son battle? Oh yeah, he could make time for that today.

Helene stopped two steps into his office and glanced back over her shoulder. “Stop acting like I’m holding a gun to your head and get in here.”

Sawyer’s stomach roiled. His mom he was glad to see, even if she brought nothing but headaches and Irish-Catholic guilt. But a wife candidate? Yeah, he was definitely not in the mood for that. He had his mouth open ready to tell her to leave her latest eligible bachelorette cooling her heels outside when his brother walked in.

“So this is what this floor looks like,” Hudson said, looking around the office as if it were an exotic locale. “I usually don’t make it past the cafeteria level. Mrs. Esposito always saves a couple of cookies for me.”

“We are not here to discuss cookies,” Helene said, continuing her march forward.

“Just one in particular,” Hudson said in a 40s gangster voice. “How is your bride-to-be?”

Maybe a wife candidate would be preferable to whatever these two had in mind. Sawyer bit back his groan but refused to sink back against his seat. One did not cower in front of Helene Carlyle unless one wanted to be eaten. So he steeled his spine, flexed his toes, and got ready to do the all too familiar tightrope walk of being careful of his mother’s feelings while also shoving her out of his business with both hands.

He stood and walked toward the pair of leather couches arranged to admire the view of Harbor City’s skyline, figuring his mother would probably be more comfortable trying to run his life from the comfort of the designer couches than the stiff-backed visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “Clover is just fine.”

Helene followed, sitting down with the grace and determination of a woman who knew what she wanted and knew exactly how to go about getting it. “This whole thing is ridiculous, Sawyer. Even Hudson agrees.”

“I don’t know,” Hudson said, sitting down opposite Sawyer. “I think it’s nice that the crazy kids are taking their time getting to the altar after such a dive straight into love.”

Helene narrowed her eyes and cut a glare at Hudson. “You’re not nearly as amusing as you think you are, young man.”

“Of course I am, you’re just too annoyed at my big brother to see it.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled the sigh of a martyr. “Where did your father and I go wrong?”

“My therapist has a list,” Hudson said with a grin for their mom and a wink for Sawyer.

He didn’t know what his little brother was up to, but as long as it took the heat off of him and Clover, then Sawyer was more than willing to sit back and watch the show.

“Enough, Hudson.” She held up her hand, the three-carat diamond wedding ring she still wore glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the window. “Stop trying to distract me from what we came here to do.”

Damn. The woman never missed a trick.

“And what’s that?” Hudson asked.

As if they both didn’t know already.

“Stopping your brother before this farce goes any further,” Helene said. “You can’t actually marry that…that…person.”

Red ate the edges of his vision away and heat shot up from his toes as his entire body tensed. It was a damn good thing he loved his mother because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what would have come out of his mouth next. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t have been the kind of thing a son should say to his mom. It took a second for him to remember how to unclamp his jaw, he was holding it closed with such force.

“She. Has. A. Name.”

“Fine,” his mom said, not giving an inch in her steel-hard posture. “Clover. You’ve been holed up with her for long enough. You haven’t come out to any of the charity functions or the family cocktail hour.”

He let out a cold laugh. “I can’t imagine why after what happened last time.”

“You mean when Mom threw a couple of Mrs. Carlyle wannabes at you in front of your fiancée?” Hudson asked, his tone jovial despite the worry crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Oh shut up, Hudson,” she said, her voice unraveling around the edges. Then she took a deep breath before patting Hudson’s knee in a non-verbal apology. “I’m just looking out for you, Sawyer. I only want what’s best for you. After what happened with Tyler Jacobson’s fiancée, Irena, I just want you to be with the kind of woman who can make you happy.”

Nothing like finding your best friend’s bride in her wedding lingerie in your hotel room hours before the ceremony. It seemed her true love for Tyler didn’t stand a chance against her lust for Sawyer’s bank account. She’d ruined her makeup crying crocodile tears and napalmed his twenty-year friendship with Tyler. A reminder of that clusterfuck was the last thing Sawyer wanted from his mom right now—well, almost the last thing.

“And you think one of your wife candidates is the way to go?” he asked, letting every ounce of distaste he had for her schemes drip into his tone.

“I was hoping it would at least get you thinking in the right direction.” Helene threw her hands up in the air. “You can’t ignore the rest of the world while you focus on Carlyle Enterprises and let all the important things—the little things—escape your view.”

“I’m not. I’m getting married, remember?” Not the truth, but what did that matter when it came to winning an argument?

“It’s so ridiculous,” she said. “What do you even know about her?”

Images flashed in his mind. The sunlight in her hair as they’d gone from booth to booth to find the perfect fixer upper at the flea market. The fact that she hogged the popcorn on movie night. That she’d graduated to extra-large shakes at Vito’s. The way she’d screamed and then laughed when he’d surprised her in the shower this morning. The arch of her spine and undulation of her hips as she rode him hard. None of which were things he could share with his mother.

“I know she likes pineapple shakes and cheeseburgers with jalapeños,” he blurted out. “I know she talks back to the screen during reality TV shows. I know she mutters to herself in other languages when she gets frustrated.”

“But what do you know about her?” Helene pressed. “Who she is when it counts?”

The question stopped him dead. Over the past few weeks he’d learned a lot about what Clover liked to do, but what did he really know about the details that made her Clover and not Jane? What was it that she wasn’t telling him? Sharing with him? Not that he had any right to her secrets, but the urge to know what they were called out to something inside him that he didn’t recognize.

“Well then,” Hudson said after the awkward pause while Sawyer’s brain spun in search of answers he didn’t have. “While it is always fascinating to see you two forget your mutual reluctance to talk about your feelings, I think we’ve all had enough of that for this decade.”

Helene nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

Hudson jumped up off the couch, his hand over his heart like a two-bit player in a cheap melodrama. “Someone alert the media.”

It was so over the top and so typically Hudson that all the tension seeped out of the room. Helene stood and gave her youngest son an indulgent smile and a hard pat on the cheek. Then she turned to Sawyer.

“We lost your dad too young. I didn’t make him stop working so much and putting in all those long hours. I should have. That’s a guilt I’ll feel for the rest of my life.” She blinked back the wetness in her eyes. “And you’re so much like him, Sawyer. You never even crawled. You just decided one day to stand up and walk to the window, planted your hands on the glass, and looked out onto the Harbor City skyline,” she said, her voice shaking. “You need someone to make you slow down and appreciate the details. That person is obviously not me, but I’m hoping that whoever you marry will be the one who can do that.” She paused and looked off to the left, blinking rapidly before centering her attention, once more, on him. “I can’t lose you, too.”

She pressed her lips tight together and inhaled a deep breath before she opened her mouth to say more. However, she must have changed her mind because instead of lecturing, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him close.

It wasn’t like they never hugged. They weren’t that uptight of a family, but his mom? She was a different kind of woman. Hard. Determined. Feisty, his dad had called her. Touchy feely she was not. It was one of the things they had in common. He curled his arms around her and returned the hug. They stood there like that for a minute before breaking apart. Before he could say anything, Helene—her eyes suspiciously wet again—gave him a stiff nod and strode out of his office without another word, leaving him staring after her in confusion until Hudson slapped him on the back of the head.

“If this blows up in our faces, you’re going to owe me big time,” Hudson said, all traces of the jester he’d been playing drained out of him. “I do not want to be on the same planet when she finds out we’ve been lying to her.”

“She won’t.”

She couldn’t. Losing their father had been hard on him and Hudson. Their mother had been devastated. He wouldn’t be the cause of her ever feeling any pain again.

His brother walked to the door, paused on the threshold, and turned back to face him. “Just do what you always do and keep your eye on the big picture so this doesn’t go sideways and fuck us both.”

Guilt warred with selfishness, twisting him up inside. “When don’t I?”

Hudson nodded, let out a breath, and in an instant transformed himself back into the smiling flirt he wanted everyone to think he was, then he walked out into the outer office already teasing Amara before he’d even gotten two steps away.

Without meaning to, Sawyer ended up not back at his own desk but at the end of the conference table where Clover had been working before leaving for lunch. The paper was covered in her notes, but the margins were covered in doodles of geometric shapes and a sketch of a man who looked a lot like him. The caveman inside him let out a proud and triumphant yell with plenty of chest pounding and dick waving.

It was an ego boost big enough that he forced himself to look up and focus instead on the Harbor City skyline so he could count the Carlyle buildings. Everything was falling into place. His mom was so concerned about Clover’s inappropriateness that she’d halted her campaign of wife candidates. By the time Clover left, Helene would be so relieved it would be easy to persuade her to drop the marriage campaign completely. That fact should have made the amazing view from the sixty-third floor even better. It didn’t. Instead of success, all he could taste in his mouth was bitter disappointment. That reaction did not fit into his ultimate vision of who he was and what he needed to do next.

They were almost to the deadline on Clover’s contract, and he still hadn’t gotten Mr. Lim to sign the deal for the three Singapore high-rises. Hudson was right, he couldn’t afford to let this thing with Clover go sideways and add in some unexpected complications that would only fuck with his plans. Time to refocus on the big picture and stop getting distracted.